Chapter 1.15

It was strange. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was well past the time when he should have received a letter from Lady Greta Lievo, yet there was no word from her.

Greta and Ragaen exchanged letters every two or three days. While it was always Ragaen replying to Greta’s letters, even that was a significant social activity for him. Ragaen rarely corresponded with anyone unless it was for official matters. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, so why would he bother writing letters?

Every time a letter arrived, Ragaen would read it as if he had been eagerly waiting for it, then write and send a reply. His aide, Jespa, and his butler, Obil, were astonished by this behavior, though Ragaen himself was unaware of their reactions.

For Ragaen, the letters exchanged with Greta had become a small but significant source of joy, akin to collecting premium black sword handkerchiefs from Mount Utmerjin. Even though writing a short reply required hours of thought, he found himself unknowingly looking forward to her letters.

Usually, Greta would send a new letter two or three days after receiving a reply. However, a week had already passed without any word from her. Even while working, Ragaen’s gaze would drift toward the door. He wondered if she had forgotten while reading a book, but then his eyes would once again turn toward the firmly closed door. While sipping tea and gazing out the window, his attention would inevitably shift to the door. 

Why wasn’t Obil opening that door? Could it be that Obil had grown lazy?

For the first time in nearly thirty years, Ragaen felt a sense of restlessness, though he didn’t realize he was waiting for Greta’s letter.

As he stared at the door long enough for his eyes to hurt, there was a knock.

“Your Grace, it’s Obil.”  

Ragaen instinctively stood up and flung open the door.  

“Gasp! Y-Your Grace, you startled me! Is something the matter?”  

On the silver tray in Obil’s hands, there was no sign of the cream-colored envelope he had been waiting for. There were only a small package and some trivial letters. Ragaen felt a deep sense of emptiness, though he didn’t know why.  

“It’s nothing.”  

Saying this, he returned to his seat, his posture somehow drooping.  

Obil suppressed the urge to laugh aloud, clutching his stomach. Recently, Jespa and Obil’s greatest joy had been watching their master eagerly await the arrival of letters every day. They whispered to each other about Ragaen’s behavior.  

“Look at him, Obil. I’m certain our Duke will be married within the year.”  

“Sir Jespa, don’t jinx it. Of course, he’ll marry within the year, but we must be careful with our words.”  

“It seems he’s disappointed again today because no letter came, heh heh.”  

“Sir Jespa, I never thought I’d see the day when our Duke would show such a side of himself. Sniff. It’s moving.”  

“Obil, you’re the one jumping to conclusions. Our Duke still thinks this is just a fan letter, you know.”  

At first, they had been quite worried. Ragaen, who was so socially inept that even his social activities were screened by Jespa, never once showed them the letters he exchanged with Greta. They couldn’t tell what kind of conversation the two were having—or whether it was even a conversation at all. Despite their efforts, they couldn’t sneak a look at the letters. However, seeing that the correspondence had lasted nearly a month, it seemed there was no doubt about Lady Greta’s feelings.  

Obil chuckled silently as he watched Ragaen’s disappointed figure. Still, he didn’t want to tease his master too much, who seemed to be experiencing the thrill of his first romance (or not).  

“Your Grace, Lady Greta sent a small package today.”  

Ragaen’s head shot up.  

So that package was from Lady Greta!  

“Hand it over and leave.”  

Tsk. I was curious about what it was.  

Obil obediently left the room.  

Only after confirming that Obil had exited the office with a sly glance did Ragaen carefully open the small package.  

‘Jespa and Obil are determined to find out everything about Lady Greta. They clearly don’t believe she’s my fan.’  

Thinking thoughts that would have shocked Jespa and Obil had they heard them, Ragaen unwrapped the package. A familiar, refreshing scent immediately wafted to his nose. On top of the small pouch was a postcard with a short letter written on it. Ragaen read the postcard first.  

To His Grace, the Duke of Adantie,  

Hello, Your Grace. If it’s not too much trouble, may I visit you sometime this week?  

P.S. The weather is getting hotter as summer approaches. I’ve sent a small gift that I hope will help Your Grace, who trains under the sun, stay healthy.  

—Sincerely, Greta Lievo  

Even before opening the pouch, he knew what was inside. It was leaves from the Dadian tree. These leaves, which carried a cooling property, were a common folk remedy used by mercenaries to endure the summer heat. In the past, Ragaen, who was sensitive to heat, always carried a handful of Dadian leaves with him during the summer. Wealthy nobles had no need for such methods, so how did Greta know about this?  

Although summer had not yet fully arrived, Ragaen was already sleeping half-dressed without even covering himself with a blanket. Tonight, he decided, he would place the leaves inside his pillowcase.  

The packaging carried the distinct, refreshing scent of the Dadian leaves. The summers when he had smelled this scent were not particularly good times. Yet, for some reason, he felt good.  

Ragaen had already sent a reply to Greta, saying she could visit him anytime after work hours. As usual, his reply was brief. Greta responded two days later, stating she would visit the commander’s office of the Knight Order.  

However, he couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. Just as he had stared at the door when her letter didn’t arrive for a week, Ragaen now found himself frequently glancing at the first drawer, where he kept her letters.  

