Chapter 5.2

While commoners could become knights, rebellion was a crime reserved for nobles. Sophie’s lighthearted joke made the two noblemen break out in cold sweat, though Sophie seemed to enjoy their reaction.

“Why not? That place is rumored to be haunted by the ghost of the late-late-late Emperor. Or maybe it was smugglers?”

“Living smugglers are scarier than dead ghosts… Lady Sophie, where do you even hear such stories?”

“Hear them? It’s still a ferry dock, isn’t it? The water level rises this season, so it’s suitable for docking boats.”

“You sound like you’ve done it yourself.”

“I got bitten by mosquitoes there two years ago.”

So, if it wasn’t ghosts or smugglers, what was it? 

Sophie’s persistent questioning made Maurice grimace and retreat. Cyril followed him after a brief pause. In the empty training grounds, Maurice sighed as he selected a sword.

“Really… so nosy about others.”

“Well, I’m the one asking what happened, Lord Argulin.”

“Even you… sigh.”

Normally, Sophie was the only one who called Maurice Argulin “Lord Argulin.” Some said she was petty for holding onto a slip of the tongue about her status during her initiation, but Cyril didn’t think so.

Having escaped the sharp-tongued commoner knight, Maurice picked up another sword and tossed it to Cyril. Cyril didn’t catch it. The clang of the sword hitting the ground was followed by Maurice collapsing as well. Cyril crouched down to sit opposite him.

“What is it? Did you see smugglers and just let them go?”

“No, sigh… I can’t even talk about this…”

After extracting multiple promises of secrecy, Maurice finally spoke.

“Brig brought us a vial, saying it was ‘perfect for our miserable situation.’”

“A vial?”

“He said it was a mosquito repellent developed by Princess Cléran for the summer festival.”

“…Ah.”

Cyril struggled to suppress a grimace. Indeed, it wasn’t something Maurice could casually mention in front of Sophie. The young, healthy, and unmarried Viscount Argulin was going through unnecessary trouble to avoid directly stating what Cyril already knew.

“It had… side effects, you see… I didn’t feel well afterward.”

“Ah, I see…”

Cyril nodded mechanically, his expression blank. Maurice returned a pained look. Without speaking further, the two men communicated through a few glances. Even among men, there were things better left unsaid.

The aftermath was predictable. Maurice probably feigned illness to escape and couldn’t bring himself to return… especially if both had used the repellent. Despite being a principled member of the Royal Knights, Cyril Frey couldn’t help but sympathize with Maurice’s plight. Whether Commander Marcelan would feel the same was another matter… 

Maurice stood up, setting aside the sword he had rested on his knees. He picked up Cyril’s fallen sword and added, with a weary expression:

“Cyril, be careful. You’re especially sensitive to substances like that.”

“I doubt something like that would come my way, but…”

The fact that he had already experienced enough was a secret he wanted to take to his grave.

“Anyway, I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”

“Your fiancée is close to Princess Cléran, and… no, forget I said that.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Thanks.”

It was an entirely inappropriate topic to bring up his fiancée. Cyril once again found himself agonizing over whether he had really thought of Danielle during that night. Maurice Argulin, oblivious to such matters, efficiently finished organizing the weapons and gestured to his colleagues. The annual meeting with the Royal Investigation Bureau to wrap up the summer festival duties awaited.

***

“Well, I’m telling you, he’s definitely a noble. A very high-ranking one, at that.”

“If the young lady of Marquis Odillon’s household says it’s a very high-ranking noble, there can’t be more than a handful of people above that.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes. And you know that’s not what I meant, Senior.”

A man wearing the mask of a mage. The disruptor of a deal whose intentions were unknown, making him all the more dangerous. If it hadn’t been for Princess Cléran’s dirty tricks, they might never have shaken off the “tortoiseshell cat.”

The anti-smuggling task force had turned the entire Royal Investigation Bureau upside down right after the festival ended. This was due to Danielle’s strong insistence that anyone connected to the Mage Tower or possessing exceptional physical abilities should first be investigated within the Knights and the Bureau. Fortunately (though unfortunately for most investigators), the Royal Investigation Bureau was a very strict organization when it came to attendance management. Except for a few who were excluded from duty on the day of the ball, everyone’s whereabouts were accounted for. After confirming exceptions like Katarin, who hosted a party at her home, or Jermi, who was too far away to physically return to the capital, the task force concluded that there were no internal connections within the Bureau. Danielle then insisted on the next step: investigating the Knights.

“No, but how are we supposed to…?”

“I’m not saying we should investigate the entire Knights’ Order! I’m saying the culprit is among them!”

“Ugh.”

Danielle’s argument wasn’t wrong, which left Lawrence pondering further. About a third of the well-trained noble offspring were part of the Knights. Even the conservative Commander Marcelan seemed surprisingly indifferent to eradicating the Knights’ reputation as a prime source of lovers for noblewomen. Perhaps he was avoiding conflict with one of those noblewomen, who happened to be his own sister.

In any case, the investigators cynically thought that the Commander might even feel relieved to learn that his Knights’ well-trained bodies were being used for something other than romantic escapades—even if it was crime.

