Murad carefully studied the massive man who now blocked his path.

Even aside from his far greater height, the man’s rugged muscles were the kind forged in real combat. Murad recognized them instantly as those of a true warrior.

‘This is foreign land. In a wide-open space with so many eyes upon me, one-on-one, I have no chance. And besides, I have the lady with me.’

Even without carrying Astrid, he would have no chance. Coldly assessing his strength, Murad devised the best possible course of action for the situation.

‘Even if the Grand Duke is here, surely at least one subordinate must have been sent along. As expected.’

He knew well enough that the Grand Duke of Croatan was the continent’s greatest warrior, the famed monster slayer.

From the aura alone, Murad realized that this man, who might look like a common thug, was in fact a true knight. In this situation, there was only one way to escape safely while holding a hostage.

“What you hold in your arms is a person, isn’t it? I don’t know what stray bone you picked up, but without my permission you won’t be taking even a handful of Cliff’s soil with you. Best put her down while I’m still speaking kindly.”

“She’s my partner for tonight. Why a man of your stature would wish to ruin the festival, I can’t begin to understand.”

It was clearly a person in his arms. And judging by the frame, a woman. And poking out from beneath that cloak was unmistakably……

Her Grace’s.

Not long ago, during the hunt with Caleb, she had received them. Caleb had chosen those very shoes himself for Astrid. Helman recognized them at once.

They weren’t delicate needlepoint shoes like noble ladies usually wore, but leather ones with charming embroidery. He’d heard that Her Grace had been delighted with them.

The moment Helman realized that the bundle in the foreigner’s arms was none other than the Grand Duchess, he could no longer contain his boiling rage.

“Ha! You crazy bastard. How dare you……!”

When Helman, in preparation for an emergency, drew the dagger he wore at his waist and aimed it at Murad—

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!

Before he knew it, Murad had pulled out a long tube-like object from his bosom and fired something at Helman.

“Ugh…!”

It was in the brief moment when Helman faltered from the sharp pain he felt on the top of his foot. Murad swiftly closed the distance, raised his foot, and kicked Helman. For some reason, Helman could not put strength into his lower body, and with a loud crash! he collapsed on the spot.

“So you’re really one of the famed Cliff’s knights? Tsk. This is why knights are no good….”

It could not be compared to a head-on clash of full strength, but Murad possessed a secret art handed down from the warriors of darkness. No matter how skilled a knight was, he would not be able to resist the scorpion venom he had just been struck with.

Since he had not aimed at a vital point, it would be a day at the shortest, three at the longest. The knight would suffer, but Murad did not care.

“Well then, Sir Knight, sweet dreams to you… Ugh!”

Leaving behind a mocking remark, Murad tried to turn away—but his steps halted. No, more precisely, he had not stopped on his own. He had been stopped.

“…Even if I die here today… I won’t let you go…!”

The grip was so powerful it was hard to believe he was someone struck by scorpion venom. Murad looked down at the large hand that had seized his ankle. The hand, covered in scars, had already turned a ghastly blue.

‘So the poison has begun to spread….’

Murad glanced for a moment at the hand, so bluish it looked more like that of a corpse than of the living, and drew a dagger from his bosom.

The man’s grip was so strong that no matter how many times he shook him off, it was useless.

‘Then there’s no helping it. I’ll just have to drive the blade into the back of his hand.’

It was a situation where the Grand Duke could barge in at any moment. He had to get away as quickly as possible.

Just as Murad raised the dagger-wielding hand high—

“Ugh!”

Something heavy flew in from somewhere, struck his hand squarely, and fell with a thud.

Clang—!

When he looked down at the dagger that had fallen reflexively from his grasp, Murad bit his lip.

Thud, thud, thud—!

Something struck his remaining hand and the backs of his knees in rapid succession, and from the force, Murad lost his hold on Astrid in his arms. At that very instant, a man appeared from nowhere and caught her just in time.

“Astrid!”

“Is Astrid alright? I’ll handle this bastard. Check on her first.”

It was a black-haired man with a terrifying face like a grim reaper from hell, and a beautiful woman with red hair flowing in the wind.

“The rat that dared trespass on my land must be caught by my own hand. Take care of Astrid for me.”

Elena, who was binding the fallen Murad tightly, hesitated before replying.

