Chapter 031
The man walked straight toward me and greeted me with a bow.
“Let me introduce myself properly, Duchess. I am Dante Malcons, the third son of Baron Malcons.”
“Nice to meet you, Dante Malcons.”
I never imagined the person I met at Marquis Mayer’s estate would turn out to be the Marquis’ great-grandson.
‘Wait a second, he’s wearing glasses? I don’t remember him wearing those before.’
As I observed the oversized glasses covering half his face, Dante lightly kissed the back of my hand and flashed a dazzling smile.
His smile was so bright it felt like the whole room lit up.
If Harold’s face was a balanced mix of handsome and pretty, Dante’s was pure, effortless charm—like a personified spring breeze, like a kind-hearted church boy.
If I hadn’t gotten somewhat used to Harold’s stunning looks, I might’ve been as flustered as the people sneaking glances at him.
(Though, honestly, Harold’s face still feels overwhelming sometimes.)
“Have the two of you met before?” asked the Marquis Meyer, looking curiously between us.
Dante responded with a bright smile. “Yes, we ran into each other on the day I first visited the Marquis’s estate.”
“Oh, that day…”
The Marquis nodded slightly as if she remembered.
From outside, someone shouted, “Let’s get moving!” signaling that all the supplies had been loaded.
We were heading for one of the Empire’s poorer districts for our weekly temple charity mission. Divided into ten teams, each group visited different areas, often in dangerous places, with hired mercenaries for protection.
We traveled by carriage and began unloading the supplies upon arrival. People in ragged clothes started gathering.
“Please form a line! You, over there! Stop cutting in line! If you do it again, I’ll send you to the back!”
“We’ve got enough for everyone! No need to rush—just line up!”
The team handled the crowd with practiced efficiency. I joined the others in handing out bread-filled bags to the people waiting in line.
“Thank you, thank you!”
Their faces lit up with joy as they received the bread.
‘I understand how they feel.’
When I lived on the streets, the bread handed out by the temple felt like a lifeline. Even when I was on the verge of collapse, eating that bread gave me hope and made me cry with relief.
Suddenly, children started to beg the priests for more bread.
“Please, can we have just a little more?”
“Yeah, just a bit more, please!”
“Please, my little brother’s sick and couldn’t come!”
The priest sighed deeply as if this wasn’t the first time.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Last time, you said the same thing. And your ‘sick brother’ is standing right next to you! Stop lying and move along!”
I heard we brought more than enough bread, but making exceptions would only encourage others to ask for more. That’s why the priest stayed firm.
“But we can’t survive until next time with just this much!”
“I said no! Stop whining!”
A boy with brown hair turned to me, his tearful eyes pleading.
“Please, just a little more.”
…He wasn’t wrong. The bread wasn’t enough to last until the next handout, and kids his age would get hungry quickly. On top of that, others might take it from them.
I wanted to give them more. But as the priest said, making exceptions could cause chaos.
Just then, Dante stumbled and fell, spilling his bag of bread onto the ground.
“Oh no!”
“Quick, pick it up!”
The children grabbed the bread from the ground and ran off.
Dusting himself off, Dante met my gaze and gave an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head.
“Ah… I’m a bit clumsy sometimes.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m used to falling without getting hurt. See?” He jumped up and down to prove his point, though it only made Lady Mayer’s face pale with worry.
“Alright, alright! I get it, you’re fine. Just stop jumping!”
“Okay,” Dante replied sheepishly.
If he fell again, the Marquis might faint, so I stopped him before that could happen. Dante quickly quieted down.
‘That obedience reminds me of a well-trained puppy… Not that I’d ever tell him that.’
As I handed out more bread, I noticed a young woman holding a baby. She had already received her share but clearly needed more.
‘Rules are important, but she has a baby…’
Ah, whatever.
I signaled her to come closer with a small smile. When she did, I deliberately dropped a piece of bread. The woman quickly picked it up and hurried away.
