ECPK 08🤴

• CHAPTER 08

“And that place is crawling with nobles, so there’s always a lot of gossip. You might even catch something useful, depending on what you’re after.”

“That does sound tempting.”

“Only the high-and-mighty types usually show up, but you’ll be fine. You’ve got quite the infamous reputation.”

Bridget’s jab made Taeri glare at her, but she couldn’t exactly argue. Images of the vicious protesters outside the hotel popped into her head, and… yeah, there wasn’t much to refute.

If infamy counts as a form of fame, then she’d definitely hold her own in terms of attention.

“Just think about it. The offer’s not bad.”

“Tell me why you really want to do this, and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

“Huh? This is supposed to be a deal!”

“No, it’s not. This is you asking for a one-sided favor. If I really wanted, I could just go ask Ansi. Sweet, helpful Ansi would go out of her way to find the answer even if she didn’t know it herself.”

“Ugh…!”

“Make a choice. Fast.”

Finally realizing she didn’t have the upper hand, Bridget bit her nail and darted a glance out the window.

The carriage was already close to the riverbank, moving steadily down the road. If they passed the fork up ahead, they’d go straight into the apothecary district and miss the bridge entirely.

Taeri didn’t mind either way—whether they crossed the bridge to reach the wine bar Bridget wanted or stayed the course toward the abandoned ruins, her original destination.

When Taeri reminded her that time was running out, Bridget hesitated before blurting out the truth.

“I just…”

“Go on.”

“I mean, really just…”

“Uh-huh.”

“…I want to show them that we have a princess too.”

…What?

Taeri, who’d been listening calmly, was momentarily at a loss for words.

“They never shut up about how they live in high society while we’re just some backward, barbaric dump. That’s why they looked down on my teahouse too. ‘Who’d want to come to a place like this without any nobles?’ they said.”

“…”

“Even when we try to explain that we do have things, everything we had… it all fell apart. We don’t even have anything left to be proud of.”

Bridget clenched her jaw, likely thinking of past humiliations.

“They mock us. Treat us like we’re nothing. It’s infuriating… I’ve lost count of how many teacups I’ve smashed from waking up angry in the middle of the night.”

She was clearly starting to get riled up again.

With eyes blazing, Bridget grabbed Taeri’s arms like she was vowing vengeance.

“That’s why I’ve decided to forget about peaceful methods and just go make a goddamn scene. I’m not going down without a fight.”

A lot more passed through Taeri’s mind than just the pain in her arms.

What Bridget wanted was, in essence, childishly simple. Like a kid shouting, “I’m telling Mom!” and another yelling back, “Well I have a mom too!”

And yet, Taeri couldn’t bring herself to mock that childishness—because underneath it, there was something sincere.

It wasn’t about bragging or showing off. Bridget just wanted to hold up the best thing she had and say, Look, we’re worth something too.

— I want to show them that we have a princess too.

That one line echoed in her mind.

Knowing her existence could be someone’s pride, someone’s dignity… it weighed heavily on her shoulders. And maybe because of that, this felt like a request she couldn’t turn down.

“You sure about this? Won’t it just isolate you even more?”

“Who cares? My teahouse is already ruined. Besides, once you start being an outcast, I figure it only gets easier.”

She grinned, wild-eyed. Like she’d accepted her fate and was dragging someone else down with her.

Taeri could sort of understand why her business had failed—if that was how she treated customers—but she just laughed quietly instead.

Seeing they still had time before reaching the bridge, Taeri grabbed Bridget’s arms in return.

“Let’s call this a handshake.”

Of course, she had no real intention of causing a scene like Bridget described. She suspected that wasn’t what Bridget truly wanted anyway.

“R-Really? So it’s a deal?”

Bridget’s face lit up like a child receiving the perfect gift.

“Yeah. So cough up the whereabouts of the key thief.”

“Excuse you! What do you take me for, a rusty tin can with no brain? We’re not doing this on credit. It’s a fair trade—goods for goods.”

Wow, she really is a natural-born politician.

Bridget slapped the wall of the carriage, signaling to change direction. As the carriage rolled onto the bridge, the wind from the river whipped through the open window—and she beamed the brightest smile Taeri had ever seen.

“Ahhh, what a perfect day to cause chaos! Feels like it’s gonna rain too, with this muggy breeze!”

Sleep-deprived, Claude’s head throbbed with pain.

He jabbed his spoon into the steaming soup and shoved the noon-marking desk clock aside in irritation.

After meeting the princess, he’d spent the entire day thinking about her—and even that hadn’t been enough. He’d tossed and turned all night, and now he was dragging through a late morning.

