Even as he gripped and swung his sword, he could not recall when he’d started doing this or why he was doing it.

Like most of Count Leon Bening's “puppets,” Bernardo Renan neither knew nor cared to know. Yet, there was a decisive difference between Bernardo Renan and the other puppets.

Most puppets had, at least unconsciously, sensed that they were hollow, that a vast emptiness lay within their hearts or minds. But since they prioritized the Count's commands and safety above all else, that emptiness hardly mattered to them.

Bernardo Renan, however, was different—he had no sense of any hole within himself. In fact, it was as if such a void had never existed in him at all. He seemed to have been born solely to serve the Count, complete and whole from the beginning.

He had no doubts. He followed the Count's orders not merely out of brainwashing but through a kind of internal “will.”

A sense of compulsion, like a self-imposed command, urged him to obey the Count’s words. Although the Count’s conditioning underpinned his actions, Bernardo ultimately moved according to his own will.

The clopping of hooves echoed through the outskirts of the royal capital. It sounded like multiple carriages racing, reverberating through the cold night. Bernardo took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. Despite the chill of the winter evening, no trace of breath left his mouth as if his blood had frozen.

Bernardo gripped his sword hilt before letting go. The blade let out a low, heavy hum, but his hand, cold and unfeeling, showed no intention of returning to the hilt.

Perhaps there was no need to draw his sword.

If he waited a minute—no, just thirty seconds—his target would appear. Eyes narrowed, he peered into the darkness. The sound of hooves was drawing nearer. Bernardo steadied his breathing. Although he wasn’t holding a weapon, the aura emanating from him was just as deadly.

Closing his eyes, Bernardo released an indescribable killing intent from his loosely clenched fist.

The carriage, likely carrying a baron, rumbled along the outer road. This noble, who had once stood at the center of power among the court aristocracy, was now in a position where he could only tread carefully, having lost favor to Count Bening’s influence. He leaned his arm against the window, mulling over the events of the recent ball.

‘I attempted contact with the royal family’s guard to switch sides, but something doesn’t feel right.’

Seizing the moment during Count Leon Bening’s absence, the royal family had absorbed several nobles who had once been under Bening’s sway. The invisible battle between the royal family and the Bening faction seemed to be nearing its end, with Bening’s victory all but certain after taking control of the palace. However, the recent martial tournament had introduced a new twist.

‘I need assurance. I need certainty that the side I’ve chosen is truly safe.’

The baron swallowed hard. Though the royal family had displayed its strength, he knew their recent gains relied heavily on outside forces.

The Marquess of the Borderlands and Count Ray Agon—these two could rival Count Bening’s power to some extent, but their influence within the capital was limited. It was unclear if they supported the First Princess and First Prince out of genuine loyalty to the throne or simply as a strategic move to become the new power center amid the chaos. No one knew yet.

‘If His Majesty had chosen to call all the nobles back to the capital, I wouldn’t have had to take the risk of siding with the royal family.’

The baron sighed deeply, wrinkles spreading across his brow. Power—was it really worth all this? Yet his body and heart remembered the intoxicating taste of power too vividly, craving it once more.

No, since I’ve chosen my course, I should see it through. After years in the palace, I know I can be an asset to the royal family, not a hindrance.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

The carriage suddenly jolted and came to an abrupt halt. The baron, who had been leaning against the window, accidentally struck himself in the face with his own fist. His servant, seated across from him, quickly opened the small window leading to the driver’s seat.

“What’s happening?”

“My apologies, sir. We had to stop. There’s someone blocking the road…”

Someone blocking the road?

The baron’s face twisted in irritation as he rubbed his stinging cheek. It was probably just a drunk, intoxicated by the New Year festivities. The outskirts of the capital were always filled with such revelers, but on New Year’s Day, when the entire capital seemed to be drinking, it was much worse. The baron clicked his tongue.

Sensing the baron’s displeasure, the driver raised his voice, half to drive the supposed drunk away and half to show the baron he was doing his best.

“Hey there, move! Don’t you see the carriage?”

The figure in the driver’s line of sight didn’t budge. Standing still without uttering a word, he seemed less like a drunk and more like a lunatic. Unable to hold back any longer, the baron leaned out the window. Ahead, silhouetted in the dark, stood a hooded man. His features were obscured, but his shabby appearance suggested he was a vagrant.

“A beggar, I suppose.”

Pathetic. He had heard of vagrants who blocked isolated streets, begging from passing carriages. Clicking his tongue again, the baron opened the door to step out. But at that moment—

Thud, thud.

The hooded man approached. His stride was steady and confident, neither the wobble of a drunk nor the stagger of a madman. Nor did he radiate the cringing demeanor typical of vagrants. The baron’s brow furrowed, a sense of foreboding crawling up his spine.

“H-hey, if you’re going to move, do it already! Or do you want to get run over by the carriage?”

The driver’s voice was tinged with fear. The baron continued watching the approaching man, still peering out the window. Moonlight fell over the alley, revealing the sword strapped to the man’s waist. The baron’s body froze, though only briefly. He quickly opened the carriage door.

Damn it, damn it.

His mind went blank with panic. He could hear his servant calling out behind him, but fear drowned everything else. His face pale with terror, he summoned all his strength and began to run.

