Chapter 05
In the Pleta Empire, there existed a council of nobles that held the most influence after the emperor.
The council consisted of five ducal houses: the emperor’s faction—House Lusher and House Macmillan; the noble faction—House Crocus and House Ratze; and the neutral faction—House Renfesto.
These five families possessed power so great that even the emperor could not easily destroy them.
That was why Killian had been unable to purge Duke Crocus along with Gridial.
For the same reason, Gridial had also been unable to eliminate the Lusher family, which had been his greatest thorn.
“As expected. It is an engagement with House Lusher, after all.”
“Yes. They’ve been frequently gathering at Grand Duke Bellagro’s hideout.”
“They must be in quite a hurry.”
Killian looked down leisurely at Zenon and Duke Crocus.
Zenon, acting like an emperor among the noble faction, looked utterly ridiculous to him.
“From tonight onward, monitor all nobles gathering at Bellagro’s hideout. If anyone who isn’t a noble enters, identify them.”
“As you command.”
Leoni saluted lightly.
Killian swept his gaze across the banquet hall with an expression devoid of emotion.
“Where is Roderick?”
“Sir Welling has collapsed. He hasn’t slept at all for several days.”
“How frail.”
Roderick had been appointed as an administrator, but without an aide, he had been handling both roles alone.
Since Killian announced his engagement to Sierra, Roderick had been buried in work—handling foreign diplomacy and internal affairs for nearly three months.
Overtime had become the norm, with no rest even on weekends.
But to Killian, whose stamina seemed limitless, it looked like mere weakness.
“…It would be best to appoint an aide soon. Even if Sir Welling is somewhat weak, handling both administrative and aide duties is too much.”
Leoni spoke up, trying to advocate for him.
Anyone in Roderick’s position would struggle under such an overwhelming workload.
“If he only wants to do administrative work, tell him to bring me someone trustworthy as soon as possible.”
You’ll reject them anyway.
Leoni swallowed the words rising to his throat.
Killian had already rejected three candidates.
Though it made sense to be strict when selecting an imperial aide, Killian’s standards were beyond unreasonable.
He demanded someone with stamina comparable to his own—and even combat skills sufficient to protect him.
“…Yes, I will relay your words.”
Leoni accepted it. Complaining wasn’t in his nature.
“And—”
Killian lowered his hand from his chin, a faint killing intent settling over his face.
“Any news on Esi Ahil yet?”
“We’ve searched the borders and coast thoroughly… but no one has seen or knows of her since that day.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
His voice carried simmering anger, making Leoni flinch.
“I apologize. We’ve commissioned an investigation from the most renowned information guild in the Eastern Continent. We should hear something soon.”
They had already tried guilds within the empire, but all they learned was the obvious—she wasn’t from Pleta.
So they turned to the Eastern Continent, known as the “Fountain of Information.”
“Good. At least something should come from them.”
Killian closed his eyes briefly, his tone softening.
For over four years, there had been no trace of Esi Ahil.
After the victory party, she had vanished as if she had never existed.
When days passed with no results, Killian even deployed Sharon, his personal imperial knights.
For a year, he searched relentlessly—and grew increasingly ruthless.
He waged wars frequently and executed anyone who displeased him.
The empire’s power rose along with the bloodshed—but so did his reputation as a merciless war fiend.
Then, after two years of chaos, he suddenly became quiet.
He stopped waging war and even elevated Gridial’s illegitimate son to grand duke.
Rumors spread that he had gone mad.
Ironically, those two years of frenzy had helped him understand his own emotions.
“Even the most absurd rumor is fine. Bring me anything about Esi Ahil.”
What he had suppressed through violence turned out to be anxiety… and desperation.
He wanted to find her.
And he did not deny it.
As if starting anew, Killian resumed his search.
“As you command.”
Leoni found solace in the fact that at least this was better than war.
Killian, having regained his composure, looked down at the banquet hall again.
His gaze fell on Sierra and Noel—and the silver-haired woman beside them.
The woman, hidden behind Noel before, now blended naturally into their group.
“Who is that?”
“Pardon?”
“The silver-haired woman beside the young Duke of Macmillan.”
Leoni quickly located Noel.
Beside him stood Irein.
“Ah, I’ve heard she’s the Marchioness of Chaent. She’s been ill and stayed in her territory, but attended today because of the occasion.”
“Marchioness of Chaent?”
As Killian watched her with suspicion, their eyes met.
Clear blue eyes, without a single flaw.
For a moment, Killian doubted his own sight.
At the same time, the face of the war hero from four years ago flashed through his mind.
Dong—dong—dong—
The bells announcing midnight rang.
As if it were a signal, Irein turned away and left the hall.
Even after she was gone, Killian remained silent, replaying those blue eyes in his mind.
“That woman earlier… you said she’s the Marchioness of Chaent?”
“Yes. Irein Ediophe Chaent.”
Leoni answered, puzzled.
“Isn’t that the family Duke Lusher managed in place of its heir?”
“Yes. After the previous marquis couple died, Duke Lusher held the title on behalf of his sick niece.”
“When did her illness begin?”
“I’m not certain, but I’ve heard she’s been frail since childhood and rarely left her territory.”
“Frail…”
That was far from Esi Ahil.
Her hair color was different. The large scar was gone.
And yet—those eyes.
They overlapped perfectly.
“Investigate the marchioness. Whether she truly has an illness, since when—and whether she has truly never left her territory.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Killian replayed that brief moment again.
Even from a distance, her eyes had been vivid.
In truth, he hadn’t even noticed her expression—only her eyes.
What if Irein really is Esi Ahil?
There was no proof yet.
But his instincts told him otherwise.
Still, he would not act on instinct alone.
To end this endless game of hide-and-seek, he needed evidence.
Proof that Irein was Esi Ahil.
“Tell Roderick to send a letter to House Chaent.”
Of course, he had no intention of leaving her alone until then.
“An imperial summons. Tell her the emperor wishes to see her in two days.”
Because the time he had spent searching for her…
had been far too long.