He’d even missed his usual early patrol in the forest.

Frustrated, he pushed the untouched meal aside and impulsively reached for the thing he least wanted to deal with.

With a shring the sacred sword slid from its sheath—majestic, glorious… and aimed without care toward a potted plant in the corner.

As the blade cut through the air, a faint divine glow shimmered along its path. Half the plant’s blue leaves were cleanly severed.

Claude stared at the decapitated plant. Nothing happened. No divine miracle. No restoration.

His eyes narrowed, dark with disappointment, as he glared at the so-called holy relic in his hands.

“Useless scrap metal…”

Should he just toss it?

Honestly, part of him wanted to hurl it straight out the window.

But he didn’t. Because the sword wasn’t at fault.

If anything was wrong, it was him.

The sacred sword of Agatha, passed down to the most gifted holy knights in every generation, was a divine relic capable of miraculous healing—powered by the wielder’s own divine energy.

At least, that’s how the doctrine went.

In reality, it had long been monopolized by self-serving royals, passed hand-to-hand among them. Still, as long as a Valoran royal was born with even the faintest drop of divine power, it had always worked. No exceptions.

So under normal circumstances, a cut flower should’ve been no trouble.

Claude wasn’t the Emperor’s son, but he was his nephew—fourth in line for the throne, with a prestigious status few could rival.

And yet… the sword had done nothing.

His swordplay was flawless. But that was it. Not a single spark of divine power.

A holy knight without divine power. A commander of the holy order who couldn’t wield the sacred sword.

In short, he was living a massive lie.

And if that truth ever got out, it wouldn’t be dismissed as some trivial scandal. He’d be excommunicated at best. At worst, his very birth would come under scrutiny.

All because of that cursed family…

Just as all Izaris are born with magic, all Valoran royals are born with divine power.

If this little fraud ever came to light, the first thing people would question is whether Claude was truly of royal blood.

To make things worse, he was born late in the life of the Duke of Devonshire—a prime setup for rumors and conspiracies.

If only I weren’t really their child… it’d be easier to accept.

But he was their child. Very much so. One glance at the family portraits of House Devonshire made it undeniable. Still, once suspicion took root, facts wouldn’t matter.

Claude perched on the cold windowsill and looked out at the estate grounds with disinterest.

Maybe if I finish absorbing this land and vanish, no one will ever find me again.

He’d never wanted this. And yet, he had somehow become the Empire’s most celebrated knight. As dangerous as it was, he had to admit he’d played his part convincingly.

But safety today didn’t guarantee safety tomorrow.

Only three people knew the truth—his father, his brother, and the Emperor.

Claude intended to keep it that way.

He just wanted to finish this performance and disappear. Live quietly, unnoticed, with enough money to enjoy his peace.

— “I want to be someone who can help you.”

And then, just like that, a princess had fallen from the sky and landed right in front of his carefully guarded path.

A princess with an unusual background, odd timing, and stranger behavior.

The whole encounter had been so surreal, so intense, it had kept him awake all night.

Do I really have to befriend her? This doesn’t feel right. Everything about her screams enemy.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly grabbed the sacred sword he’d tossed aside.

“You’re awake?”

When the door opened, his aide Jed walked in and saw the noble figure of his commander, carefully polishing the blade.

Jed dropped to his knees in awe.

“Oohhh… Agatha’s sword. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it in full.”

Claude, handsome and expressionless, looked down at him coolly.

All this fuss over a sword… seriously? That was his honest reaction—dry and cynical. But Jed interpreted it differently.

To him, Claude’s calm demeanor and piercing gaze, paired with the divine weapon, made him look like a holy emissary of the gods themselves.

If anyone ever asked what a holy knight looked like, he’d point to Claude without hesitation.

Sword and knight—utterly perfect.

Anyone who saw him wield that blade, even once, would be awestruck.

He was just that strong. The power gap was so vast, people couldn’t help but submit. That’s who Claude was to the Empire’s knights.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“How can I not be? You barely ever draw it from the sheath.”

“There’s no reason to draw it if I have no reason to use it.”

“True. One mustn’t abuse divine power. But… you look exhausted.”

“I didn’t sleep well. What’s the latest report?”

Lately, Claude had been even more diligent about managing the forest. He checked the area daily and even hunted personally. Jed looked at him with renewed respect.

“Nothing unusual, sir. Are you looking for something specific?”

“There is something I’m looking for.”

“Oh?”

“A woman.”

“A woman?!”

“The princess.”