IHHLU Chapter 41

“Ah, that’s right.”

 

Erschein spoke as if he had just remembered.

 

“You’ve been going on about wanting to be a docent for a while now. Glad to hear that worked out.”

 

Even though he was covered in wounds, looking as if he could stop breathing at any moment, Erschein’s voice carried a faint sense of joy and ease, as if he were genuinely pleased for his friend.

 

“The Imperial Museum, huh? You must get your fill of high-society women there… Whether they’re inside the paintings or outside of them.”

 

And even as pain weighed him down, he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

 

“I did see them in droves.”

 

Benjamin shook his head, thinking, Typical Erschein Ruger.

 

“How is it?” Erschein asked.

 

“The women?”

 

“You know what I’m asking.”

 

“???…”

 

“The paintings!”

 

Still as obsessed with art as ever—of course, he was asking about the paintings.

 

“Oh! The paintings!”

 

A rare spark of life flickered in Erschein’s eyes as he waited for his friend’s answer.

 

Benjamin hesitated, wondering how to describe that distant, almost otherworldly realm that his friend longed for. In the end, he summed it up in a single sentence.

 

“None of them are as good as yours.”

 

“…Do I owe you money or something?”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Benjamin chuckled, ready to give Erschein a playful shove but stopped himself when his friend’s gruesome wounds came into view. “I truly mean it.”

 

The aristocratic air Benjamin carried was nothing but a carefully crafted façade—something he had learned to display to survive after growing up on the streets, with nothing to his name but the distant trace of noble blood in his veins.

 

But Erschein’s talent was real.

 

“…Just, you know, you should—” Benjamin ruffled his neatly combed hair, as if feeling a little guilty for saying this. Then he added, “You know what I mean… Just, do well, okay?”

 

And when Erschein let out a small laugh at that, Benjamin understood why.

 

Erschein had everything he lacked—pure talent, passion, and an almost indescribable stubbornness, yet….

 

“I genuinely want you to succeed,” Benjamin said with a sigh.

 

“Thanks.” he replied as he pressed down on Benjamin’s head to get up, tousling his jet-black hair.

 

The affectionate gesture made Benjamin frown, shielding his head as he looked up at his taller friend. But Erschein simply smiled and walked past him.

 

Then almost by habit, he sat down in front of the easel, and Benjamin silently watched the solitary artist’s back.

 

His hands were slower than usual.

 

Is he lost in another painting? That thought crossed Benjamin’s mind as he stood up.

 

The charcoal moving busily between his fingers was an unspoken signal for him to leave.

 

Taking advantage of his friend’s complete absorption in his painting, Benjamin placed a few silver coins on the old drawer and walked toward the door. He paused as he reached for the doorknob.

 

It was because of something he had seen earlier—a certain painting. Letting out a deep sigh, muttering about how he could never be a great man, Benjamin cleared his throat and spoke.

 

“Hey, Ruger. About that noblewoman….”

 

At those words, Erschein’s hand twitched.

 

To think that someone could unsettle even this stubborn man, who cared for nothing but his paintings—just how remarkable was she?

 

…Right, that noblewoman. Benjamin mulled it over in his mind.

 

‘They say she escaped from Roam. That’s why the streets are in such an uproar. Every corner is filled with people in black uniforms. If you go out now, you might run into her…’ He wanted to say but stopped himself from saying it. After all, this was his dear friend.

 

“Never mind.”

 

Benjamin casually brushed off the conversation.

 

“…The streets are chaotic, so just stay home if you can.”

 

Then without waiting for a response, he quickly closed the door and stepped outside.

 

His eyes caught the sky, glowing with a reddish hue as if the sunset was about to set the world on fire.

 

[Look at the people on the streets.] A voice echoed in his mind.

 

He recalled a time when that same sky had been blue. The hill, the canvas, and the two figures from his memories wavered in his mind.

 

[It must be nice, living without worries, don’t you think?]

 

Benjamin had smiled so purely back then.

 

When Erschein agreed with a casual remark, Benjamin had let out a hearty laugh before flopping onto the grass, resting his head on his arms.

 

[What choice do we have?]

 

His dark eyes reflected the vast, endless blue sky.

 

[We’ll have to make the ground our bed and the sky our blanket—lost in the madness of painting.]

 

Benjamin walked in silence, recalling the memories of when he was seventeen, back when he knew nothing.

 

Dreams? What nonsense. People only say such things because they don’t know about life.

