Astrid headed straight for the stables.

Fortunately, a stable hand was already there, trying to calm the startled horses. Otherwise, Astrid would have mounted any horse she could find and ridden straight out of the castle.

The carriage reached its destination in nearly half the usual time. This was the result of the coachman, unable to withstand Astrid’s relentless urging, driving at full speed. As soon as the carriage screeched to a halt, she leapt out without pausing for breath.

“Your Grace—!”

Matilda’s scream rang out, alarmed by Astrid’s near-tumble from the carriage. But Astrid heard nothing.

Gasp, gasp… 

“Elkan! What’s the situation?”

“Your Grace.”

Elkan, who had been directing the scene with a stern expression, turned and bowed his head toward her.

Without responding, Astrid gave a curt nod and swiftly surveyed the site, where workers were busy hauling water.

All available servants had lined up, passing buckets from hand to hand in a mechanical rhythm. Their disheveled clothes and weary faces suggested they had been roused abruptly from sleep.

“Even with every cart and wagon in use, the distance is a problem… This is going to be a tough fight. The wind’s picking up—it’s worrisome,” Astrid remarked.

Elkan nodded grimly. “The dry weather has caused the fire to spread rapidly. Flames of this size will be hard to extinguish.”

“You’re right. But it’s not entirely hopeless.”

“Pardon? Is there some other way—?”

“We can only leave it to the heavens.”

“…Ah.”

Elkan followed her gaze to the dark sky. No matter how hard they tried, there were limits to what human effort could achieve.

The Grand Duchess is right. If only it would rain…

But the pitch-black sky, devoid of even a single star, gave no indication of a coming storm.

“If we hold out long enough, it might rain,” Astrid said.

“How can you be so sure, Your Grace?”

Though she wasn’t making a guarantee, there was a quiet certainty in her eyes.

“The air feels unusually humid today. Didn’t you notice?”

“Well…”

“Distant mountains seem closer, the air is damp, and… the bells.”

“Bells? What about them?”

“They sounded unusually clear, not as if they were echoing from afar, but as if someone were hammering them right next to me. Birds and dragonflies were flying low. An old gardener used to say that on days like this, it rains.”

Elkan swallowed nervously. “…This gardener, who exactly is he?”

“Cliff Manor’s gardener. When I was young, we used to bet on the weather. When I walked around the moat earlier today, I thought the same thing: Rain is coming soon.”

“…!”

The conviction in her calm voice stirred something within Elkan. He wasn’t sure how credible it was, but he wanted to believe her. They needed any hope they could cling to in this dire situation.

“The air is more humid than usual, and the birds were definitely flying low,” she added.

“I see…”

“My win rate in those weather bets was pretty high. So we must hold out until the rain comes.”

Her firm tone and unwavering gaze exuded determination. The petite young woman, fragile in appearance, suddenly seemed like a knight in that moment of resolve.

With Caleb gone, the true master of this castle is Grand Duchess Astrid. This realization hit Elkan like a jolt.

***

Despite the combined efforts of knights and villagers, the flames raged on.

Caleb concluded that extinguishing the fire quickly was impossible. He ordered his knights to prioritize minimizing casualties.

“Let the buildings and property burn if they must. Save as many lives as you can. That is your duty as knights of Cliff.”

While the villagers worked tirelessly to douse the flames with water brought from the castle, the knights focused on rescuing those trapped.

Caleb was returning to the command tent after coordinating rescue efforts when Helman approached, dragging someone behind him.

“Your Grace! We caught him. This rat was carrying flints—several of them! Kyle caught him loitering around the site.”

Helman released his grip, and the figure collapsed at Caleb’s feet with a thud.

The soot-covered figure was unmistakably human. Judging by the bruises and blood, he had already endured a beating from Helman.

Caleb didn’t strike the suspect. Instead, he knelt down, scrutinizing the man’s face. The hunched posture and graying hair suggested he was middle-aged. His violet eyes gleamed with a wild, feral intensity.

Breaking the tense silence, Caleb’s voice rang out, cold and emotionless.

“…Was it you?”

He didn’t expect a confession. As he pondered how to coax the truth out of the arsonist, the man suddenly spat out a confession.

“Yes, it was me! I did it all. This worthless village should burn to the ground! I was so disappointed when I failed last year. I’ve been waiting for spring, waiting for this chance—ugh!”

Helman, unable to hold back any longer, drove his boot into the man’s abdomen. He was about to continue the beating in earnest when—

“Stop.”

The low, commanding voice froze Helman in his tracks.

“But, Your Grace!”

“Helman, he and I are having an important conversation. Don’t interfere.”

“…Tch.”

Unable to argue but fuming inside, Helman let out a heavy sigh, muttered a curse, and stormed off. He headed in the direction of a still-burning building.

Watching Helman’s retreating figure, Caleb turned back to the arsonist.

“So? Continue.”

“What’s the point of keeping them alive? They’re just useless mouths to feed. Burning it all down and starting anew—that’s the only solution! This village is to blame!”

“The village? What do you mean?”