“Where are you going, my lord?”

The servant watched as the baron vanished into the darkness, his figure shrinking to a dot in the distance. The servant could only look helplessly at the empty seat opposite him.

“What… what is happening?”

The driver, who had been yelling a moment ago, had fallen silent, his voice trembling with fear. The servant’s mind screamed at him not to look outside, but his body, driven by morbid curiosity, defied him, peeking through the window.

“Blame your master.”

A low voice reached him. Before the servant could register its meaning, he heard another sound.

Crack.

A noise he had never heard before—or rather, he had heard something like it once. The sound of the kitchen maids breaking pig bones back at the baron’s estate. It was like a thick piece of wood being forcibly snapped.

Silence followed. The servant remained frozen, unable to utter a word. He pulled his head back into the carriage, barely daring to breathe. It was surely just his imagination. Any moment now, he’d hear that the man had left, and he could search for his panicked master.

Thud, thud.

The footsteps grew strangely loud. Standing at the open carriage door was the hooded man.

Bang.

Run, I have to run.

It felt like he hadn’t gone far, yet his lungs already screamed for oxygen. Each breath scratched his throat like sandpaper. Why, why was he in this situation? His vision blurred as he stumbled over the slippery, icy streets.

Thud.

The baron tripped and fell in an undignified heap. Had he broken his wrist? The pain shot through his arm as he landed, grasping the ground.

“Argh…”

It’s okay; my legs are fine. I need to get up and keep running. Find shelter, anywhere that can protect me.

“What a sorry sight.”

As he struggled to rise, the baron found himself face-to-face with Bernardo. Dark liquid speckled the edge of the man’s hood. The baron had no desire to know what had happened back there. Bernardo seized his trembling wrist, hauling him up. The baron, his broken wrist gripped tightly, screamed in agony.

But that scream died as they reached the wrecked carriage. A foot protruded from the wreckage, likely belonging to the driver. He had no idea what had happened to his servant, but he doubted anyone had escaped unscathed.

“This… this is…”

“A warning, Baron. I heard you were trying to make contact with the First Prince’s allies at the New Year’s ball.”

Bernardo’s voice was cold and detached. The baron, still held by Bernardo, shrieked in horror.

“You…you think you can get away with this!”

“Whether I get away with it or not is not for you to decide, Baron. That’s for the Count to determine.”

Thud.

Releasing the baron’s arm, Bernardo gripped his head. His hand clenched with terrifying strength, as though about to crush his skull. The baron’s head tilted back, catching sight of Bernardo’s face. The man’s blue eyes gleamed ominously, backed by the moonlight.

“Ngh! Ahh!”

“The Count does not forgive traitors. Even if you flee to the ends of the earth, he’ll find you and make you pay.”

“You… you all really plan to go to war with the royal family…!”

“It’s the royal family that wanted to avoid war, not us. You chose the wrong side.”

Bernardo dragged the struggling baron back to the carriage. The baron, realizing his end was near, accepted his fate with horror.

“Remember, this is all for his cause, Baron.”

“May the royal family… be blessed with divine protection…”

Thud.

Bernardo looked down at the now-lifeless baron. Yes, all in accordance with the Count’s will. Turning away, Bernardo melted back into the shadows of the royal capital’s alleys.

 

“Are you saying the Count treats him specially?”

Maxime’s question elicited a subtle reaction from Adeline—not quite affirmation, yet not a denial either.

“Let’s just say that’s accurate. Whether it’s solely due to Bernardo Renan’s remarkable skill or something else, I couldn’t say.”

Maxime furrowed his brows. A “puppet” given special treatment.

“…I see. Thank you for your hard work.”

Adeline nodded as if it were nothing.

“Is there anything else you’d like to share?”

“There were no further messages from His Majesty. How’s your vision?”

As Maxime looked at her closely, Adeline’s face flushed slightly, confirming that she had indeed regained her sight.

“It’s… it’s fine. Regaining my vision after being blind for so long was disorienting, though. I hadn’t experienced such sensory overload in a long time, so it was confusing.”

As Adeline recounted her experience, she fell silent, watching Maxime. She seemed on the verge of asking something but stopped herself, perhaps waiting for him to prompt her. Finally, she continued, her voice slightly downcast.

“Gradually, the sensations I relied on while blind are fading. Once I fully adjust, I probably won’t be able to detect mana or perceive auras as acutely as before.”

She laughed, a bittersweet smile crossing her face.

“I never found blindness bothersome, but now, seeing you, I don’t think I’d want to return to that darkness.”

Maxime smiled wryly in return. That someone like her had once been a “puppet,” enslaved by the Count’s curse and brainwashing…

“I understand.”

The tension in the air of the capital felt like a fragile egg balanced on a wall, ready to topple at any moment. But for now, at least, they could afford to share a brief smile.

“—Emergency! Urgent news!”

A breathless adventurer burst through the guild’s main entrance.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s so urgent?”

The guild erupted with murmurs as the adventurer, barely able to catch his breath, blurted out his message.

“The First Prince… word is spreading that he…”

Maxime leapt to his feet. In the adventurer’s trembling hands was a tattered piece of paper with bold letters scrawled across it:

[Prince Louis Loire is not of legitimate royal blood!]