 

As Benjamin was about to pay for the carriage he hired to return to his newly acquired estate, he froze.

 

Something he shouldn’t have seen zoomed past him.

 

The Lambert family.

 

A carriage bearing the Lambert family’s crest sped past him.

 

Isn’t that where Erschein used to work?

 

Clink!

 

A few copper coins slipped from his fingers and bounced off the cobblestone street.

 

“Milord, you dropped your…”

 

The coachman bent down to pick up the coins but by the time he straightened up to hand them over, Benjamin was already gone.

 

“Milord?”

.

.

“Huff…… Huff….”

 

Gasping for breath, Benjamin ran and ran.

 

Fortunately, the carriage only passed by Erschein’s house and continued elsewhere.

 

Letting out the breath that had been stuck in his throat, Benjamin thought to himself.

 

Could he really be sure it won’t come back here…?

 

Fragments of scenes much like this one flashed through his mind.

 

Whenever noble lords deigned to spend their precious time prowling around his friend’s home, nothing good ever followed.

 

It always ended with these jealous men venting their fury on his friends. They didn’t take kindly to having their wives’ attention stolen—even momentarily.

 

Thinking this, Benjamin shoved open the back door of Erschein’s shabby house. And just as he was about to leave after glancing at the few silver coins from earlier, his eyes fell on the painting he had taken note of the. He snatched it up and bolted out.

 

Please.

 

Please.

 

May the Duchess, who is currently out there, stop by the Artists’ Square before it’s too late.

 

Holding onto this fragile wish, he picked up a discarded, weathered easel and displayed the painting in Artists’ Street. And then—

 

…As if conjured by magic, a mysterious hooded woman appeared.

 

But of course, contrary to his expectations, the woman barely glanced at the painting and seemed ready to pass it by.

 

Then that moment, the wind blew—as if by some miracle, and…

 

“That painting…”

 

That woman turned around, her lips slightly parted as she locked eyes with Benjamin.

 

Come to think of it—what’s the Duchess of Roam’s name again? The man thought.

 

“ Lady Milena,” he quickly said, repeating the name he had heard the hooded man next to her say.

 

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he added:

 

“I need your help.”

 

In that moment, Benjamin thought that maybe his friend wasn’t entirely out of luck after all.

***

 

“Hey, you in there!”

 

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

 

The hand pounding on the decrepit house’s door was almost like a raging storm. Clad in a pristine white glove, the hand struck the old, opaque glass once more, as if trying to shatter it, and the worn-out door rattled violently along with the glass.

 

Damn it, was there really such a rotten place in the capital? The middle-aged man cursed, glaring at the door before glancing at his now-dirtied shoes.

 

With a look that said he’d had enough, he gestured to the servant standing beside him. At his signal, the servant gave a solemn nod, and the others followed suit, their expressions grim. Without hesitation, they took up the axe and other tools they had brought and began hacking away at the door, its peeling paint barely clinging to the wood.

 

The middle-aged woman next to him, her makeup smudged, clung to her husband’s arm.

 

“You have to punish that disgraceful wretch at once, Logan! Or I won’t be able to hold my head up at the next tea party! How could he do such a…”

 

“I got it, I got it, woman! But I can’t do a damn thing until this door opens, can I?!”

 

Count Lambert, in a rare display, lost his patience for his for his wife, his face turning red as he shouted.

 

“Why did you take off your wedding ring in the first place…?”

 

“I told you, didn’t I? I’ve lost weight lately so the ring kept slipping off.”

 

Crash!

 

At that moment, the door finally broke down, revealing the shabby one-room house in all its miserable state to the Lambert couple.

 

“Ruger!”

 

The count furious shout finally snapped Erschein back to reality, his eyes widening with shock.

 

The hand that had been freely moving across the canvas came to a stop. The scene from his memories that he had been painting quickly faded, leaving only the image on the canvas before him. Traces of lingering light—like afterimages—still scattered at edges of his vision, and he chases them desperately, trying to grasp what remained. But he failed.

 

Crash!

 

The Count kicked over the easel, and came to stand in front of him.

 

Erschein had seen that kind of furious expression many times before—when the Countess had held his gaze a moment too long. When she’d dropped her teaspoon pointedly during teatime with her husband, forcing him to pick it up.

 

Each time, the Count’s face would flush red like an overripe plum, and he would vent his anger on Erschein.

 

But the Countess—who had only ever treated him like a pretty little distraction—had crossed the line of mere whimsy. So really, what more was there to say?

