Chapter 2 – Whether To Marry or Not, It’s Fine Either Way

The summer in the capital was particularly hot and humid. The city was crisscrossed by the continent’s largest and longest river, the Elder, along with three tributaries. Long ago, the first base of the Roigar Royal Family had been established by the smallest of these tributaries. Now, it remained only as a marshy dock.

The guards and knights stationed at this dock, a cultural heritage site and a temple of power, were driven nearly insane by the swarms of mosquitoes that thrived in this season. However, for all the other citizens of the capital, summer was an exciting time of year.

Merchants stocked their warehouses with textiles and food, while mages filled theirs with ice and fireworks. New music sought concert halls, and new plays wandered the streets in search of investors. To forget the maddening weather, people chose to “go mad just a little” themselves. It seemed like a natural response. Despite being a season when food spoiled quickly, no one went hungry. Despite the weather making tempers short, people held hands and kissed passionately. The Royal Festival, which carved out ten days at the peak of summer, was fast approaching.

“So, they’re saying the oh-so-great Knights will handle palace security during the festival.”

“Come on, I’ve told you a few times already—it’s just the usual posturing they do every year. They’re actually asking for help.”

“Posturing? Give me a break. Even in high society, they don’t twist their words like this.”

Danielle Odillon, an investigator and the youngest member of the Royal Investigation Bureau, was clearly upset. She threw the official letter from the Royal Knights, written on fine paper, onto the table. Katarin, seated at the end of the conference table, picked up the letter with a wry smile.

“Would you like some tea, Unnie?”

“Ah, now that’s the kind of language you use in high society… Is that your way of telling me to calm down?”

“Miss Martel, please stay out of this. Interns shouldn’t be fetching tea. I’ll make it myself, so just have a cup and calm down…”

“It’s hot!”

Danielle slammed the table in frustration at her senior investigator’s reprimand. Of course, Senior Investigator Lawrence Weiss had no intention of yielding to his headstrong junior.

“You didn’t complain last year or the year before. You’re only mad now because Cyril Frey brought that letter, aren’t you?”

“Senior!”

Katarin couldn’t hold back any longer and covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. Danielle, unable to contain her anger, buried her face in the table, her lush black hair spilling over the documents. Lawrence pulled a few sheets of paper from under her hair.

“The Royal Knights’ most hated festival duty is guarding the Roigar dock, and second is delivering these letters. They make such a fuss about not bowing to anyone but His Majesty the King, so we should be generous and let it slide. Look, they even attached a detailed schedule of shifts and cooperation zones.”

“If they hate it so much, they should just drop dead. Did you even read that thing? It’s infuriating…”

“Ah, well, I admit it’s particularly condescending this year.”

Delivering the official letter requesting cooperation for palace security during the summer festival was a tradition decided by lottery within the Knights. It was likely that when Cyril Frey was selected, someone mischievously tampered with the contents of the letter. 

Poor guy. 

Lawrence scratched his head, silently thinking that people were being too harsh on Danielle and Cyril.

The Knights and the Bureau had always been natural rivals. When the capital’s vigilante group, whose position had always been precarious, eventually yielded to the royal authority and became the Royal Investigation Bureau, it was only natural that the Knights, previously the sole sword of the Royal Family, would protest.

To the Knights, the vigilantes were nothing more than local thugs. To the vigilantes, the Knights were bloodthirsty hounds. The relationship soured irreparably when the first Bureau Chief, Count Bouclan (a distant ancestor of the current Chief, Egir Bouclan), remarked during a state council meeting, ‘What are the Knights still doing here now that there’s no war? Shouldn’t they just go home?’

However, since both groups served the same king, they couldn’t truly become enemies. Over the course of about a hundred years, sensible individuals from both sides established loose principles for work division and cooperation. For example, crimes tried in the Royal Court fell under the Knights’ jurisdiction, while fugitives from other territories were handled by the Bureau. These conventions gradually accumulated. During events like the summer festival, which required a large security force, the two groups would engage in some token disputes before calmly collaborating. Their rivalry had become something of a game—except for exceptions like Danielle and Cyril.

“There’s really no need to take this so personally.”

