“You… you…!”

Heremon was so stunned he could barely form words, managing only to point a trembling finger. Karsten, on the other hand, looked as though he were enjoying the reaction.

“So, the two of you do know each other?”

Heremon hastily shook his head, avoiding Karsten’s gaze.

“N-no. I don’t.”

Seeing him deny it so desperately, even after being caught, Karsten let out a dry laugh. Moments later, his expression hardened completely as he seized Heremon by the jaw.

“According to reports from the Hueta Empire, they’ve never supplied us with any luxury cloth.”

Karsten used the Foldron information network to look into news from the Hueta Empire in the far north. The results revealed that they had never exported the fine fabric that Heremon claimed to have imported under official northern permits.

“And yet… we received that fabric. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“T-that’s—!”

“I had to find out what was really going on, so I followed the trail.”

Karsten’s lips curled into a sharp smile as he looked Heremon squarely in the eye.

“And that’s when I caught this man.”

“…!”

“He confessed right away—no need to apply any pressure.”

“You—!”

Heremon’s jaw tightened as he glared at the man, eyes filled with murderous fury.

“He said the cloth delivered to the ducal house wasn’t high-quality fabric imported through official northern trade at all—it was cheap material used in the western regions, passed off as luxury goods.”

Ever since suspecting the close ties between the Rediac Merchant Company and the Marquisate of Etro, Karsten had been piecing together information little by little. The first truth he uncovered was that the ‘luxury’ cloth produced by the Rediac Company was actually inexpensive fabric from the West. The company’s coffers had swelled with the profit from that deception. As for where those amassed funds were going, Karsten didn’t need to think too hard to find out.

His gaze bore into Heremon.

“Do you have anything else to say to me, Heremon?”

Avoiding his eyes, Heremon stammered,

“I-I know nothing of this. And that man… I truly… don’t… know him!”

Just as Karsten had expected, he refused to confess to the end.

In the next instant, Karsten grabbed the back of the man’s neck from Benon’s grasp and thrust him forward, directly in front of Heremon.

“Really?”

There was a trace of madness in his low voice.

Heremon’s shoulders trembled before he finally lowered his head in defeat.

“Why are you lowering your head? Do you have so much to say?”

It was as good as admitting that Heremon knew the truth all along.

Releasing his grip on the man’s neck, Karsten spoke in a leisurely tone.

“In that case, we should review the terms of the contract. Benon.”

At his curt summons, Benon immediately took a scroll from inside his coat and handed it to Karsten.

It was the fabric supply contract that Karsten and Heremon had personally drawn up.

Unrolling it, Karsten’s eyes fixed on Heremon as he recited a clause aloud.

“If Party B delivers goods that do not comply with the terms of the contract, they shall pay a penalty amounting to ten times the sum received.”

Once everything was in place, Karsten deliberately told Heremon that he needed a large quantity of fabric, on the condition that payment would be made in advance. His aim was simple: just as they had drained the ducal house’s storerooms, he would do the same to theirs.

Karsten’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Heremon, I trust you’re familiar with that clause?”

Heremon could not muster a single reply.

“Benon. Seize control of the entire Rediac Trading Company immediately and confiscate its assets.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

After Bennon had left, Heremon began silently counting on his fingers, trying to calculate how much he would have to pay the House of White. When he reached the total, his face turned pale and he collapsed to the floor in despair.

This feeling soon passed, however, as another thought took shape in his mind — one that drained all colour from his face.

Noticing this, Karsten gave a faint, knowing laugh, leaning close to whisper in Heremon’s ear.

“What are you thinking about, Heremon?”

“…”

“Why? Are you wondering how you’ll explain this to your master?”

At the chilling edge in his voice, Heremon’s body shook violently.

“Shall I offer you some advice, then?”

“What… do you mean?”

“How you plan to make excuses to your master.”

Heremon’s face turned ashen as he silently listened.

“But then… do you really think they’ll even agree to see you?”

Karsten smirked at the sight of his fear-stricken expression.

💙💙💙 💙💙💙

Meanwhile, Jerron was seated in the marquis’s study, absorbed in his work, when a man burst in, breathless, and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“What? Is that true?”

Jerron’s voice rose instantly after hearing him.

“Yes, my lord. The House of White has issued an order to seize control of and confiscate all assets of the Rediac Merchant Company.”

“Ha… d*mn it all!”

Jerron slammed his desk in a sudden fit of anger.

The moment passed quickly, and he sank heavily back into his chair, waving the man away.

“Fine… I understand. You may go.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Once the man had gone, Jerron began nervously bouncing his leg.

What troubled him most was the thought that Karsten might learn the political funds used to support the crown prince had been acquired illegally through the Rediac Merchant Company.

Now that the company was firmly in Karsten’s grasp, both Jerron and anyone tied to him would have to tread with extreme caution.

‘What am I going to do now…?’

It was only a matter of time before this reached the empress’s ears.

Jerron buried his face in both hands, struggling to figure out how to contain the crisis—when the study door suddenly swung open and Sierra entered.

“Father! Are you busy?”

At the sound of his daughter’s voice, bright and clear as rolling beads of jade, Jerron managed a faint smile.

Sierra skipped over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, kneading them lightly.

“Father, tomorrow’s already the Imperial Hunting Tournament.”

“Yes. Are you fully prepared?”

“Of course!”

The bright, lively voice of his daughter seemed to lift Jerron’s spirits. He patted the hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment. Hearing the voice of his cherished daughter was enough to instantly sweep away his troubles.

“But… you haven’t forgotten our promise, have you?”

He had been thinking of taking a short rest, but Sierra’s next words made him open his eyes.

“Promise?”

“Oh, Father—you know. The engagement with His Grace the Duke!”

When the engagement was mentioned, Jerron pressed his fingers to his brow and groaned.

On that day, after Karsten declared that he would not go ahead with the marriage, Jerron left the drawing room to find Sierra sitting on the floor, crying uncontrollably.

The sight of her tore his heart apart. When he caught sight of Karsten’s retreating back, he felt a surge of fury.

Since then, Jerron had tried to persuade his daughter to abandon the idea.

But—

‘I don’t care. I’m going to marry His Grace the Duke.’

Even after such a blatant rejection, Sierra’s stubbornness had not wavered.

Seeing her resolve, Jerron had resorted to a bold move.

‘If the Duke of White attends this year’s Imperial Hunting Tournament, then I’ll reconsider.’

He knew perfectly well that Karsten would never set foot there. Since inheriting the ducal seat, Karsten had not attended the tournament once in the past two years.

He was certain that he would never attend in future, either. Sierra must have known that, yet she wore a triumphant smile for some reason.

“Father, you promised.”

Jerron regarded her with a worried expression.

“Sierra.”

“You promised me you’d reconsider if he shows up tomorrow!”

Planting a quick kiss on his cheek, Sierra slipped out of the office.

Once she was gone, Jerron sank into his chair with a groan.

‘She’s a child who should grow up cherished and loved by someone far better…’

Why was she clinging so desperately to Karsten?

Jerron couldn’t decide whether to prioritize his standoff with Karsten or his daughter’s feelings.

‘Either way, the Duke of White has already drawn his sword against us.’

In this situation, entrusting his precious daughter to him was unthinkable.

‘No… I have to find a way to change Sierra’s mind.’

For now, that was the best course of action.

‘Besides, after the humiliation that her father suffered at the hunting tournament, there’s no way that the Duke of White would ever set foot there again, given his temperament.’

Knowing the man’s nature well, Jerron allowed himself a small measure of relief.

‘Still… why did Sierra…’

Why had she spoken with such confidence? The image of his overly triumphant daughter lingered in his mind.