Chapter 1243

Just in case... I should go.

Suppressing his pounding heart, Kiole headed toward the 4th Wall. And as if by fate, he found the Diarca family’s carriage stopped right in front of the incense shop. Though the family crest was hidden, how could he not recognize his own household’s carriage?

He concealed himself in an alley nearby and waited. Then, just as the man exited with a parcel in hand, Kiole stepped out in front of him.

“Who goes th—!”

“Don’t be alarmed, Steward! It’s me! It’s me! Don’t attack!”

“Young Master Kiole...? How did you know I’d be here...”

“You used to come here every day to buy supplies for Father. I haven’t been able to get any news from home, so I figured I had to try here at least.”

A rare, genuine look of surprise crossed the steward’s usually stoic face.

“You... remembered that?”

He looked at Kiole as if seeing him for the first time, then quietly opened the carriage door.

“Understood. Please, get in.”

The carriage began moving. The steward instructed the driver to take a long, slow route, then sighed. Kiole, feeling like he was about to be scolded by his father, spoke first.

“I only meant to help my elder brother with his request... I don’t understand how things turned out like this.”

“There’s no need for such modesty. Thanks to you, Young Master, we uncovered the rot within the private military office that First Son secretly manipulated. His Majesty’s side did grow more involved than we expected, but the Duke was secretly very pleased with what was gained.”

...Huh? What is he talking about?

Kiole looked flustered, but the steward, rubbing his forehead with a troubled look, didn’t notice his young master’s expression.

“If not for this incident, we never would’ve known the First Son harbored such dangerous ambition. Thinking back, we should’ve sent him somewhere farther than the villa in Marle—perhaps abroad entirely. We took precautions to cut him off from outside contact, so how he managed to hire assassins...!”

So even the steward believed it was the First Son who harmed the Duke. Kiole’s expression darkened.

“...Right. What happened to the assassins who were caught trying to harm Father?”

“After the First Son barged into the estate and demanded to take over the investigation, we’ve been unable to see them. By now, they’ve likely all been... ‘cleaned up.’”

“...Even if Father told them not to let me into the estate, I should have spoken up in some way.”

Kiole only meant he should’ve explained himself earlier. But the steward took it another way.

“As expected of the Young Master...”

Indeed, Kiole had always pretended to care nothing for politics or power, while secretly keeping close watch on the family’s disquiet. That he’d shown up at the exact site on the day of the Duke’s stabbing—before anything had even happened—was proof enough. The servants who had been there couldn’t stop talking about how, had Kiole not arrived, the Duke would’ve died before anyone could react.

And he’d done it all without even one aide by his side. No one knew how he’d acquired that intelligence and acted on it—his information-gathering and decisiveness were nothing short of terrifying. Even his appointment as the Emperor’s investigator, which forced him out of the house, had ultimately protected him. The First Son, despite grinding his teeth in frustration, couldn’t touch Kiole while he was under Imperial protection.

To think, even now, the Young Master was moving swiftly, grasping even the steward’s habits, while remaining utterly sincere toward the Duke... the steward was shocked all over again.

Kiole la Diarca. The notorious spoiled brat of House Diarca—when had he changed so much?

Perhaps... the foolish young master he once knew had never existed to begin with?

“‘As expected,’ what? Why’d you stop mid-sentence?”

Kiole frowned at the steward, who had drifted into thought mid-speech. The steward shook his head with a faint smile.

“It’s nothing. I was merely thinking that if the Duke had seen you as you are now, the title of Little Duke never would’ve gone to the First Son.”

Even Kiole knew that was an incredibly dangerous thing to say. What the hell was this old man babbling about? Glancing around nervously, he lowered his voice and snapped:

“Say something like that in front of the wrong person and you’ll get dragged off. I don’t care about titles or positions! All I want to know is whether Father will recover... and what my brother stood to gain by getting rid of me!”

“Yes. I won’t doubt you again.”

“...?”

“The Duke was deeply angered by the First Son’s attempt to harm you. We had been preparing everything to pull him from the Emperor’s grasp, and though things became complicated... now I see there was no need to worry.”