 

Erschein met Count Lambert’s gaze without the slightest hint of backing down. In contrast, the count’s hand, clenched around Erschein’s collar, was trembling with fury.

 

“Y-you… you wretch! How dare you!”

 

The count was so consumed by rage that he seemed to have forgotten even what he’d meant to say.

 

“You dare steal my wife’s ring?! With that pretty little face of yours—was honest work beneath you, you ungrateful cur?! I should tear you apart and still not be satisfied!”

 

“I know nothing of this matter,” Erschein answered calmly.

 

This man possesses nothing, yet he is infinitely more dignified than my husband could ever be; The countess stole a glance at Erschein, her thoughts unreadable.

 

Meanwhile, the count, shedding all pretense of noble decorum, raged like a madman.

 

“Now you deny it too?! Filth like you belongs in the gutters of the underworld! Speak now, beg for mercy, and I might let you live! Where is Charlotte’s ring?!”

 

“I know nothing of the ring. I did not steal it.”

 

Smack.

 

Erschein’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Even so, he remained firmly seated in his chair.

 

Blood trickled from between his stubbornly set lips. His unwavering eyes, not shaken in the slightest, stared straight at the count. And that only made the count rage even more.

 

“I will ask you—one. Last. time. Where is Charlotte’s ring?”

 

“I don’t have it.”

 

This time, Erschein couldn’t stay seated. The count struck him so hard the chair toppled over, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

But even then, not single groan escaped his lips.

 

“Enough, darling. The poor boy might die.”

 

Though her words sounded like a plea, Charlotte’s voice was flat and indifferent, as though she had simply talking about the cravat she forgot to wear today.

 

The count, breathing heavily, dropped the chair he’d been holding before wiping the sweat from his forehead.

 

“Charlotte.”

 

“Yes, dear?”

 

“Where did you say this damned bastard hid the ring?”

 

“The servant who saw it said he hid inside the pocket of his vest.”

 

“It better be there, you damned woman.”

 

Fortunately for the count, Erschein was still wearing the servant’s waistcoat he had put on this morning. As a man who hadn’t even cared about the charcoal stains on his sleeves at Jane Roam’s debutante, he had focused on getting back to his painting after administrating basic first aid to himself rather than worrying about anything else.

 

The count rummaged through the inside pocket of the young man’s waistcoat, which already had its buttons undone. The right side was empty. Just as Erschein had anticipated. The count muttered a few curses under his breath as he moved to search the other side…

 

A triumphant smile soon spread across his face.

 

“Aha! You thieving bastard! Hahaha!”

 

His thick, sausage-like fingers pulled out a shiny ring from the darkness.

 

Erschein’s gaze immediately shifted to the countess.

 

It was where she had touched him this morning.

 

The ring was found in the very spot where Charlotte’s hand had brushed.

 

While her husband was celebrating, the corner of her mouth rose into a sly smile, just enough for Erschein to see.

 

“Charlotte.”

 

The Count spoke in a voice nearly consumed by madness.

 

“Yes.”

 

Her response came crisp and clean.

 

“According to Imperial law…”

 

The smile that appeared on the Count’s face deepened even further.

 

“…the punishment for thieving scums…”

 

His hand pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket.

 

“…varies depending on their status, but typically, it’s immediate execution, is it not?”

 

Click.

 

The hammer of the revolver was pulled back slowly, preparing to fire as the smooth muzzle was aimed directly at Erschein’s heart.

 

There was no one here who could stop the Count. And the Countess, having perfectly concealed what she had done, wore a face of utter satisfaction.

 

“Or perhaps we could make this a little more interesting?”

 

The Count moved closet, locking eyes with him. Erschein glared back, his eyes burning with rage, while the Count knelt on one knee, lowering himself to match his gaze. At the same time, the cold muzzle of the revolver pressed against the smooth back of Erschein’s hand.

 

“With such great talent, what if you were to live the rest of your life…”

 

A malicious grin twisted the Count’s lips.

 

“…as a cripple.”

 

But just as Erschein tried to pull his hand away, the deafening bang of a gunshot rang through the room.

 

In that instant, the revolver slipped from the Count’s trembling hand, and above it, the smooth back of Erschein’s hand remained unharmed.

 

“What… who the hell…?”

 

The Count muttered in disbelief as everyone’s gaze shifted toward the bullet embedded in the wall. Then, slowly, their eyes moved toward the figure standing in the doorway.

 

It was a woman.