Chapter 8
***
Sylver paced alone in his office at the Barthez mansion.
He'd come all this way on orders from his superior to report the conversation in the prison, but the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away.
"Ha................"
Sylver sighed heavily and deliberately stretched, hoping to shake off his nervousness, and his vision filled with the colorful paintings on the ceiling.
The mansion, a special gift from the emperor, had been built recently and was up-to-date with the latest fashions in society. Ceiling paintings, often depicting heroes from creation myths and folklore, were one of the latest ways for the aristocracy to show off their wealth and artistic taste.
Sylver closed his eyes as he gazed up at the colorful, ornate ceiling, which was too much to take in at first glance. The ceiling of Belfort Castle he had seen not long ago flashed across his retinas.
The ceiling pointed skyward in defiance of the gods, the monotonous gray citadel of stone, the colored glass in the middle of it all.
His family's own castle was stately enough, but nothing compared to Belfort Castle, with its storied history. Standing in the center of the hall, he felt like he was in a classic painting.
And if there was a character in the painting, it was undoubtedly Delnia Eperne of Belfort.
It wasn't just her striking beauty, or her well-cared-for platinum hair, or her white, fair hands that had never seen a day's hard labor in their lives.
“It’s because it’s also a legitimate demand.”
She hadn't panicked or lost her aristocratic air, even after waking up from her unconsciousness.
Even with Roan Barthez in front of her, she never faltered in her breathing. Like the noblewoman in the classics who held her head high while facing the guillotine.
In an instant, she broke down. No despair, no anger, just stillness.
"I wanted to love you, too, somehow.”
When Count Eperne said that, he saw it.
A woman whose world was crumbling beneath her feet. That stunned, breathless face.
What's even more maddening was that she didn't burst into tears. Her eyes were red and bloodshot and she was shaking all over, but that was all.
"Haa................"
The more he thought about it, the more he sighed and felt suffocated. It was as if he had secretly spied on someone else's shame.
‘How the hell am I going to report this?’
No, should he report it?
He couldn't let go of the unanswered questions. Finally, he was forced to meet someone who could solve his problems.
"Hello, Major."
Sylver greeted Roan as he entered the office, trying to keep a straight face.
He looked tired, as if the Admiral had been torturing him, and Sylver took advantage of the opportunity to speak quickly.
"If you're tired, I'll come back tomorrow."
"No, I'm fine, don't bother."
Roan sank deeper into the chair and stopped Sylver.
"Let's hear what they talked about, then."
Despite his languid gesture, his tired eyes sparkled with a glint that could sweep the world away at a moment's notice.
Even though he knew it wasn't directed at him, a cold sweat broke out on the nape of Sylver’s neck. It was as if he had been confronted by a beast of prey.
He thought back to what the world had said about Roan Barthez.
No one would disagree that Roan was a hero of the Empire’s seas. But with such a distinguished reputation, there were always blemishes that sought to diminish it.
Leviathans tamed by the Emperor. A savage sea monster on a leash.
That was what the nobility called Roan behind his back when they didn't like his commoner origins.
When he was just making a name for himself, it was even rumored that he chewed on the corpses of his enemies. It all evaporated the day Roan first entered the palace to be knighted.
Sylver, who has served under him since his arrival, had seen firsthand the answer to the question of why Roan Barthez was so fearsome, even by pejorative standards. Roan's ability to take out charging enemies without batting an eyelash was monstrous.
But that was only on the battlefield, where he was not a demanding or strict boss.
Rather, he was easygoing and laid-back, even allowing his men to crack jokes on him, and was quite generous to non-military personnel.
‘But why is he so cruel to the lady of Eperne?’
Sylver couldn't help but wonder at the cruelty of his new superior.
The way Roan treated her, it was as if she were an enemy, not a sinner. In fact, it was more cruel to her than to his enemies, given the minimal treatment he ordered for his prisoners.
It was too much hostility for a noble lady to bear.
He admired Delnia's unfaltering spirit in the face of Roan, but in the end, she was only a woman. More slender and delicate than any woman Sylver had ever seen.
Her slender wrists, which seemed incapable of lifting anything heavier than a fan, and her pale complexion, which was so pale it was almost white, took over his thoughts, and for the first time in his life, he felt repulsed by his esteemed superior.
"As I said, they talked about the circumstances of the case, nothing unusual."
Finally, Sylver blurted out the words that had been rolling around in his mouth.
To the untrained eye, Sylver was an aristocrat. He had seen his fair share of stubborn and proud ladies, including his own aunt, and he couldn't help but wonder why Delnia was trying so hard not to cry.
Therefore, he decided to defend her honor.
"There were none?"
Roan glanced up at the unexpected answer. The frosty stare sent a chill down his spine.
But Sylvester was unwavering in his decision.
"Yes, they were just confirming what we already knew. She asked when and how the Count came into contact with the Black Hooks..................."
Sylver embellished the father-daughter conversation by listing the facts he already knew. He thanked his writing teacher for never giving up on a dozing student in his youth.
"That's it?"
Sylver nodded vigorously, as if to prove his point.
In truth, their conversation was strictly personal. Roan would have no need for this information.
So it wouldn't be a violation of his orders to keep a family secret that Delnia would have preferred to keep to herself.
Sylver convinced himself that he was both chivalrous and conscientious.
"So much for begging."
Roan stroked his chin, pondering. Sylver stole a sneaky glance at the sweat on his palms and waited for his next response.
"I see. You can leave now."
To his relief, Roan didn't press further. His eyes were as cold as ever, and he was back to his usual nonchalant Roan Barthez.
Sylver breathed a sigh of relief and left the office with a final goodbye. He hoped her shallow consideration would bring the woman some comfort.
***
A carriage pulled up to the front door of the Barthez mansion at a late hour.
Roan dismounted it, dressed in his banqueting attire, and Milan, the waiting butler, bowed politely.
"Welcome, Major."
Acknowledging the greeting with a slight nod, Roan asked lightly as they walked into the mansion.
"Did everything go well?"
"Yes, sir. Just an invitation that came while you were away, so I left it in your room."
Roan, who had just returned from attending a party, let out a small sigh, as if the mere mention of it made him tired.
It had been a week since he had come to the capital with the Epernes. The trial was now four days away.
After the trial, there would be a promotion ceremony for the naval officers. Then there would be a banquet at the palace.
After that, he would remain in the capital until all of these events were over and he could take care of some errands he hadn't seen in a while. It would be a long overdue vacation.
But Roan couldn't really rest. The Admiral's insistence that he appear at social gatherings on his behalf was too much.
Playing puppet to the nobility was something he was quite used to, but that didn't make it any enjoyable. The condescending, arrogant demeanor, the conspiratorial, scavenger hunt-like conversations, and even the ladies who secretly flirted with him.
Of course, they never crossed the line, being the dignified aristocrats they were, and he was able to let it slide without the slightest refusal.
There was only one woman he'd ever met who'd boldly crossed the line he'd drawn, and the subtle flirtations of noblewomen paled in comparison.
But in any case, it was tiring to fake pleasantries in such a setting. Roan rubbed the back of his neck and spoke up.
"Very well, let's call it a night."
Any other nobleman would have expected the servants to keep watch until he fell asleep, but Roan found it rather annoying to be followed around by his employees.
Milan, accustomed to such an employer, said nothing more and bowed his head in silence.
"I wish you a restful night, then."
Milan retreated, and Roan, left alone, stormed up the stairs, one-handedly taking off the cravat.
Once in the room, he paid no attention to the stack of invitations on his desk, but went straight to a drawer and pulled out a mahogany box.
***
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