“If it weren’t for them! If it weren’t for this wretched place, Her Grace, Grand Duchess Iris, wouldn’t have met such a tragic end! Don’t you agree?”

Caleb’s dark eyes, previously calm, deepened into a chilling void. The tension was palpable, and everyone held their breath. Yet the arsonist remained unfazed, oblivious to the danger. His wild eyes darted about as he continued his tirade.

“Heartless, selfish scum. They deserve divine punishment!”

For years, the villagers had ignored him—because he was an orphan, a drifter. No one had ever offered him a warm meal or a place to sleep. He believed it was only right to punish them on behalf of the gods.

His previous attempts at arson had failed. But this time, the dry weather and favorable winds had been on his side. Watching the flames consume the village filled him with a sense of fulfillment. Grinning broadly, he bared his teeth in satisfaction.

“All this, for these vermin? Fighting monsters only to die a pitiful death… Their lives aren’t worth Her Grace’s! Oh, Lady Iris! How could you leave us like that?”

The name fell from his lips again: Iris Lionel, Caleb’s mother—the late Grand Duchess. Before inheriting her title, she had been the sole princess of the kingdom, known as the “Iron Blossom of Croatan,” renowned for both her beauty and her skill with the sword. Men across all social strata admired her.

This arsonist was clearly one of her fanatical followers—completely unhinged.

“Say that again. What about my mother?” Caleb’s voice was ice-cold.

“She died a miserable death, fighting monsters to protect these worthless worms—urk!”

A sudden movement startled the arsonist, who curled into a ball as a dagger embedded itself into the ground next to his head. He lay prone, gasping for breath, his wide eyes darting around in panic.

Despite causing so much destruction and loss, he clung desperately to life.

“Please… Spare me. I’m innocent…” he whimpered, face pressed into the dirt. The dagger, buried deep into the ground, left only the hilt visible. Had it landed even slightly to the side, he wouldn’t have survived.

Caleb’s voice was calm but chilling. “Oops. My hand slipped. Don’t worry—I won’t lay a finger on you before your trial.”

“P-please…!”

“Be thankful it’s me handling this, not my mother. If she were here, she’d have taken a limb by now, trial or not.”

“Your mother, your mother—you keep talking about her. Who are you to speak of her like that? Wait… Are you—?”

The man, trembling and still prostrate, slowly lifted his gaze toward Caleb. With shaky hands, he pulled out a piece of paper from his coat—a faded portrait, its edges frayed from years of handling.

His hands trembled, not from fear, but from reverence.

“A-Ah! To meet Lady Iris’s son… What an honor!”

The man’s bloodshot eyes scanned Caleb’s face, matching it to the cherished portrait he had preserved for so long.

But before he could revel in his delusion, the portrait slipped from his grasp.

“Why—why are you…!”

Caleb had taken it. The man lunged, desperate to reclaim his treasure, only to be easily kicked aside. He sprawled on the ground, defeated.

“Give it back! It’s the only thing I have—it’s more precious than my life!”

His violet eyes glinted with desperation as he watched the portrait burn in Caleb’s hand.

It disintegrated into ashes.

“Now you know what it feels like to lose something precious,” Caleb said, his voice void of sympathy. “But you wouldn’t understand. Only humans feel that kind of pain.”

“W-wha…”

The man’s whimpering faded into the cold night as he realized the magnitude of his loss.

The man, stunned, clawed at the dirt, emitting an animalistic wail. As he convulsed, frothing at the mouth, Caleb coldly observed him before giving an order to a subordinate.

“Administer an awakening potion. Both the trial and any interrogation need to happen while he’s fully conscious.”

“Yes, Commander!”

Caleb watched as the bound arsonist was dragged away. Thanks to the knights’ efforts, they had minimized casualties. Capturing the culprit was a relief, but controlling the flames remained a pressing challenge.

The fire raged on, beyond what manpower alone could contain. Caleb looked up at the crimson-streaked sky, still burning with the glow of dawn.

‘Is the entire village doomed to burn to the ground?’

Perhaps it was speaking with a madman, but exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave. The night was fading into a new day.

‘She must be awake by now. She’ll be startled. Such a small, fragile thing—like a rabbit. Strong-willed, sure, but still just a girl…!’

Caleb blinked as a small figure appeared in the distance. He stared, certain he was imagining it. But the silhouette only grew clearer, steadily approaching.

“…Astrid?”

“Hah… hah… Just a little more. I can make it!”

She had likely run from the entrance of the village, given that no carriage could pass through the burning wreckage. Struggling to catch her breath, Astrid’s words tumbled out in a rush.

“….”

Caleb’s expression darkened.

‘What nonsense is this?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Go back, now.’

He should have shouted at her, reprimanded her for acting on her own. He needed to be cold, to remind her she couldn’t do as she pleased. But the words wouldn’t come. The moment he saw her, his voice caught in his throat.

“Rain will come soon. We just need to hold on until then. Elkan is bringing water. I brought food, clothes, basic medicine, and blankets. Where are the villagers taking shelter? And the injured—?”

She was too focused to even greet him properly. Breathless, she rattled off her concerns, only to freeze as Caleb enveloped her in a firm, protective embrace.