"*Daya!!*"
Killon's eyes went wide. He lurched toward her—
And the cane's hidden blade shot upward, piercing clean through his thigh.
"*AAAAGH!*"
Killon crumpled, clutching his leg, writhing on the floor like a worm crushed underfoot.
The Duke rose slowly from his seat and walked toward him.
"Y-Your Grace—" Killon's voice cracked, raw with agony. "How could someone like me *dare* to challenge the Shield of the Empire? Please—*have mercy.* I don't know how I've offended you, but I beg—I *beg* for mercy..."
He dragged himself across the floor, crawling to the Duke's feet, his eyes bulging from the unbearable pain.
The Duke gripped the cane and wrenched the blade free.
"*AAAAGH!*"
"Yes." Gerald's voice was frost made audible. "How *dare* a worthless wretch like you do such a thing?"
The cold words cut through Killon's screams and brought him back to sharp, terrified clarity. He pressed both hands against the wound in his thigh, blood seeping between his fingers, and looked up at the Duke with trembling eyes.
"I am guilty. *Guilty.* Your Grace, I beg you—mercy—"
"Do you know who stands behind you?"
"W-what?"
Killon's face—streaked with tears and snot—went blank with confusion.
"Where is that woman?"
"Heek—" Killon sobbed, prostrating himself flat against the floor. "W-who do you mean?"
"Your bride." Olive's voice was ice. He stood above Killon, looking down as one might regard an insect. "Where is she?"
"N-not long ago... she went out..."
"Find her."
The curtains at the window stirred once—a whisper of movement—and then fell still.
The blade of the cane descended slowly, coming to rest against Killon's throat.
"An insect like you... dared to touch *my family*..."
The Duke's voice remained flat, emotionless. But his hands—wrapped around the cane—trembled. The only betrayal of the rage burning beneath his stillness.
Killon squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face.
*He's going to kill me.*
The Duke hadn't even bothered to interrogate him properly.
*Everything is already known.*
The monster blood splashed on the corpses to make it look like a beast attack. The loyal servants who were "accidents"—eliminated to preserve secrecy. His brother. His sister-in-law.
All of it.
*But how? How was I exposed? And why is he asking about my bride now, of all moments?*
"W-wait."
Daya's voice cut through the silence.
She stepped forward—pale, composed, her eyes dry and hard.
The blade paused at Killon's throat. A thin red line appeared where it had already kissed the skin.
"*Daya!*"
Killon's gaze locked onto her with desperate, servile hope. Only his niece could save him now.
"Did you see? Did you *see* what he's doing?" His voice rose to a whine. "The Duke wants to kill me for no reason! Go—go immediately and report this to His Majesty—"
"Where is Perido?"
Daya's voice was quiet. Measured. Each syllable fell like a stone.
"What?" Killon blinked stupidly.
"*Where is Perido?*" Her composure cracked. "Give me back my brother! I don't care if you live or die—you *killed* our parents and took my brother! ***Where is he?!***"
"N-no—it wasn't me who killed them—"
Killon shook his head frantically, his expression slack with panic.
*Technically true.* He hadn't done it personally. He had merely given the orders—to the people his bride had introduced him to.
"WHERE IS PERIDO?!"
Daya seized him by the collar and shook him, tears spilling down her cheeks, her voice breaking into a raw scream.
"I—I don't know! Perido *disappeared!*"
"...What?"
The color drained from Daya's face. Her voice came out as barely a whisper.
"I was searching for him too! Honestly!"
"You kept Perido with you. You locked us away. And now you say you *don't know?*"
Shock loosened her grip. For just a moment, her composure shattered completely—
And Killon's eyes flashed.
His hand shot out. He grabbed Daya by the throat and yanked her close.
A small knife—hidden in his boot—appeared in his other hand. He pressed the blade against her neck.
"If *anyone* touches me again—I'll kill her."
The Duke stood motionless, his eyes still closed.
Then he raised both hands.
The knives and forks resting on the dining table... *rose.*
They lifted smoothly into the air, hovering, glinting in the chandelier light like silver fish suspended in an invisible current.
Killon's face went white.
"I really—I'll really kill—"
He never finished.
The cutlery shot forward.