“…Mm. You will? I was only worried, that’s all. That the Grand Duke, having lost his reason, might beat the rat to death. At a glance, he’s a valuable rat. What if we offered him alive to our king? We could get a proper price for him, don’t you think?”

Elena’s gaze was fixed on Murad’s hand—or more precisely, on the jewel set in the ring on his third finger. It was a rare gem found only in Sepia, a treasure that only royalty could wear.

‘As I thought. The second prince, isn’t he?’

Though she acted calm and tossed out jokes, Elena was considerably tense. A single misstep, and there would surely be a storm of blood. Outwardly she looked composed, but Caleb was currently in a state of extreme fury.

They said Caleb had lately been living like an idler. Like a lion, well-fed after a hunt, dozing off lazily in the sun. Even so, tugging at such a lion’s whiskers had its limits.

And yet Murad had dared touch the most precious treasure the beast had hidden away in its most secret domain. There was nothing strange about an awakened lion tearing a troublesome prince to pieces in one go.

But the opponent was a prince of Sepia. No matter what, he would have to be held accountable and pay the price, but if Caleb acted on his temper, diplomatic troubles would certainly arise.

It was truly a headache of a situation.

‘And it’s all because of this reckless prince!’

Elena, her beautiful brow furrowed, kicked Murad’s side with her toe.

“Ugh…!”

Murad twisted his body at the sudden blow, but he could not move an inch. Elena had bound his arms and legs so tightly there was no room for struggle.

Not only that, but unwilling to hear even a squeak from the rat, she had stuffed cloth in his mouth to gag him.

‘They say there’s no madman like him. To even think of kidnapping the Grand Duchess of Cliff? A bastard like this deserves to die, indeed….’

Elena already knew that Murad, Prince of Sepia, had come to Croatan as part of a delegation. Having received word that the prince had vanished overnight and headed toward Cliff, she had come with Chase.

Chase was also among those commissioned by the king for potion development. He had taken charge of communication with others in Astrid’s stead while she remained in Cliff. Moreover, by combining his knowledge of magic with Elena’s intelligence at the right moments, he played a key role in securing large-scale production and distribution routes for potions.

Of course, nothing came free. In return, Chase had been granted the exclusive distribution rights for Cliff’s Tears and was running various enterprises.

They had set out both to visit the Grand Duke and Duchess, to discuss business, and also to enjoy the long-awaited “Grand Duke’s Night” festival. Yet they had been caught up in an unexpected affair.

Chase had been forced to stand in at Helman’s sl*ve auction event as the village’s representative, because Caleb had abruptly left the stage.

One way or another, Elena, fearing Caleb might cause trouble, had hurried after him.

“Wouldn’t it be better to move from here first? I can guess what’s running through your mind, but really. Word spreading across the whole continent that the Grand Duke of Cliff slaughtered Sepia’s second prince—that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“…Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“Still, killing him is going too far!”

“…Hm.”

“Crippling him so no one knows, or cutting off that part, now that would be another matter.”

“……”

At last an expression appeared on Caleb’s previously blank face. He seemed intrigued by Elena’s suggestion.

“Mmph, mmph, mmph!”

But Murad seemed to have a different opinion. Even with his mouth gagged and limbs bound, he thrashed about desperately. But to Caleb’s eyes, he was nothing more than a worm writhing to survive.

Thud, thud!

Still holding Astrid in his arms, Caleb raised his foot. The tip of his boot struck Murad squarely in the mouth and then the back of his head in turn. Murad convulsed like one in seizure, then dropped his head limply. He had lost consciousness altogether.

Considering what was bound to happen to this troublesome prince from now on, perhaps it was for the better, Elena thought.

“Tsk….”

Watching the red blood spreading on the ground, Elena muttered a small curse. Whether it was directed at Murad for foolishly provoking Caleb’s wrath, or at Caleb who could not restrain himself from shedding blood—there was no telling.

It was a curse with no clear target.

Even when faced with Elena’s twisted expression, Caleb merely shrugged his shoulders, showing no other reaction. He only scraped his bloodstained leather shoe hard against the sand, trying to wipe away the trace.

As though he had stepped into filth. The movement was harsh and irritable.

“The way he wriggled was too much of an eyesore.”