MSVL 07

The Marquisate of Glover—one of the great bloodlines that ruled over the Empire of Lysias, known as the Empire of Gold.

Second only to the imperial family, the Glover marquisate had maintained its lineage longer than almost any other house in the empire. It was also a family that upheld absolute neutrality.

From a political standpoint, “neutrality” was usually something that could not be sustained for long. Yet the Glover family had never wavered, maintaining that stance since the founding of the empire.

The reason was simple.

They possessed the power to remain neutral—and, more importantly, they held the justification that they served not the imperial family, but the empire itself.

One might argue that serving the empire was the same as serving the imperial family. But the Glover marquisate was different. If the imperial family ever became a threat to the empire, they would not hesitate to turn their blades against it.

Over time, they proved through their actions that they existed solely for the sake of the Empire of Lysias. As a result, they came to be revered by countless nobles and citizens alike.

Because of this, the imperial family remained wary of the Glovers, yet could not recklessly cast them aside.

After all, the Glovers acted under the banner of serving the empire alone. If the imperial family were to interfere, it could easily be seen as acting against the empire itself.

Thus, from the imperial perspective, the Glover family was one they could neither draw close nor push away.

Despite appearing to possess wealth and power rivaling even the imperial family, the current head of the house, Hasca Glover, had not shown himself publicly for over a decade.

The reason was a tragedy no one had forgotten.

Eighteen years ago, on a stormy night in early spring—one so violent it defied belief—

The marquis had been delayed at the imperial palace, overwhelmed with work. At that time, his wife, Marchioness Rosaline Glover, received news that her mother was critically ill. Though heavily pregnant, she boarded a carriage in haste.

It was a dark night, lashed by savage wind and rain.

Urged on by his mistress, the coachman drove quickly. Then—

Something suddenly rose in the road.

In trying to avoid it, the carriage overturned at full speed.

The coachman was thrown from his seat and died on the spot. Inside the carriage, the head maid shielded the marchioness, striking her head hard enough to lose consciousness.

And the marchioness—

Due to the shock of the accident, went into premature labor.

There, inside the wrecked carriage, she gave birth.

When the marquis finally received the news and rushed to the scene, his face pale as death, it was already too late.

The marchioness had died from excessive blood loss.

And then came yet another tragedy.

The child she had given her life to bring into the world… was gone.

Having lost both his beloved wife and child, the marquis searched like a madman for any trace of the infant. But the raging storm of that night had erased everything.

Even with the imperial family’s assistance, scouring the entire empire yielded nothing.

Time passed.

Just as members of the household began cautiously suggesting that perhaps it was time to give up the search—

The marquis made a declaration.

To anyone who found his child, he would grant a reward beyond imagination.

He never once entertained the possibility that the child was dead. Seeing this, everyone in the empire understood—he would search until the day he died.

Though the marquis no longer appeared in public, people began flocking endlessly to the Glover estate.

No one knew what the child looked like. They did not even know whether it was a boy or a girl.

But there was one common trait among the children brought forward—

They all had black hair.

It was well known that every member of the Glover bloodline was born with black hair.

The problem was that black hair was not uncommon in Lysias.

Of course, the Glovers’ hair was said to be so dark it seemed to swallow sunlight, with a distinctive sheen that made it recognizable to the eye. But to swindlers who had never seen it, any black-haired child was a viable “tool.”

And so, many such children came.

At first, they were infants wrapped in swaddling cloths. But as time passed, they grew older.

Eventually, some came not led by others, but on their own—claiming to be the lost child of the Glover family.

Each time, the marquis would think—

If only he had returned home a little earlier that day…

If only his wife had endured until sunrise…

If only the coachman had driven more carefully…

If only the maid had not lost consciousness…

If only there had been more attendants…

Would things have been different?

Burdened by regret, he met them all.

And each time, his hope was crushed into deeper despair.

Occasionally, there were those who truly seemed as though they might be his child. But the temple would always deliver the same verdict:

“They are not the marquis’s child.”

And so, disappointment followed disappointment.

Then one day—

On a spring morning, when he would have held a grand birthday celebration had the child not been lost—

The marquis received a different kind of visitor.

[I know where your child is.]

A mysterious priest, his face hidden beneath the deep hood of a worn robe, appeared and made the claim.

Escorted to the drawing room and served a cup of warm tea, the priest spoke calmly to the marquis, who glared at him with cold eyes.

[You’d better go quickly. The child is in a bit of trouble.]

A faint smile touched the red lips visible beneath the hood.

After finishing the tea, the priest left without a trace of hesitation.

A knight secretly followed him to uncover his identity—

But the priest vanished as if into thin air.

[It may be a trap targeting you, my lord.]

The loyal steward tried to dissuade him.

But the marquis chose to go.

Having chased even the most obvious frauds for the smallest chance, he had no reason to ignore this one—no matter how suspicious it seemed.

Once he made his decision, the steward summoned the equally loyal knight commander, who in turn prepared the troops.

And so, they set out.

Riding slowly toward the location the priest had given, the marquis’s face remained cold and sharp.

But inside, the flame of hope had begun to burn once more, drying him out from within.

“My lord, it would be best not to hope too much. We’ve searched every corner of the capital. And now, suddenly…”

“I know.”

“In that case, you needn’t go yourself. I can handle—”

“It’s likely not the child. I know that. But still… I go because there is nothing else this pathetic father can do.”

The knight commander, bearing a long scar that ran from his temple across his forehead, swallowed the sigh that nearly escaped and followed behind.

After some time, they arrived.

Dismounting, the marquis looked up at a shabby shop bearing a worn sign:

“Grocery Store.”

Rosa… will we finally find our child this time?

Clenching his trembling hand, he began climbing the creaking stairs to the attic on the third floor—guided by the directions given by a woman who called herself Joan.

At the top—

He opened the door.

And found someone he had not expected.

“I’m sorry! Please spare me!”

A young girl, flattened against the floor, trembling.

“What have I done wrong?” seemed written in her posture.

“Raise your head.”

The moment he saw her short, uneven black hair, his heart began to pound violently.

And when she slowly lifted her head—

He knew.

“…It’s you.”

Hair black enough to swallow sunlight.

Facial features resembling his late wife.

And pale violet eyes—like his own in childhood.

“I’ve finally found you.”

He didn’t need the temple’s confirmation.

This was the child born of his love with his wife.

The girl bit her lower lip slightly, looking up at him in confusion—just like his wife had in her youth.

Even the trembling violet eyes were unmistakable.

Behind him, even the knight commander—who had warned him not to hope—stared in shock, looking between the two.

“I am your father.”

For the first time, he spoke the words he had never once been able to say.

And he reached out his hand.

Still lying prostrate, the girl only lifted her head, too confused to take it.

“My child.”

“I’m eighteen… so calling me a child is a bit—no, wait, that’s not the point… I think you’ve got the wrong person…?”

“No. This time, I’ve found you properly. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Kneeling before her, meeting her gaze—

The Marquis Glover smiled brightly.

At last—

It was the moment he would part with the nightmare that had haunted him all this time.