If it wasn’t the Bureau or the Knights, then those outside these groups would have to be traced individually. Coincidentally, nobles from provincial territories had begun gathering in the capital for the summer festival. Since there was no official list of visiting nobles, the investigation would have to comb through the social scene to identify suspects. Just the thought of it gave Lawrence a headache, prompting him to declare a day of rest and lie down. Of course, “lying down” was a euphemism for taking a break from work under the pretense of attending a regular meeting with the Knights.

“Hey, I’m off to see the Knights you’re so eager to investigate. Keep your eyes wide open and take a good look. If the culprit’s there, great. If not, we’ll start running ourselves ragged tomorrow. It’s all on you, Danielle, okay?”

Thus, Danielle Odillon, the biggest victim of this situation, was left with the task under the guise of “do it if you want to” and the bait of unguaranteed performance reviews and bonuses. She had no one to blame but herself.

At least the “lost item” they had secured turned out to be unrefined spices, the target of smuggling. Ivan had taken a sample to check for any strange additives, but the rest was enough evidence. It was a mess. They were secretly investigating without being able to talk about it or receive a budget, but surely their director would recognize their efforts one day.

Then, right before the annual meeting, a bolt from the blue dropped in the form of a personnel announcement.

“As of today, Godfrey Ingram has been appointed Director of the Royal Investigation Bureau.”

Found him—the man whom even the young lady of Marquis Odillon’s household considered a high-ranking noble. The task force exchanged subtle glances and sighed quietly. Duke Ingram, the lord of a vast southern territory with a clean-cut appearance that somehow evoked discomfort, ignored the Knights standing opposite him and focused on greeting and introducing himself to his new subordinates.

“Ah, yes. Danielle Odillon. Pleased to meet you…”

After completing her awkward introduction, Danielle nudged Lawrence in the ribs and urgently whispered,

‘What about our Director? What about Egir Bouclan?’

‘Well… He’s been reassigned as the Head of the Investigation Cooperation Office’

‘We had a Cooperation Office?’

In other words, they were throwing him a lifeline. Although Egir Bouclan was getting on in years, it was still too early for him to retire to a desk job and prepare for a second life. Former Director Bouclan—now Head of the Cooperation Office—was exchanging greetings with Duke Ingram, wearing his usual affable expression.

What on earth is going on…? 

As Danielle looked around in bewilderment, her gaze met Cyril’s across the room. It was the first time she had seen him since their heated argument and parting on the eve of the festival—twelve days ago. After a tumultuous few days, the anger she had almost forgotten flared up again, and she turned her head sharply. Cyril looked away just a fraction of a second earlier.

‘Looking perfectly fine, isn’t he?’

She wasn’t the least bit curious about whether Cyril had been eating well or living comfortably during the ten days of the festival. Nor was she curious about whether he had attended the ball alone, wearing something more suited to him. From what she had observed, there hadn’t been anyone at the ball who resembled Cyril… but she wasn’t curious about that either. What she was curious about was not that idiot Cyril, but rather the well-being of the Knights’ Commander, who was patiently waiting for the Bureau’s introductory meeting to conclude.

Indeed, Duke Ingram had been keeping His Highness the Prince waiting for over ten minutes while attending to other matters. Everyone lined up on both sides was sweating nervously, except for Marcelan Roigar and Godfrey Ingram, who maintained their composure. Even after Duke Ingram finished greeting the last investigator and turned around, Prince Marcelan remained standing with his arms crossed and one leg propped up. Only after their eyes met for a long moment did he slowly adjust his posture and step forward.

“How long has it been, Duke Ingram? Has it been ten years since you last came to the capital?”

“Twelve years, Your Highness… no, Commander. You’ve grown into an impressive adult.”

“I’m thirty-two this year, Duke. Twelve years ago, I had just completed my initiation into the Knights.”

“That must have been during a particularly tumultuous time for the capital. Now you’ve become the Commander of the Knights—belated congratulations.”

The tension between one man treating the other as a little prince and the other treating him as a transient provincial noble was palpable. The annual summer festival meeting was originally a casual gathering to exchange pleasantries and reaffirm mutual cooperation. No one present had a contingency plan for this kind of situation.

Prince Marcelan quickly attempted to wrap things up with his characteristic smooth demeanor.

“Let’s catch up later, Duke. My sister will likely invite you to a banquet soon, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk then.”

“I greeted His Majesty at the ball. I looked for you then, but you weren’t present, Your Highness.”

“Because I’m the Commander of the Knights.”

Marcelan answered curtly, as if it were obvious, but Duke Ingram seemed as though he had been waiting for that response.

“That’s the problem. I’ve been longing to meet with you to discuss matters as soon as possible, Your Highness, but since I couldn’t do so at the ball, I had to wait for the next opportunity—which is today.”

It wasn’t unusual for the Prince to skip summer balls ever since he had taken on the role of Commander of the Knights. The ball was merely an excuse; the Duke had deliberately waited for this moment. 

What exactly was he planning?