Feeling satisfied, I turned back around, only to meet Dante’s wide-eyed stare.
“Haha… I accidentally dropped it.”
“I understand,” he said with a knowing nod. “It happens when you’re busy.”
Phew. It seemed he hadn’t seen me signal the woman. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
On the way to a village near the empire’s border, Vincent’s voice rang out, frustrated.
“You idiots! Can’t we take a break already? Don’t you hear me?”
The mercenaries dragging him along just smirked, ignoring his protests.
“Hurry up, you idiots! I said, Let’s rest for a bit!” Vincent yelled.
“What’s with all the nonsense, when we’re in a hurry!”
“Ah! How dare you treat me like this, the only son of Count Garcia!”
“You’re being thrown out, yet you still talk too much.”
As the mercenaries chuckled, Vincent glared at them with fury.
‘These bastards…’
He’d never been treated like this in his entire life.
‘Once I return as a viscount, they’ll pay for this.’
Vincent comforted himself with the thought of revenge. Though his father was ruthless, he was still his only legitimate son. Surely, Count Garcia would call him back to the empire after his temper cooled.
As Vincent imagined his triumphant return, he mentally listed the people who’d wronged him, one by one, like writing names in a death note.
‘The friends who didn’t stop me from pawning the heirlooms, those who subtly encouraged me to keep playing the game, those who didn’t help me, and Ella too! And…’
He would never forgive Diana either.
‘If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have gone to that gambling den in the first place!’
If she’d just handed over money obediently, he wouldn’t have had to visit the pawnshop.
Clenching his fists as if Diana stood before him, Vincent vowed, ‘When the Duke dies of his illness, I’ll make her suffer even more than I did.’
Suddenly, a mercenary screamed and collapsed with an arrow lodged in his chest.
“Who’s there?”
The other mercenaries immediately drew their swords, turning toward the direction the arrow had come from. But more arrows flew from behind, striking down several others in an instant.
The mercenary group was wiped out before they could react.
“W-Who are you…?” Vincent stammered, trembling as he picked up a fallen sword.
“Are you Bandits? If you touch me, you’ll regret it! I’m the sole heir of Count Garcia—ugh!”
Before he could finish his sentence, someone struck him hard on the back of the head. Darkness swallowed him as he lost consciousness.
When Vincent woke up, he found himself tightly bound inside a large sack. His vision was blocked by a blindfold. And a gag in his mouth made it impossible to speak.
How many days had passed?
Eventually, he was dragged out of the sack, trembling in fear. He had no idea who had kidnapped him or why. Curling into himself, he tried to suppress his shaky breaths.
“Ugh, the smell! Master, this one reeks. Guess nobles stink just like everyone else.”
“Well, he’s human. He must’ve done his business in the sack. Anyway, remove the blindfold and gag.”
“Sure thing.”
The blindfold was pulled off, and Vincent squinted his eyes at the dim room around him. He saw a group of people staring down at him.
“…!”
His eyes widened in shock as he recognized a familiar face. When the gag was removed, his anger burst out.
“You! Aren’t you the owner of Neis Land?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Though I’m not here today as the gambling hall’s owner,” the man replied with a casual shrug.
“Let me go right now! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? What do you want from me?”
The guild leader waved a hand in front of his nose, stepping back.
“Ugh, the smell is killing me. Look, it’s not me who has business with you.”
He nodded toward a figure seated in a chair, legs crossed, wearing a white mask.
“Who… Who are you?”
Even without moving, the masked man exuded an overwhelming presence. Vincent felt as though he was being crushed under the weight of his gaze, even though they stood on the same ground.
It was as if this person was born to rule, making Vincent feel small and parched.
‘This feeling… I’ve felt it before.’
The man slowly placed his gloved hand on his mask.
“You’ve made quite the mess of yourself, young Vincent.”
“…! N-No, it can’t be…”
As the man slowly removed his mask, Vincent’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Duke Harold Vissen!”
