ICM Chapter 4

At Drushia’s insistence, Ashika approached the holding cells.

Three knights of Igraine, and three of Talion. Separated by a single partition, the knights on both sides stubbornly refused to speak.

‘I’ve never seen these faces before.’ 

Ashika thought, tilting her head. Due to the inevitably clashing nature of their relationship, Ashika knew most of the capital knights.

‘Are they newly arrived from the territories?’

One of the knights, a man with dark brown hair, was particularly large. Even with his gaze lowered, an unresolved fury was evident on his face, which appeared as solid and imposing as a rock.

In truth, there was no real reason for their brawl. From the moment they encountered each other in the same space, they displayed hostility, and in the blink of an eye, all six were tangled in a fight. There was no room for excuses.

Ashika’s eyes widened as she examined the Talion knights.

Barely past the age of majority, a young man surreptitiously hid his bleeding shoulder, his face flushed. Even in this situation, he seemed ashamed of his injury.

“There’s an injured person! We need to treat him first…”

Ashika started to call for the Security Force Chief, but stopped. Seeing Drushia’s hardened expression, she realized he already knew.

‘That’s why he’s even more furious.’

Prolonging the situation wouldn’t benefit anyone. At least none of the Igraine knights appeared injured. Ashika calmed herself and spoke.

“Let’s quickly reach an agreement and get the injured treated.”

“A little scratch isn’t something to make a fuss about.”

“A little scratch? He’s bleeding like that!”

“And I presume it was an Igraine knight who inflicted that wound? You’re hardly in a position to complain.”

‘He’s angry. Very angry.’

Ashika clicked her tongue inwardly.

No matter how young, he was a Talion knight. A knighthood that carried both prestige and responsibility. Not only had they engaged in a street brawl, but one of them was injured. It was a blatant smear on Talion’s name.

“So you intend to leave the patient sitting on the cold stone floor like this?”

“Patient? A scratch like that makes him a patient? Oh, I suppose those sick stray dogs could collapse at any moment.”

“Duke Talion!”

“Oh? Your way of addressing me has changed already? Different from earlier.”

Ashika’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe he brought that up here.

“What did you call me earlier, Rush…?”

“Security Force Chief! Who’s the administrative officer in charge here?”

“Y-yes?”

Ashika hastily redirected the conversation to the Security Force Chief. The Chief, who had been observing the situation from a distance, was startled by the sudden summons. Ashika continued without waiting for a response.

“Whoever the officer in charge was, send an official letter to the Igraine ducal residence by tomorrow.”

The Security Force Chief didn’t dare to reply. He held the minor title of knight, and even the highest-ranking administrative officer present held no more than the rank of baron.

“Um…What about you, Duke Talion? If you agree, we can release all the knights and…”

“Who said anything about agreeing?”

Drushia’s sharp retort made Ashika’s eyes widen.

‘Does he really intend to refuse any agreement?’

Despite her sharp gaze, Drushia looked at the knights and said coldly, “I’ve called a physician, so the injured can get treated and rest there. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We apologize.”

The large, dark-haired knight bowed his head deeply.

“Duke Talio— Look, we can exchange written accounts of the incident later.”

Drushia’s blue eyes fixed on Ashika.

His sharp gaze and angry expression remained, yet there was a strange nuance to them. It was unclear whether his anger stemmed from the disgrace brought upon his knights, or something else entirely.

Drushia’s gaze drifted downwards, stopping at Ashika’s slightly swollen lip. A flush crept up her face.

“This isn’t the only thing we need to discuss. Can’t we just let this minor incident go?”

“Minor? Is it a minor incident to Lady Igraine?”

Even as he spoke, Drushia’s gaze remained fixed on her lips.

His suggestive reply made Ashika’s eyes tremble. His intention to provoke her was clear, yet she found it difficult to retort as she usually would. Her heart raced, and her mind felt hazy.

‘I’ll get swept away by this.’

“My Lady.”

The perceptive Jeanne stepped in, breaking the tense silence. Ashika discreetly sighed and took a step back.

“If there’s no intention of reaching an agreement, there’s no point in wasting each other’s time.”

Instead of moving further away from Drushia, Ashika approached the holding cell bars.

“As you can see, this is the situation.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

The Igraine knights bowed their heads in response.

“I’ll send Julma tomorrow, so wait until then.”

“Yes.”

“We apologize.”

The knights apologized, unable to even lift their heads.

Unlike Drushia, Ashika wasn’t angry at the knights. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and a few punches wouldn’t erase the deep-seated animosity.

She was only disappointed that she couldn’t resolve the matter herself. While the knights’ issues weren’t her direct responsibility, she wanted to handle it before it reached her grandfather’s ears.

For reasons unknown, Drushia didn’t stop her. His usual sarcastic remarks were absent. Ashika didn’t realize that he was just as bewildered by the situation as she was.

Trying not to look back, Ashika walked towards the door.

