The nobles, following Marin's gaze, shuddered collectively.
Ladies hid their faces behind fans. Gentlemen winced—as though they could feel the phantom pain themselves.
"That night, to escape, I kicked him." Marin's voice was steady, almost conversational. "If the Viscount's family physician has a good memory, he treated Lord Gobiem that same evening. Ask him. He'll confirm."
"So he lost... what a man should never lose..."
Somewhere to the side, Christine—still trembling with fear—muttered the words into the void.
The silence was so absolute that the nobles who heard her found themselves nodding involuntarily.
"D-Duke... Y-Your Grace... p-please... m-mercy..."
Gobiem's eyes had gone glassy. Empty.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."
Gerald leaned down close to his face and whispered—terribly low, terribly soft.
He had already been enraged while merely eavesdropping from afar, listening to this wretch mock Marin's poverty. That was why he had forced Gobiem to his knees. Made him beg in front of her.
And now *this*—what this man had attempted in the past?
Uncontrollable rage burst forth. Everything before his eyes flashed blood-red.
Gritting his teeth, Gerald forced himself to release the invisible force that had been crushing Gobiem into the floor.
*Otherwise, I would have killed him.*
If this weren't the engagement ball, he would have done exactly that.
In the South, he had adhered to procedure. But this was the *West*. Even the Emperor, when he visited here, took a step back from Gerald von Vines.
*I want to wring his neck. Is that really not possible?*
Meanwhile—
The only thought clinging to Gobiem's fading consciousness was survival.
*Get out. Now. At any cost.*
And he breathed out words he should never have spoken.
"Marin... deceived... her father..."
The whisper, rasped at the edge of consciousness, reached only one person—the Duke standing closest.
Gobiem didn't have time to finish. He went limp and lost consciousness.
Gerald's lips pressed into a stony line.
*So the collapse of Viscount Shuvenz's house had a completely different cause?*
Fortunately, Marin hadn't heard.
*An investigation is inevitable.*
"Tenacious."
The Duke let the body drop onto the marble floor.
"Butler. Remove him."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Sebas, who had been glaring at Gobiem with barely concealed fury, bowed his head.
He seized the Viscount by the collar and dragged him across the floor. The sight of Gobiem's limp form being hauled away like refuse left no trace of noble dignity.
---
Every eye turned to Christine.
No one had ever witnessed the imperturbable Western Duke punish a nobleman so publicly. This meant the Duke's fiancée was truly important to him.
The nobles made a collective, silent decision: the moment they left this hall, no one would *dare* speak of the "scandal of the Duke's bride."
The Duke turned his head toward Christine.
She was trembling on the verge of tears.
"D-Duke, I'm sorry. Lady Shuvenz, I'm sorry." Her voice cracked. "I was mistaken. I didn't know Lord Gobiem was such a person."
Christine's composure shattered. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"And the wine you *deliberately* spilled—was that also a misunderstanding?"
Zeromian stood to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with cold amusement.
"I... it was a mistake. Just a mistake."
Christine wiped frantically at her tears, scrambling to justify herself.
"Do you make mistakes *with warnings*, Lady Wares?"
Zeromian's smile was thin. Frigid.
"Y-yes."
The stranger who had taken over the interrogation in the Duke's place terrified her. Christine nodded hastily.
Zeromian made a small gesture with his hand. The transparent barrier that had protected the Duke's bride dissolved into nothing.
*Whoever he is, he's not ordinary.*
*Why are two such powerful men so determined to protect this woman?*
"Mistakes *with warnings*, then?"
The Duke, who had been listening from several paces away, added the words slowly.
Christine flinched and stared at him.
*He was far away. He couldn't have heard our conversation.*
"I... I..."
The words died in her throat. It felt as though the Duke could see straight through her—even with his eyes closed.
Her head began to spin. Her chest tightened. She couldn't breathe.
Christine suddenly felt an invisible noose around her neck. She clawed at her throat.
*Someone... help. Please.*
Her face went white beneath the weight of the Duke's murderous coldness. When the terror became unbearable, a convulsive whisper escaped her:
"Sue—"
"Your Grace!"
Susan stepped out from the crowd of onlookers.
Christine's eyes widened. The moment she had tried to speak Susan's name, Susan herself had appeared—as if to silence her.
"Lady Susan!"
And then—the crushing grip vanished.
Christine collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. She looked up at her friend with eyes overflowing with gratitude.
But Susan's gaze was cold. She looked away without a flicker of warmth.
Turning to the Duke, she spoke softly:
"Lady Wares has committed a grave offense, but it arose from a misunderstanding concerning her fiancé's past. I beg Your Grace to show leniency."
Christine stared at her in confusion.
She had thought Susan would defend her. But the address had already shifted to the formal "Lady Wares," and that brief glance had been ice.
*Did she... come out just to shut me up? To keep me from saying her name?*
The Duke remained silent.
Susan turned her gaze to Marin.
"Lady Shuvenz." Her voice was benevolent. Her hands were folded gracefully. "Surely you can find it in your heart to pity Lady Wares? After all—your beautiful dress was completely unharmed."
Marin caught something in Susan's posture—the way she held herself, the careful arrangement of her words.
*If we continue to press Christine now, I'll look like the villain—unable to forgive a "naive lady" who didn't know her fiancé's past.*
She met Susan's gaze directly.
*Whatever else she may be, she knows how to guide a conversation toward her desired conclusion.*
Marin lightly touched the Duke's hand.
"Thanks to Gerald and Zeromian, I'm fine." Her voice was calm, measured. "Let's let it go this time."
From the depths of the hall, Viscount Wares—who had been hiding throughout the entire spectacle—finally emerged.
He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Your Grace. I beg you to forgive my unworthy daughter."
"Father..."
"I don't want to see her for a while."
The Duke's cold command fell like a blade.
Viscount Wares's face darkened. The message was clear: *Do not appear in public until forgiveness is granted.*
The Viscount seized Christine roughly by the elbow, bowed once more—forehead to marble—and said:
"We understand."
Then he dragged her from the hall.
---
The nobles held their tongues.
Two nobles had been removed in disgrace.
Never before had such an absurd spectacle unfolded at an engagement ball. No one knew how to behave. Guests shifted uncomfortably where they stood.
Marin surveyed the room and sighed heavily to herself.
*Everything is ruined. The atmosphere is in tatters.*
*So what now?*
She clutched the hem of her dress, feeling the weight of duty settle upon her shoulders.
*Be that as it may—it must be saved.*
"Lord Gerald," she whispered, approaching the Duke.
"What?"
"Shall we dance? Our ball is about to fall apart completely."
"...Perhaps."
Marin took his arm and led him toward the center of the dance floor.
As she passed, she caught Susan's gaze.
Something in that look made her skin crawl.
Marin winced and glanced back—but Susan had already turned away, walking in the opposite direction.
*Who is she, this strange woman? Why is she looking at me like that?*
*Maybe it wasn't about saving her friend at all.*
The moment the engaged couple stepped onto the dance floor, the orchestra scrambled into motion.
A beautiful melody rose to fill the arena—delicate, hopeful.
The ball would continue.