41. The Shadow Targeting Her

Roselia placed a dusty model ship on the table, a meaningful expression on her face.

“What do you think, Grandpa?”

“Who are you calling Grandpa?”

“Oh, come on! Doesn’t it make you feel something? Like, ideas bubbling up, and your hands itching to create?”

Roselia’s expectant expression made Count Bernas stare at the model ship before scratching the back of his hand.

“Well, my hand has been itching, but that’s probably just a mosquito bite.”

Roselia let out a deep sigh, her shoulders drooping at the Count’s uninterested response.

At the moment, she was cleaning the dust-laden Bernas mansion. Although she called it cleaning, in reality, she was searching for anything that might jog the Count’s memory while tidying up. It was more about organizing the space where the Count lived, as it was nearly impossible for her to clean the entire sprawling mansion on her own.

As she wiped down the dusty tables and side tables, Roselia noticed a picture frame that had fallen behind a side table. Grunting, she pulled it out.

The black-and-white photo inside showed a young man in a military uniform, standing with a rigid posture. Since photography hadn’t been around for very long, Roselia naturally assumed the man was the Count’s son. She brought the photo over to the Count and asked,

“Is this your son, Grandpa?”

The Count, who had been playing chess alone at the table, glanced at the photo she suddenly thrust in front of him and replied indifferently.

“Yes.”

“Was your son a soldier?”

In fact, the works that made Count Bernas famous as a genius painter were all related to the navy and war. His paintings depicted the survivors of fierce battles raising victory flags, capturing the intensity of those moments in a grand and even sacred manner.

It was likely that his many years as an active naval officer had played a significant role in producing such works.

Hoping that the photo might inspire him to think about his art again, Roselia watched the Count’s face with a hopeful expression.

“Well… compared to me, he’s far from perfect, but he did receive a royal medal. He’s currently commanding the Esciban Navy fleet, the finest in Rugbeljet.”

“But it seems like it’s been a while since he’s been home.”

It was something she could guess just by looking at the state of the mansion.

If the young Viscount had been coming and going, the mansion wouldn’t have ended up in such a state.

“That rascal, no matter how busy he is with the country’s affairs, doesn’t he at least wonder whether his father is dead or alive?”

The Count’s attempt to appear indifferent didn’t hide the fact that he was clearly hurt, his shoulders appearing smaller as he turned away.

Feeling a bit guilty at the sight, Roselia forced a smile and replied,

“He must be very busy.”

Sensing the atmosphere growing heavier, Roselia quickly changed the subject.

“Grandpa, what was it like when you were in the military?”

Actually, Roselia hadn’t expected much when she asked the question. Given that Count Bernas suffered from dementia, his memories of his time as a soldier would likely be hazy at best. Still, she hoped that revisiting those memories might help him recall some inspiration for his art.

To her surprise, however, the Count, who had been lost in thought with a pensive expression, suddenly came alive, like a fish returned to water. His eyes brightened as he began to recount his memories with enthusiasm.

“When I was in my prime, I led dozens of ships across the vast Callio Sea. We fought through rough storms, and even encountered the sea monster Kraken a few times. Thought it was just a rumor or a legend, didn’t you? But it’s real. My men fell victim to it more than once.”

“Oh, really? That’s amazing! Tell me more, Grandpa! What else happened?”

Seeing a glimmer of hope, Roselia exaggerated her reaction, encouraging the Count to continue.

“The fleet I led was unbeatable in those days. We won the Ebelos Civil War and the Battle of Clamman, and the Imperial family even recognized our contributions.”

“Wow, that’s incredible!”

Roselia looked at the Count with a playful admiration, her exaggerated expressions only fueling his excitement.

“The Battle of Clamman involved both land and sea combat. The army was wiped out, so some of the navy had to fight on land. My fleet and I had no choice but to join the ground battle.”

The Count’s face twisted in a grimace, as if the horrors of that time had resurfaced in his mind.

“It was hell… I lost many comrades.”

He lowered his head, falling silent for a moment, lost in the painful memories.

Roselia, concerned about his sudden shift in mood, watched him closely. Just then, the Count slowly raised his head and began looking around, his eyes searching the room.

“Vagnon… Vagnon, where are you? Vagnon?”

“Grandpa?”

“Vagnon!!! If you go that way, you’ll be annihilated!!! We have to abandon the vanguard!!! Tell them to come back!!! Vagnon!!!”

The Count suddenly jumped up, shouting into the empty air as if he were back in the heat of battle. Roselia, alarmed, grabbed his arm and tried to shake him back to reality.

“Grandpa! Please, snap out of it! Grandpa?!”

Despite Roselia’s efforts, the Count continued to shout frantically, as if he were still in the midst of war.

