Chapter 24: How a Mercenary Deals with Uninvited Guests (2)
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“Yes, we’ll leave right away,” Schubel said with a triumphant smile as he stepped from the carriage.
The sun was setting, and he was already craving wine. Today’s journey was over—he expected to arrive by tomorrow’s noon, finish business quickly, and enjoy a well-deserved rest.
“Hehe, a full-bodied red wine tonight will do nicely. Someone’s blood will spill like red wine. Hey! Zone C, go there! To where my pretty one awaits!”
—
“Reports say he has arrived in the capital—and he’s heading to Zone C now.”
Outside, the sound of doors closing might just seem like Prince Valentin’s medication time. But Alan and Valentin alone knew there were no medicines for madness in the castle. They only heard merchant Guild Harne’s reports.
“They’re there to satisfy filthy urges,” Alan murmured.
Foolish as they were, they thought they had planted ears and eyes in secret—unaware that more careful, hidden watchers drifted around them too. Feeling confident, they didn’t even check beneath their own lamp—so they didn’t see the shadows at their feet.
Valentin stared at the high moon through the window. Rumours of his madness had begun, and his alert yet restless demeanour was dismissed as part of his “madness.”
“Is he… actually… fine?” Alan wondered.
He expected Valentin to be more low—maybe murderous, eager for blood. After all, Valentin had once escaped the palace at night to swing his sword wildly—haunted by memories of being forced to eat dirt in a warehouse and taunted with food by Schubel.
“Baron Renjer arriving means he’ll come for this mercenary first. Or maybe he’s already scheming behind the scenes…” Alan whispered, worried.
Valentin actually chuckled. He recalled Regina’s light-hearted concern earlier—her joking bravado about taking down the Baron if needed.
“Mercenaries can slaughter pigs, no problem,” Valentin said softly.
Baron Schubel was huge and reckless—guzzling whatever he wanted. “Pig” was a fitting word, and now whenever Valentin saw a pig, he thought of Schubel.
“But he’s still a noble—a loyal hound of the Empress and full of power.” Alan noted.
He was from a non-noble but respected healer family—the Rotens. Yet he also thought of the Baron as a fat, dumb guard dog.
“Without that, he’d have been shredded long ago. Once he left the palace, he was just a grunt beast in fine clothes.”
Despite being unwise, Schubel only stayed afloat because of his sister’s regency. Without that, he’d have been exiled from high society long ago.
Once outside palace walls he was nothing special. Yet he survived… and waited for revenge—bitterly.
“This isn’t that dirty, pigsty palace anymore. And I’ve got my fierce cat with me.”
Valentin’s expression hardened remembering Schubel’s sneer. Having left the palace, it might be time to show some strength.
“Maybe I should’ve asked someone to handle him already,” he muttered, almost laughing.
“My cat… enjoys this mercenary?” he thought. The hallway had quieted since Regina’s strict watch began. He guessed she actually liked her—he had allowed some attention.
Alan silently mused over Valentin’s calm mood—it showed he trusted Regina.
In dresses and refined clothes, she now looked more like a noble lady than many aristocrats. Her upright posture, strong shoulders—she was captivating, challenging.
“Does that spark something… inside you?” Alan wondered.
Valentin stared into space behind him. “Imagination runs wild, Alan.”
“…”
“Like someone sees what’s behind you, like I can.”
Valentin’s acting skills often fooled hundreds at court. His eerie poise could chill even the air and brace the soul.
“No silly games,” he said, voice cold. Alan’s mouth dried; his fear was almost comical.
“Call me by my name. Without titles.”
“Eh?”
Alan frowned—what absurd demand was that? But Valentin’s glare stripped away his uncertainty.
“My name. Not your noble’s title.”
“How could I… call you Duke?”
Valentin shook his head, refusing again.
“…Valentin.”
There—he forced out the name. Yet Valentin’s expression only darkened—his frown deepened.
Alan looked hurt. “Why… did you do that?”
“Nothing,” Valentin replied, fading silently.
It was late at night when everyone had already drifted into dreamland, and Regina picked up her feather pen.
Writing neatly wasn’t her strong suit—that was Rosy’s talent—so holding this thin stick felt awkward compared to wielding a sword.
I need to check on Persona too. I should have brought Ju along—he’s clever and would learn the flight paths between Valmen and the capital quickly.
Seeing the gray feather pen reminded her of the homing pigeon Ju. She already missed Persona for some reason.
“As for now… nobles write polite letters. Can I mimic that?”
Her handwriting wasn’t very neat—guild members teased her for bad penmanship. But she wanted the content to sound respectful. Her goal was to finish this job within a year, so she was reaching out to a great noble house she’d connected with before.
People can be unpredictable.
Maybe they’d delayed replying from laziness, so the reaction might not be kind.
Still, my sincerity should show in the letter—especially if she’s important.
Only the gentle scratch of pen on paper filled the room—until a soft “meow meow” echoed from the hallway.
Regina reached for her sword and opened the door.
“It’s you.”
It was the same black cat she’d seen before. It rubbed against her leg, greeting her.
How did you get inside? Was a window open?
She smiled and petted its velvety cheek. Minutes later, Valentin’s door opened too—he must’ve heard the meows.
“Did a gate open somewhere…? Hey!”
Before Regina could stop it, the cat darted into his room through the door gap.
“I’ll get it back,” she said. She followed, remembering he didn’t dislike animals much.
Valentin closed the door with a resigned sigh, clearly confused by the cat’s intrusion.
The black cat rolled on the floor by his sofa. When Regina tried to pick it up, it squirmed away and slipped under the sofa. In the dim light, Regina could only see its two glowing eyes.
“You’re a bit mischievous, aren’t you?” she said.
“Seems like it,” Valentin answered, smoothing back his platinum hair. He had plans for a cozy evening with Regina before Schubel arrived tomorrow afternoon—but after she’d called him by name, something about that plan felt strange. He didn’t know why exactly—it felt like touching the wrong spot or stroking an animal and feeling unease.
He watched her attempt to coax the cat out from beneath the sofa.
“What’s with your sword?” he asked.
“I just held it out of habit. It’s night.”
Valentin looked at her simple blade—it had no fancy decorations, but he knew its edge was sharp.
“If it won’t come out, don’t force it.”
He approached to help her gather the cat. Regina bent down, meowing under the sofa redoubling its small cries. Valentin reached to lift her—and if he’d known her head might swing up and strike him in the chin, he might have kept his distance.
“Ugh.”
She looked up, with an expression that suggested she very nearly bopped him—but she managed to stay still.