The steward’s eyes curved gently, as though he fully understood Kiole’s heart. In this chaotic storm, the Duke’s loyal servant had chosen which hand to grasp in his master’s stead—but Kiole didn’t realize it.

“The First Son made a foolish move, trying to eliminate you first. Driven by panic at your recent success, he acted arrogantly and carelessly. But he underestimated you—mistook you for the Kiole of old. That’s why this counterattack landed.”

Me? Success? What success?

Kiole blinked slowly, still confused why the steward’s tone had become so formal. Meanwhile, the steward continued with a sharp smile:

“Incidentally, the most capable Awakeners in the private army—those you rescued—have declared they will no longer obey the First Son. They intend to follow you instead. With him now unable to control Diarca’s military power, he will likely struggle for a while.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes. And though this is confidential... the Duke woke up the day before yesterday.”

“What? Are you serious?!”

“I am. But his injuries are so severe that he can ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) barely stay conscious. The incense I came to purchase today is a special magical blend that aids healing during sleep.”

The steward explained that without constant burning of this magical incense, the aging Duke’s body wouldn’t survive. Though they’d tried to restrict information to protect him from further assassination attempts, it hadn’t been easy.

“But he is stable for now. I’ll sneak you into the estate. You should speak with the Duke.”

“You think that’s possible... without being caught?”

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

When Kiole nodded, the carriage picked up speed. It eventually stopped at one of the estate’s many entrances—one mainly used by servants. The steward opened the door without hesitation and handed Kiole over to a waiting maid inside.

“Escort Young Master Kiole to the Duke’s bedchamber. I’ll come in through another entrance shortly.”

Kiole entered the Duke’s bedchamber via a hidden corridor he hadn’t known existed. The room was heavy with the bitter scent of incense smoke. It felt as though a curtain of death hung over everything.

From somewhere outside, loud voices and thudding noises echoed in—Kiole turned his head in alarm.

The elderly maid whispered softly, “It’s the nobles loyal to the Duke and the ones siding with the First Son. They clash like this every day.”

House Diarca, once peaceful under the Duke, had turned into a battlefield.

Staggering, Kiole approached the Duke’s bed. The old man lying there had grown so thin and pale that even the blanket covering him looked like a stone crushing his chest.

The scent of strong medicine clung to the bandages wrapped around his shoulders and torso.

The father who once terrified him now looked utterly foreign. Not the towering beast who once ruled the world with a sneer, but just a frail, worn-out old man.

How could a person change so completely... so suddenly?

As Kiole stared blankly, the steward entered through another door and held a cloth soaked with sharp-scented medicine under the Duke’s nose.

“This scent will wake him. Please wait a moment.”

Just as he said, the Duke slowly opened his eyes. His gaze, blank and foggy, fixed on Kiole—but he didn’t seem to recognize him.

“...Who...?”

“It’s me, Father. Kiole!”

“Kiole...?”

The steward gently supported the Duke and propped him against a pillow, whispering into his ear to explain the situation.

Only then did the Duke recognize him.

“Yes, Kiole... I remember now. You... came to save me.”

That was a misunderstanding. But Kiole didn’t correct him. The Duke coughed weakly and, with hollow eyes, stared at Kiole and reached for his hand.

“...If not for you, I would’ve died.”

“That’s not...”

“There was a time... I truly wondered if you were really my son... really of Diarca blood. But seeing you now... it was all pointless worry. Cough, cough!”

“Please don’t strain your voice, my lord,” the steward urged, concerned.

But the Duke irritably waved him off. As the steward withdrew, the Duke tightened his grip on Kiole’s hand and pulled him close—close enough for only Kiole to hear. Breathing in bitter incense with every breath, he whispered:

“I trust you now. Kironne... that wretched bastard... do not let him go unpunished. In my place... take his head!”

Kiole couldn’t bear to meet his father’s eyes—eyes that now commanded him to kill his own brother without hesitation.

“I’ll give you several things that may help. Items no one would suspect you possess. Use them well.”