Danielle had joined the Bureau solely because Cyril Frey had chosen the Knights. She had preferred wasting her natural talent for swordsmanship over working in the same organization as her fiancé. Her decision, which reignited the dormant rivalry between the two groups, was primarily fueled by a handful of petty Knights who felt personally insulted.

Looking down at Danielle’s luxurious, albeit slightly stifling, black hair, Lawrence silently cursed those rude Knights. No matter how much they claim to hate each other, in a year or two, they’ll be married and living under the same roof. Stirring up conflict for their own amusement would only jeopardize the peace of that future household.

In fact, seeing how they stuck together when necessary, they seemed to get along better than most people in arranged marriages. 

Speaking of which…

Lawrence suddenly remembered something and called out to Danielle.

“Investigator Odillon, weren’t you invited to the ball on the seventh day of the festival? With… your fiancé?”

“Oh.”

At that moment, the intern investigator Katarin, who had taken it upon herself to fetch tea, placed wooden cups in front of them. Danielle reached out hesitantly for the cup and raised her head.

“I was invited. I don’t really want to go, though.”

“If you skip it without a good reason, Princess Cléran might get upset. She’s quite fond of you.”

“Why would Her Highness like me? She probably just finds this ridiculous situation amusing.”

At least she wasn’t outright refusing to go. Danielle accepted her senior’s offer to clear her schedule for the seventh day. The Royal Ball, the highlight of the festival, invited all capital nobles and officials of a certain rank. However, Knights and Bureau members often needed their colleagues’ cooperation to attend.

“This year, it’ll just be you and the Chief making a brief appearance… Miss Martel is still an intern, so…”

“Please, call me Katarin, Senior.”

“Enjoy the special treatment while it lasts, Miss Martel. Once the formal appointments are announced this fall, we won’t comfort you even if you cry.”

“Senior Danielle never cried, though.”

Katarin Martel, the unofficial youngest member of the Bureau and a key witness in the Odillon family attack twelve years ago, had followed Danielle into the Bureau, becoming her devoted admirer. At just nineteen years old, the intern investigator looked nothing like a proper investigator—soft and petite, more like a young lady. Lawrence always found it fascinating how someone like her could be close friends with the fiery and impulsive Danielle. Smiling sweetly like sugar, Katarin finished her tea in two quick sips and stood up. It was time for the intern to leave for the day.

“I’ve organized the case you mentioned the other day. Here’s the summary and the list, and the reference materials are in that box over there. Take a look when you can.”

“Oh, the smuggling case… Ow!”

“You idiot, don’t say it out loud!”

Lawrence smacked his junior investigator hard on the back. The sound of damp clothes sticking to sweaty skin was louder than the yelp. Quickly glancing at the office door to ensure it was closed, Lawrence lowered his voice.

“How many times do I have to tell you that the task force work is top secret? Be careful, just in case.”

“I know, I know! It’s not like there’s anyone else here but us…”

“Oh, sure, you’ve got a loud mouth but still have something to say for yourself? I hope Miss Martel doesn’t pick up your habits.”

Grumbling under her breath, Danielle eventually fell silent. Lawrence, patting her shoulder gently this time, chuckled softly. Despite his scolding, Danielle Odillon had been the Bureau’s top performer in recent years. She possessed physical skills coveted even by the Knights, a sharp mind, unwavering diligence, and an occasional reckless competitiveness. 

All of this made her an invaluable asset to the Bureau, which was often filled with people too cautious for their own good. And this year, she had even brought in a valuable new recruit who perfectly complemented her weaknesses. It was no wonder she was openly called “the star of the Bureau.”

As Lawrence saw the valuable recruit off for the day, he glanced outside the door once more. Danielle, now seated upright with her once-disheveled hair tied back, was flipping through the documents Katarin had organized. Lawrence squinted as he read along with her.

“How’s it looking? Are you getting a sense of the flow?”

“About three places. Here and here… The textile guild’s funds seem to have dried up around this point.”

“None of these guys are connected to each other at all. The guild leader—Jermi—said he’d look into it further.”

Lawrence placed the box of reference materials in front of the alcove. Danielle rolled up her sleeves and spread the documents across the table. The idle chatter about the Knights ended there. It was time to earn their overtime pay.