She felt a burning gaze on her back. A persistent gaze that was difficult to shake off.

****

“Your Grace, did you hear what I said?”

“Hmm?”

At the same moment he answered, the documents slipped from Drushia’s hands, fluttering to the floor. His gaze followed their descent.

His aide, Kalf, with a stiff expression, bent down to retrieve them.

“Baron Delfino has come to the capital, and Lord Fontanea has been sent to the Grand Duchy in his stead.”

“Ah, right. Did Grandfather say anything else?”

Drushia quickly collected his scattered thoughts.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d slipped up today. He was at least grateful it was only in front of his aide. Kalf was the only one who wouldn’t pry for an explanation.

“Should I call a physician?”

“Huh.”

Instead of asking why, Kalf suggested a medical examination.

“Do I look ill?”

“Since entering your office today, you’ve spilled an inkwell, torn three documents while signing them, and dropped a stack of organized papers. Furthermore, you left more than half of both your breakfast and lunch. I believe a medical examination would be prudent.”

His aide, meticulously listing his mistakes and actions, was more intimidating than a nagging butler. Drushia’s brow furrowed deeply.

“Don’t treat a healthy person like a patient.”

“You don’t appear healthy, Your Grace.”

“Honestly…”

With a slightly irritated expression, Drushia accepted the retrieved documents and placed them on his desk. He repeatedly ran a hand through his already loosened collar, but the tightness in his chest remained.

‘It’s because of that woman.’

Ashika Igraine, the woman who seemed as if she’d rather break than bend.

‘That woman cried.’

She clung to him and cried. Completely unguarded. No, more than unguarded; she’d cast aside all pretense and confronted him with her vulnerability.

No matter how hard he tried to erase it, the vivid memory wouldn’t fade. Her tear-filled, jet-black eyes, beautiful and sorrowful, were etched into his mind.

When he felt her trembling lips, he’d even forgotten she was an Igraine. Contrary to his thoughts of pushing her away, all his senses felt drawn in, as if pulled into a vortex.

A desperate kiss, as if he’d encountered something familiar and longed-for. He couldn’t bring himself to push away the woman who clung to him as if he were her only lifeline.

“Ha…”

A heavy weight settled in his chest again. Drushia rubbed his neck and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Say…”

“Yes, Your Grace. Please speak.”

“Is there some… unknown, hereditary trait in the Igraine line?”

Like a mental illness, for example. Drushia swallowed the last part, unable to voice it.

At the unexpected question, Kalf paused in thought before answering.

“The distinguishing characteristic of the Igraine ducal family is their lack of distinguishing characteristics.”

“Haha. Right.”

Drushia laughed hollowly, despite having posed the question himself.

The imperial family and the families of the nation’s founders passed down distinct traits to their direct descendants – unique eye or hair colors, for instance, that didn’t appear in other families.

While some families, including the Talion ducal family, were linked to the nation’s founding myths, the Igraines had no such history. They simply possessed an overflowing abundance of wealth.

‘What was it? Why was she so terrified?’

It had been an ordinary imperial banquet celebrating the spring planting festival. The banquet, meant to continue throughout the night, had been unexpectedly adjourned before midnight. As the murmuring nobles filed out of the ballroom, he’d seen Ashika heading in a different direction.

Suspecting that the Igraines were plotting something with the imperial family, he’d followed her.

‘But the location was… odd.’

Rose Hall was already known for its labyrinthine complexity, but this place was even stranger.

Dust lay thick on the long-unused hallways and decorations. When he heard a small cry from the room Ashika entered, he’d rushed inside without thinking.

He’d been shocked to find Ashika collapsed on the floor. He quickly checked her over, but she wasn’t injured. Her breathing and pulse were normal.

‘I couldn’t carry her out, and calling for help was out of the question.’

It was a predicament. The man and woman of two bitterly opposed families found together in a secluded space, and only the woman emerges unconscious? It would be a horrific scandal.

Yet, he couldn’t leave an unconscious woman alone, even if she was the loathsome Igraine.

Drushia decided to wait. Thinking she would wake soon, he removed the white cloth and laid her on a sofa in the reception room.

‘She seemed to be having a nightmare.’

That was the reason he hadn’t left. Her whimpering reminded him of himself as a child.

“Your Grace. Please remove your hand.”

A firm voice abruptly pulled Drushia back to reality. When he didn’t respond, Kalf carefully lifted his hand from the desk.

Black ink dripped from Drushia’s fingertips, staining the marble surface.

The spreading ink on the desk resembled the disheveled strands of the woman’s hair, sparking a strange thought in his mind.

‘I’ve gone mad. Mad. That damned Igraine.’

Drushia’s expression became even more incredulous.

“That’s the second inkwell, Your Grace. I will call the physician to your bedroom after dinner this evening.”

Kalf offered Drushia a handkerchief. The white fabric quickly turned black in his hand.

“Fine, call him. I’m starting to think I should see him myself.”