Chapter 24 –
Amin Wilhelm stopped in his tracks on the stair landing the moment he came down after laying Soren down.
At the same time, a cold atmosphere spread throughout the tavern.
Sensing it, Yon Lauta pulled his hand away from the shoulder of the Grand Duchess, who had dozed off on the table, and turned to look at Amin Wilhelm.
“Y-Your Grace, the Archduke.”
Leaning diagonally against the railing, Archduke Wilhelm stared at Yon with a haughty expression.
Yon instinctively shrank back under the Archduke’s gaze, despite having done nothing wrong.
There were many labels attached to Archduke Wilhelm:
The legitimate heir of a defeated imperial family.
The former crown prince exiled to the north and now drowning in alcohol.
Yet every time Yon Lauta looked at him, he felt an indescribable pressure that none of those labels could explain.
Despite being rumored to live at the bottom of a wine barrel, the Archduke’s decisions were always logical, bold—and in those eyes…
“There it is. Another man who’s caught our lady’s eye. Isn’t that right?”
Amin chuckled and began walking forward, drinking from the flask in his hand.
His gaze resembled the White Timber Wolves of the North.
Their alpha, the size of a large deer, would stare down at humans from the snowy plains with that very look.
The look of a predator sizing up a bite-sized meal.
“Apologies. Her Grace was insistent, so she pushed herself… and may have gotten a little drunk.”
“And yet she downed three more glasses after that.”
Amin pointed to the three empty glasses near the slumped-over Diana.
The last glass was still half full and clutched tightly in her hand.
Amin let out a short laugh at the sight.
What a nasty drinking habit.
With that thought, he spoke to Yon Lauta.
“We’ll talk about what you and the Grand Duchess discussed tomorrow, Yon Lauta.”
With that, Amin pried Diana’s fingers off the glass handle. Yon spoke up.
“Her Grace did nothing wrong.”
“Wrong…?”
Amin had never considered her drunkenness a fault.
It just felt like the Diana Isla he had once known and the Diana drinking with such charisma, drawing attention in a tavern, were two completely different people.
The woman who slapped her own cheek and said she should have died.
The woman who drank poison with him, begging him to live.
They seemed like utterly different people.
And this woman now burned so brightly—so fiercely—that she seemed likely to burn everything down and fly away as ashes.
That was what bothered him.
“When Her Grace wakes, I’ll say this again, but… she has a keen eye. And she seems to truly understand and care about this land.”
Yon spoke sincerely.
He had been genuinely impressed by his conversation with the Grand Duchess.
That she knew the intricacies of the North’s situation despite only recently arriving—was astonishing.
Whether it was due to prior research or intense study over the past month, her interest in the Wilhelm territory was extraordinary.
She didn’t seem like the same woman who had once fought so hard to avoid coming north.
And then—
[We’re processing wood into cloth now too.]
The word “we” slipped from her lips so naturally that Yon realized she already considered the Wilhelm territory her own home.
If it had ended there, Yon might’ve simply thought, “She’s making an effort,” or “She’s not as arrogant as I assumed.”
But what followed was even more surprising:
[We need to start preparing to build printing presses and make paper. The number of people who’ll want to read records will explode. Our presses and paper will become far more valuable than wood or iron.]
[Nobles think commoners have no desire to read. They see them as no better than dogs or pigs. But it’s the commoners who thirst for records the most. And there are far more of them—far more than nobles or dogs or pigs…]
He had heard that printing houses were beginning to emerge in the South.
But it had always felt like a distant thing.
In the North, people cared more about eating and keeping warm than reading or writing.
So they melted iron for tools and weapons, chopped wood for fuel, and wove cloth.
That was the extent of Yon’s understanding, even after traveling the North, South, and beyond for many years.
But a noblewoman’s words shattered that limited view:
[When people are about to die, they want to leave a will. Do you know why? Because they want to be remembered. Even the common folk, whom nobles assume care only about surviving— they too want to be remembered. And the harder life gets, the more they’ll want to read. To write. To leave something behind. Because otherwise—]
There was something lonely in her eyes as she said that.
[—they won’t be able to bear it.]
Yon’s father—now buried—had spent even his last words lecturing about business ethics.
[Don’t just buy and sell, Yon. Win their hearts. The best merchants don’t trade goods. They steal hearts.]
Was that how his father wished to be remembered?
Yon recalled the moment his father’s eyes closed.
Those eyes that once sparkled as they scanned wares and calculated prices seemed to look through the ceiling—far beyond it—as the light faded from them.
Yon had gently closed his father’s eyelids so no one else could see that lifeless gaze.
And his father’s creed—his merchant’s philosophy—became Yon’s alone to bear.
A memory that only he held.
Something never written down.
That truth was both a comfort and, at times, a source of pain.
There were moments when he wished he could share those secrets.
And the Grand Duchess had touched that private longing.
The best merchants steal hearts.
Maybe the Grand Duchess was born to be one.
Thinking this, Yon looked at Amin.
“Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps Your Grace might try seeing Her Grace not through rumors—but as she truly is.”
“That is impertinent, Yon Lauta.”
“…Forgive me.”
“I always thought you were a merchant who knew his place—”
Amin glanced at Diana, her lips parting as if searching for water.
The way her cheek had puffed out as she slept, slumped forward, was oddly endearing.
Just knowing that Yon had seen this made something in Amin feel irritated.
“Apparently not.”
He spoke coldly, then scooped the Grand Duchess into his arms.
Diana wrapped her arms around his neck as if she’d been waiting for it and buried her face in his collarbone.
Then she muttered:
“…One more drink…”
Not water—she wanted more alcohol.
Amin gave a quiet laugh and held her tightly.
Amin Wilhelm—a man as hard as iron—smiling like this made Yon stare in shock.
Then Amin looked down at him and said, as if chewing his words:
“Stop staring. You’ll wear her out.”
“…?”
He can joke? That man?
Or was it not a joke at all?
While Yon pondered, Amin had already begun climbing the stairs with those long legs.
* * *
“I knew I’d win… Booze… is all about guts…”
Reproducing the lip tremble unique to drunkards who breathe out with a phoo and spit, the woman lay on her side on the bed, staring at Amin.
Amin frowned at her.
He sat leaning back on the bed, looking down at her.
After a moment of hesitation, he reached out to brush away a strand of hair that kept tickling her lips, causing her brows to furrow.
As he carefully tucked it behind her ear—
There it is again.
That blazing aura of sword energy flared around her, visible and almost tangible.
“What would you have done if you’d lost?”
He muttered, pretending not to notice the aura.
She rolled her eyes and replied:
“Didn’t matter if I won or lost. I just needed a chance to start negotiating with Yon Lauta.”
“…Is that so?”
Unbelievable.
“And if I lost, well…”
She shrugged and smiled playfully.
“You could’ve just bought me some jewels. My husband is the Archduke Wilhelm, after all. Booze is all about confidence, y’know?”
At the word “husband,” Amin’s hand—brushing another strand of hair from her cheek—froze.
“Right? You would’ve bought them for me, right?”
She asked with a cute expression.
Amin hesitated.
What would happen if he moved his hand from her cheek to her jaw, pulled her close?
If their lips met, their tongues mingled, their saliva mixed—would it absorb her aura?
“Rest easy.”
Could he erase the face that kept overlapping hers?
Or would that other Diana become even clearer?
Amin thought for a moment, then smirked darkly and said,
“Yeah. I would’ve bought you anything.”
Then he lowered his lips to those of the woman—Diana Isla, Diana Wilhelm—no…
The blacksmith Diana.
He was not the kind of man to pass up an opportunity like this.