“Retreat the 4th Fleet!!! Damn it!!! Leave the wounded behind!!! Get the survivors back on board!!!”

“Count Bernas!!!”

Fearing the situation might spiral out of control, Roselia gripped his shoulders tightly and forced him to look at her.

Gradually, the wild look in the Count’s eyes began to fade, replaced by confusion.

“Huff… huff…”

“Are you… are you feeling better?”

Roselia asked softly, her voice tinged with concern as she supported the bewildered Count.

But the Count harshly pushed her hands away, his voice low and menacing.

“Get out…”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of my mansion!!! Now!!!”

In a sudden fit of rage, the Count began to throw what little furniture remained in the room. Seeing no other choice, Roselia quickly exited the mansion, her eyes lingering on the door she had just come through, filled with worry for the Count.

But she knew that, for now, it was probably best to leave him alone. With heavy steps, she turned away from the mansion and headed back to the Duke’s estate.

* * *

Through the curtain-shrouded window of a carriage, a woman watched Roselia leave the Count’s mansion, her tone curt as she spoke.

“Is that man really her brother?”

“According to the servant we bribed at the Duke’s estate, yes.”

“Hmph… I can’t find the rabbit I’m after, but a black cat keeps appearing instead.”

Despite her calm voice, a muscular man was draped over her, his hands roaming over her neck and chest. But the woman merely stroked his hair leisurely, as if petting a clingy cat.

The man sitting opposite her, delivering the report, didn’t seem fazed by the scene before him. He was clearly used to the sight of the two entwined figures.

“Hmm… If he’s her brother, then following him might lead us to her. Have you put a tail on him?”

The woman, her tone light and pleased, caressed the face of the man partially undressing her, while addressing the man across from her.

“Well…”

“What? You didn’t tail him?”

Irritation flared in her eyes as she yanked the hair of the man clinging to her. Yet, neither the man at her feet nor the one reporting flinched; both remained focused on their tasks.

“The Duke’s security is extremely tight.”

The man opposite her began to explain, his tone cautious.

“There’s already a shadow assigned by the Duke closely guarding him.”

The woman frowned, puzzled by this information.

“The Duke is protecting a mere servant that closely?”

She stroked the hair of the man kneeling in front of her as she pondered this revelation.

“That’s a bit excessive, even if he is her brother.”

Unimpressed with the man’s attempts to please her, she pushed him away roughly with her foot, muttering in frustration.

“Is it really worth all this trouble just to find her? I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.”

The man she had pushed away now knelt silently on the floor. Ignoring him, the woman fixed her sharp gaze on the man delivering the report.

“For now, keep a close watch on that man.”

“As I mentioned, it’s difficult to tail him…”

“You idiot! Who said anything about following him around? Just stake out the areas he frequents and monitor him from there!”

“Understood.”

The woman huffed in frustration as the man climbed out of the carriage to relay her orders. She stared out the window, murmuring to herself.

“I suppose I’ll have to try to sweet-talk the Duke. If he’s taken in barmaids as mistresses, surely he won’t refuse me, right?”

She pulled the man kneeling beside her back into her embrace, the tension in the carriage rising as their bodies entwined once more. Just then, the driver’s voice interrupted them.

“Viscountess Clément, it’s time to attend the Count of Bleymond’s soirée.”

“Let’s go.”

Her voice, though calm, held a sharp edge as she gave the command.

* * *

Finally finding time for tea as a *domestico* in Claucet’s service, Roselia sat opposite the Duke’s sister, sipping the tea Melda had prepared.

Claucet, dressed in her neat maid’s uniform, puffed out her cheeks and spoke in a sulky voice.

“Where have you been running off to lately? You haven’t been spending any time with me…”

Roselia smiled awkwardly, trying to soothe her.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy lately…”

“Have you been searching for more art pieces?”

Given her role in connecting Lady Eveline to various art pieces through the Marquess of Herden’s daughter, Claucet knew about Roselia’s efforts to collect art.

“Well… something like that.”

In truth, the art wasn’t even created yet, and she was waiting for the Count’s mind to be stable enough to produce it…

“I suppose I can understand if it helps you escape Klaus’s clutches.”

Claucet seemed to view her brother as nothing short of a dangerous beast. Roselia looked at her with a knowing smile, realizing she couldn’t persuade her otherwise.

“There’s no one like you, Lady Claucet.”

As if that were the most obvious thing in the world, Claucet puffed up with pride, lifting her teacup with an air of superiority. Then, as if something had just occurred to her, she lowered the cup and looked at Roselia.

“Oh, by the way, the Crown Princess has invited you to a tea party. Specifically… you, Roselia.”