[Shock! Countess Jeanne Proud Caught Having Another Secret Affair!]
“Oh no, Pedro! Our affair’s been exposed!”
Countess Jeanne cried as she buried her face in her hands.
“Don’t cry, Jeanne,” her lover, Viscount Pedro, tried to comfort her.
“How can I not cry? Look at this never-ending article!”
She threw the newspaper onto the table.
Every word of their sweet conversation from last night was written there—nothing left out.
And that wasn’t all.
It also described how she’d tried fortune-telling with flowers from the garden to test their love… but got the worst result possible.
Then, when she tried to lighten the mood by dancing a waltz, Pedro—terrible at dancing—stepped on her feet four times in a row and made everything even more awkward.
Even little, clumsy details like that were written out in humiliating detail.
Jeanne’s face burned red.
Seeing my private moments retold like this… what a farce!
At the top of the densely written article was a black, ominous bird crest. The newspaper’s name was bold:
[The Black Bird Daily]
Editor-in-Chief: Isadora McDorr
“My husband won’t care, but that’s not the point! The real issue is how this woman got all my private secrets!”
“Well… she is infamous, after all.”
People always said: In the Empire, Isadora hears the words spoken in the day, and Isadora hears the whispers at night too.
The Black Bird Daily was notorious for printing every scandal and secret imaginable. And the shocking part?
Everything they published was true.
Secret affairs, backroom meetings, even the muttering you did alone while soaking in the bath—nothing escaped them.
Their information network was terrifying.
“We need to replace the household staff,” Pedro muttered.
“I should, too! Ah! I’m so mad I won’t be able to sleep tonight!” Jeanne sobbed again, and Pedro patted her shoulder.
From outside, a crow flapped its wings and flew away.
[Got myself another scoop!]
“Caw! Caw!”
The crow cackled with laughter.
That crow was Isadora McDorr herself—the editor-in-chief of the Black Bird Daily.
She wasn’t an ordinary woman—she was a crow beastkin. That was why she could sneak deep into castles and eavesdrop on noble secrets.
[Now, maybe I should check the Count’s reaction next!]
What would make a better follow-up article than an interview with Jeanne’s husband?
She fluttered to the other side of the castle and perched quietly.
[What’s this? His wife is with another man, and he doesn’t even care?]
Turns out Jeanne was right.
The Count truly didn’t care. Even with his wife cheating, Count Proud was busy in a deep conversation with other nobles.
“If this assassination succeeds…”
[Wait, what?]
“…we should rule the Empire through a council.”
“First, we need to place Prince Kael on the throne!”
“Why? Weren’t we all gathered here to destroy the monarchy? Why put another emperor up there?”
“If we don’t, some will try to split off and form their own kingdoms! Better to use the prince as our puppet!”
The nobles bickered back and forth, refusing to compromise.
Then one man nervously raised the biggest problem.
“The biggest obstacle will be the Black Duke. How will we deal with him?”
“He can’t be bought. Even if we could, he’d just become another threat. The only solution is to kill him.”
“What?! Kill Duke Caribou? The man whom even the Grim Reaper avoids? How?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down! If anyone hears this, we’ll all be dead!”
Count Proud rushed to the window and hissed nervously.
“Even the birds must go. Out with you!”
— Flutter!
The startled birds scattered. Isadora, too, had to flap her wings desperately and flee with them.
[Did I really just hear that? The nobles are planning a rebellion…]
Her pale eyes shook in shock.
[This is it! A huge scoop!]
“Caw! Caw!”
“That crow sure is loud,” a farmer grumbled as he tossed slop to pigs.
[Perfect! Tomorrow’s paper will be all mine!] Isadora shrieked with joy.
[I’ll finally crush that cursed Golden Scales Daily!]
This kind of exclusive would outsell every competitor.
She could already imagine the arrogant Harris siblings—the backers of the Golden Scales Daily—grinding their teeth.
The sun set, and night fell. But sleep wasn’t on Isadora’s schedule. She had an explosive story to write.
Yet… someone else’s eyes were following her in the dark.
— Thunk!
[Ack…]
Her feathers stood on end at the ominous sound. She turned her head.
A bloody arrow was sticking straight through her wing.
Pain burned as her feathers singed.
She’d been too distracted by her scoop to notice the danger.
And now, she plummeted toward the ground.
“Do you even care about your life? Do you want the nobles to kill you?!”
Her twin brother, Edgar, shouted as he bandaged her arm.
“You’re really not going to live long at this rate!”
“Stop nagging me. Why? I plan to live until my hair turns white!”
Isadora hated her brother’s endless scolding.
“I can’t just be some faceless writer like you, Edgar. I’m going to stand in the spotlight! I’ll spread newspapers with my name on them across the whole world!”
“…Fine, fine, I get it. But just—”
“…Caw.”
That night, heavy snow fell over the mountains.
In the white snow lay a crow, trembling, with an arrow stuck in her wing.
Her vision blurred like mist, and footsteps crunched in the snow.
A rough hand grabbed her ankle and lifted her upside down. Blood dripped from her wing onto the snow.
The hunter grinned, reeking of blood. Birds he’d already killed dangled from his belt.
Soon, Isadora would join them.
“Guess I’ll make crow stew tonight.”
[Edgar… I think I might really die.]
Maybe her brother was right—her life would end too early.
After all, she had too many enemies among the nobles she’d exposed.
But to die here, not from their revenge, but simply as a hunter’s dinner?
[Pathetic…]
She even let out a small laugh.
The hunter’s shadow fell over her head.
Her body sagged. She knew there was no escape.
This man was skilled. He’d probably kill her in one swift blow.
Tears stung her eyes as she closed them. Her heart went still and calm.
Then, in a flash, words came back to her.
“Don’t you dare die before me.”
Her eyes snapped open.
— Flap!
“Argh! Damn crow! My eye!”
The hunter screamed as her beak struck his face. He dropped her, clutching his bleeding eye, cursing.
Isadora thrashed desperately.
If she died here, Edgar would be left alone. And her brother, so lonely by nature, wouldn’t survive it.
— Kick!
The hunter’s boot slammed into her.
The arrow in her wing snapped, and she rolled across the snow until she lay at the edge of a cliff.
For a moment, she blacked out. When she came to, the ground fell away below her.
“Damn bird… come here! I’ll fry you alive!” the hunter staggered toward her.
If she got caught now, it wouldn’t be a clean death.
But Isadora looked down into the abyss. A narrow path wound below, and at the end of it glowed a faint golden light.
Through the snowstorm, a line of carriages came into view.
She waited, steady, until they were right below.
“Where’s my skewer? I’ll make your eyes look just like mine!”
[Closer… closer…]
“Got you!”
[Now!]
Isadora leapt from the cliff.
— Thump!
“What was that sound?”
Inside one of the carriages, a man raised his head from his papers. His sharp, lake-colored eyes narrowed.
The servant shrank nervously.
“Uh… this mountain is known for rockfalls. Probably just a stone dropping, sir.”
“That wasn’t the sound of a rock,” the man muttered.
He looked up. The golden lamp above the carriage shook uneasily.
This was Duke Caribou—the Black Duke himself.
He was so sharp that people said he could taste poison in food before it even touched his lips.
Everyone in the carriage went tense, worried an assassin had dropped onto the roof.
The whole procession came to a sudden halt.