Since Greta had gifted him the embroidered handkerchief, they had only exchanged letters and had never met in person. For Ragaen, this was natural. They had no reason to meet. Yet nearly a month later, Greta had asked to meet him.  

Why did she want to meet?  

Ragaen felt a bit nervous. But this nervousness was different from what he usually experienced.  

He didn’t realize that this feeling was called anticipation.  

***

Greta’s days flew by so quickly that she felt like crying. In that whirlwind of time, Greta was utterly immersed in the letters bearing the name Ragaen Sol Adantie.  

When she first wrote to Ragaen, she had sent the letter impulsively. Afterward, she felt something was wrong and hurriedly asked her friend Tara if it was okay to send such a letter. Tara’s response was scolding.  

“You’re usually the type to keep your letters short and to the point, but how could you write something so short? No, the problem isn’t the length. Normally, letters follow a structure: greetings, weather, a roundabout introduction to the main point, thanks, and closing remarks. But you wrote, ‘Hello. I like this; what do you like? Goodbye.’ Even the Crown Prince wouldn’t have received a fan letter this short when he was seven!”  

“Sniff. Do you think he’ll reply?”  

“If the Duke isn’t a terrible person, he’ll reply! But the real problem is what happens next. For now, just wait for his reply and decide after reading it.”  

Contrary to her expectations, Ragaen’s reply came very quickly. However, neither Greta nor Tara, who saw the reply, could figure out what Ragaen thought of her. His reply was as brief as her letter.  

“It seems the Duke is like you—he keeps letters short and to the point.”  

“D-Do you think so? Or maybe he didn’t want to reply and kept it short?”  

“Did you write short letters because you didn’t want to send them?”  

“No, of course not.”  

“Exactly. Just wait and see. Send another letter in two or three days.”  

Thus began their correspondence, filled with confusion. Greta wasn’t confident, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t write long, elegant letters. She stuck to her usual style, and surprisingly, Ragaen replied to every single one of her letters.  

While his replies were too brief to suggest any particular affection, they were impressively consistent.  

Around the time their correspondence had lasted nearly a month, an event occurred that shook Greta’s peaceful, monotonous life.  

“Isabelle…?”  

“Greta, it’s been a while. You’ve grown into such a fine lady!”  

Her eldest sister, who had only sent the occasional letter to let them know she was alive, had returned. And not through the front door—but through Greta’s bedroom window!  

“Isabelle, you haven’t changed a bit! It’s been years! How have you been? And why did you come in through the window?”  

“Well, there’s a reason for that. Could you quietly call Eurika and our parents for me?”  

Following her sister’s instructions, Greta dutifully fetched her parents and her second sister. As soon as they arrived, Isabelle dramatically threw off her cloak.  

“Ta-da! The heir of the Lievo family has arrived!”  

Isabelle pointed to her flat stomach. Everyone present immediately understood what she meant.  

The Countess of Lievo nodded, comforting her husband, who was tearing up.  

“I told you, Honey. I always said Isabelle would come back someday. At least she came before giving birth, right? So don’t cry. Isabelle is healthy, isn’t she?”  

“Oh my goodness, Isabelle! For you to return, so healthy, sniff… This father of yours, really, sniff, has nothing more to wish for, sniff-sniff. Of course, little one, I’m glad to have you too, waaaaaah!”  

After a brief tearful reunion, limited to her father, the situation calmed down.  

“I plan to quietly head to the estate in a little while to give birth. I’ll stay only until the baby is weaned.”  

A few years ago, when Eurika was repeatedly miscarrying and declared infertile, Isabelle had promised her younger sister that she would bear an heir for her. The reason for her return after so many years was solely to fulfill that promise.  

“But Isabelle, did you really have to sneak in? Why did you come in secretly?”  

“That’s true. Isabelle, did you perhaps—”  

When Eurika narrowed her eyes and glared at Isabelle, Isabelle avoided her gaze.  

“Is there a problem with the biological father?!”  

“Well… it’s not exactly a problem, but he’s a bit young and, well, a bit of a nuisance.”  

“There is a problem with the biological father! If you want that child to become mine, you’d better sort out the issue with the biological father properly. I don’t want to get into a messy custody battle.”  

In truth, Isabelle’s return with a storm brewing in her belly had nothing to do with Greta. As the youngest of five siblings, Greta was far removed from matters like heirs. Moreover, Eurika couldn’t have children, and Isabelle, though not inheriting the family, was the legitimate eldest daughter of Lievo. Therefore, Eurika adopting Isabelle’s child was both logical and ideal. The complicated matters to follow were for their parents and the involved parties to handle. Greta had neither the need nor the right to interfere.  

Nevertheless, Isabelle’s return felt incredibly significant to Greta, all because of something Eurika had once said.  

‘This sister knows how to pluck flower-like men but not how to climb on and tame tiger-like men. That’s something your eldest sister would know better, but who knows if she’s even alive.’

Eurika had clearly stated that Isabelle would know how to “tame tiger-like men by climbing on top of them.” Although Greta, blinded by love, didn’t see Ragaen as particularly tiger-like, Isabelle undoubtedly knew far more about the matter than Eurika, who had fallen for a flower-like Edward. Moreover, since Ragaen had lived the life of a mercenary, and Isabelle had been a mercenary for years, she might know a lot about that world as well.