Silver blades—forks and knives—struck him from every direction, piercing flesh, pinning him like a moth to a board.
The servants' faces turned the color of ash.
Killon's eyes rolled back. His body went limp. He collapsed at Daya's feet, blood pooling beneath him.
"Is he... d-dead?"
Daya's voice shook. She looked down at the crumpled figure with cold, hollow eyes.
"...Not yet."
Before the Duke could say more, Daya bent down and pulled one of the knives free.
Her hand trembled as she raised it—the blade aimed directly at the center of Killon's chest.
"I'll kill him."
Tears rolled down her face. Slowly, slowly, the knife began to descend.
Olive stepped forward and caught her wrist—gently, but firmly.
"A nobleman cannot kill a nobleman."
He shook his head, his expression bitter.
"Even in a duel—"
"Then I'll—"
"The opponent must understand and *acknowledge* the duel, my lady." Olive's voice was quiet but steady. "And His Grace has a reason for keeping him alive."
"...What reason?"
"We must fully uncover all his crimes. Every last one." Olive met her gaze. "He will be torn to pieces and paraded before every noble in the South. So that all will see the price of *daring* to touch a member of the Duke's household. So that no one will *ever* attempt such a thing again."
*Clink.*
The knife slipped from Daya's fingers and clattered against the marble floor.
She closed her trembling eyes. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
*Vines protects.*
*Mama... you were right.*
---
## — The Days That Followed —
*Ka-ar. Ka-ar.*
Crows descended upon the wide courtyard before the Count's manor, their harsh cries splitting the morning air.
The people of the county gathered in a growing crowd, fury etched into every face. They spat in the direction of the exposed body. They hurled curses as they passed.
From dawn onward, Killon's crimes were proclaimed aloud for all to hear.
An imperial bailiff arrived. A swift trial was held.
The subjects of the county had not yet recovered from the deaths of their beloved Count and Countess. When they learned that Killon was responsible for everything, their grief transformed to rage. Some wept openly—not from sorrow, but from helpless fury.
Meanwhile, in Killon's hidden storehouse, a body was found.
A black-haired boy. His face disfigured beyond recognition.
It was the child Killon had kept in reserve—a replacement, prepared in case Perido became... *inconvenient.*
After confirming that it was not her brother, Daya collapsed.
---
The Count's ashes had already been scattered.
The nobles who had traveled for the funeral were sent home. In their place, a simple, private ceremony was held—family only.
The air hung thick and heavy, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of approaching rain.
Kay approached the window where Gerald stood and dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"The woman vanished without a trace. We found no clues regarding who ordered the attack."
Gerald listened in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, as though the words cost him effort.
"So. I was the variable." A pause. "I assumed they would want to use Killon as well."
"..."
Kay bowed his head lower still.
At that moment, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
"Enter."
Olive stepped inside, accompanied by Daya. Her face was drawn, her eyes hollow with exhaustion.
"The lady wished to speak with you. I brought her."
Gerald remained at the window. He acknowledged them with only the barest nod.
Daya folded her hands before her. She stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Thank you. For everything." Her voice was steady, though it cost her. "Now we must only find Perido—and then we can return to our... our former lives."
*There was no returning to the past.* The past held her parents, alive and warm and whole.
But she was the head of the family now. She swallowed the tears that threatened to rise and lifted her chin.
Gerald said nothing. He remained motionless at the window.
Looking at his profile—his closed eyes, the sharp line of his jaw—Daya was struck by how much he resembled her mother.
"So. You're telling us to go back?"
"What?"
Her eyes widened at the blunt question.
"You are still too young."
"In a few months, I will be an adult," Daya said firmly, her hands pressed together.
"In the empire, a woman is not recognized as head of a household."
Daya's jaw tightened. She bit her lip.
*Was this his true purpose all along?*
Killon was gone—and now the Western Duke wished to swallow the Count's house whole?
She had been betrayed by those she trusted. She could not afford to trust easily again.
Her voice turned cold.
"I'll speak plainly. We don't need a guardian. Soon I will come of age, and I can serve as guardian for my sisters myself."
"It is forbidden."
"Do you want the Count's property? The lands?" Her eyes met his without flinching. "Take them. Take everything. Just *leave us alone.*"
The corner of the Duke's lips lifted—just slightly.