Philip truly wanted to cry.

According to plan, he should have been in Feltham right now, holding Abigail’s hand and making eternal vows before a pastor.

But where was he instead? In a filthy alley of an unfamiliar city, reeking of urine.

He recalled the last image of Abigail. That anxious look in her eyes as she watched him leave in a hurry.

He knew well where her anxiety stemmed from.

Throughout their courtship and even after his proposal, Abigail, despite her happiness, had constantly been watching his reactions.

“Are you… really sure I’m good enough for you?”

From that short question, Philip could tell how deeply the pity and contempt Abigail had received from others had wounded her.

Even in what should have been her happiest moment, Abigail still thought of herself as inadequate and lacking.

That’s why Philip had put his heart into the wedding preparations. He didn’t want Abigail to feel any inadequacy.

He knew that even if she had less than others, she would accept it as her due and say nothing.

And yet…

Philip unconsciously reached to grab Ryan’s collar but then lowered his hand.

He knew that the disruption of all his plans wasn’t really Ryan’s fault.

But throughout the ship journey, he had been wandering around looking for somewhere to vent his frustration. Ryan just happened to be the unfortunate one greeting him.

As Philip kept rubbing his face in embarrassment at his disgraceful behavior, unable to say anything, Ryan spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

“……”

Philip felt ashamed at an apology from someone who had done nothing wrong. After a long sigh, he thr*st his face toward Ryan.

“Just hit me.”

He was asking to receive back the punch he had thrown at Ryan earlier.

Without hesitation, Ryan threw a punch at Philip.

Thwack!

With a loud sound, Philip staggered backward.

A passerby near the alley looked over, thinking they might witness an interesting spectacle, but seeing that Philip merely staggered without fighting back, clicked their tongue and continued on their way.

Philip rubbed his aching jaw. Thanks to Ryan’s unhesitating punch, there was no longer any debt between them.

“Thanks for coming.”

Philip nodded at Ryan’s belated greeting of welcome and looked around.

Despite being the capital’s harbor, Gilia’s port was quiet, having lost its vitality. This made it good for observing people passing by.

After confirming there was no one else around and checking several more times, Philip finally took out an envelope from inside his coat and handed it to Ryan.

Ryan immediately examined the envelope.

Even though the bearer was Philip, he had to check for any signs that it might have been opened, following protocol.

Before leaving, Baron Stanford had told Ryan:

“We don’t know who might be an enemy spy. Trust no one. Not your friends, not me, not even Her Majesty’s second son, the Duke.”

When he heard those words, Ryan had felt a sense of despair.

It meant that even the most confidential information was leaking to enemy countries, and they still had no idea who was responsible.

After examining the envelope, Ryan was relieved. There were no signs it had been opened. The secret mark that only Baron Stanford and Ryan knew about was also intact.

Philip, without asking if Ryan was doubting him, quietly waited for Ryan to finish his inspection.

“Go ahead and open it.”

Philip said this and turned around. Ryan quickly examined the letter inside the envelope.

The letter was written on black paper with blue ink, deliberately done to prevent anyone from reading the contents by holding it up to light before it reached Ryan.

On the black paper, blue ink.

Barely visible at first glance, but when tilted slightly toward sunlight, the trace of ink would shine faintly, making it readable.

The letter was brief.

S under verification. High probability. Purpose unclear. Move.

As soon as he confirmed the contents, Ryan said to Philip:

“Duville 389.”

After saying only that, Ryan immediately turned and left the alley, leaving Philip behind as if they were strangers.

Walking onto the main street, Ryan threw the letter into one of the bonfires that job-seekers had lit here and there along the road.

The black paper flared up instantly and crumbled to ash, as if it had been ash all along.

The two who had parted like strangers met again deep into the night.

After hearing someone enter the adjacent room, Ryan waited a moment, then knocked on the wall.

Knock knock.

From the other side came three knocks in a slightly different rhythm.

At that sound, Ryan pushed aside the bedside drawer. Behind it was a small square door in the wall, just big enough for a person to crawl through.

When he opened it, Philip immediately crawled through from the other side into Ryan’s room.

“Whew, it’s been hectic.”

The strong smell of alcohol that hadn’t completely worn off emanated from Philip as he muttered this.

When Ryan clicked his tongue, Philip explained defensively:

“You know the best way to gather information is to hang around in taverns. I just splashed some alcohol on myself and pretended to be drunk.”

Philip was quite proficient in the Gilian language, though not as fluent as Ryan.

But in longer conversations, it was impossible to completely hide his Albion accent.

In such cases, pretending to be drunk and deliberately slurring his words would make others assume he was just a country bumpkin from some distant place, causing them to let down their guard.

“It cost me some money for drinks, but well…”

It wasn’t too expensive a price to pay for gathering information while naturally mimicking the other person’s accent.

“So, what do we do now?”

Philip asked Ryan, shaking his hair that reeked of cheap alcohol.

“What did they tell you in the military?”

“What else? They told me to follow Colonel Wilgrave’s orders.”

That really was the entirety of the orders Philip had received.

“Of course, I know the general situation. The repositioning of Gilian troops too. The question is when they’ll move toward Albion… With that many troops gathered, they can’t just sit still, so it must be very soon now.”

Ryan nodded.

It was the dead of winter. Even though Gilia was abundant in food, production had decreased due to the prolonged war.

Moreover, Albion had deliberately demanded additional food as war reparations to prevent the army from mobilizing.

Despite this, Gilia had managed to reorganize its army and distribute troops to cities along the coastline close to Albion.

Ryan unfolded a map he had kept under the bed.

Numbers were written below the coastal cities. These were Ryan’s rough calculations of the gathered military forces based on various reports.

“They’ve deliberately gathered and stationed soldiers who are angry after losing family or comrades in the war.”

Normally, this was a practice avoided by the military after a war ended.

Post-war anger tends to manifest as negative heat rather than positive reactions.

“My friend went to Lensk too. He was grinding his teeth saying he’d kill all Albion soldiers on sight… If I gathered just my acquaintances there, all the heads of Gilia’s high officials would roll.”

It had been the right decision not to ignore what one job-seeking veteran had said.

Concerned by those words, Ryan had continued gathering information and confirmed that the Gilian military was deliberately assembling soldiers who were still mentally trapped in the war, unable to manage their anger and depression.

Their purpose was obvious.

When the attack order came down and war began again, they would stand at the very front, spreading their anger to those who hesitated, and shouting for them to charge.

Gilia had lost much. And those standing at the front lines were people who had nothing more to lose.

They were individuals who wouldn’t hesitate to throw themselves into the fire to make everyone else share their fate.

“The homeland seems to be using the information I sent to identify the spy and gather concrete evidence. They’re probably waiting a bit longer to root out the entire network.”

‘Why?’

People who commit acts of treason always have clear reasons.

Either they’re filled with anger because they feel their abilities weren’t recognized, or they believe the other side appreciates them more and work to gain their trust.

If not those, then betrayal or the sacrifice of those close to them becomes the reason for treason.

‘Lady Sinclair, why on earth would you?’