TTMLPTWW ~ Chapter 144

Seeing the Village Chief, my partner and story peddler, the two men began to inch backward.

They must have never dreamed that an executive of the Organization would be waiting for them.

“If the director finds out about this, you’ll suffer a fate too terrible to speak of. Wouldn’t it be better to die by my hand before that?”

Perhaps because he looked like a martial arts master, the Village Chief had the power to overwhelm his opponents with sheer spirit alone.

“We’re so sorry! We were blinded by greed and made the wrong choice!”

Watching the two men grovel like flies, the Village Chief glanced at me and rubbed his nose.

I gave him a thumbs-up, signaling that our plan had succeeded.

“Luring and capture complete.”

This was the moment we had tossed the master thieves, who were said to have learned pickpocketing before they could even walk, into our net.

The Village Chief said proudly, “We’re partners, after all.”

“We’re partners-in-crime,” I corrected.

I looked back and forth between the two terrified men and lowered my voice.

“Now, there’s something I need you to do. If you succeed, I’ll give you enough money to live comfortably in the sun. But if you fail, you’ll simply die.”

Based on the counseling sessions I’d held at the healing camp, the Organization’s members were people whose lives were held as collateral, their freedom stolen.

Most had been pushed here by harsh realities, and their goal was to earn a lot of money and step into the light.

The easiest problems are the ones that can be solved with money.

What they had to steal now was Makia’s heart… no, the document titled ‘Plan to Execute the Organization’s Executives.’

This way, I can also find the forces that are getting in our way—the ones who are tormenting us.

There was a high probability that they were involved in the execution of the first-generation executives who had brought down the monarchy.

The capital, at the estate of Count Queensguard.

Masera, dressed in a three-piece suit and an overcoat, stood staring at the portrait of Princess Margarita that was visible as soon as he entered.

Soon, he was guided by the butler to an outdoor greenhouse.

Masera’s gaze swept over the greenhouse’s interior, which was so dazzling it was almost burdensome.

It was filled with colorful flowers, and his eyes took in cute animal ornaments, statues of baby angels, and a fountain with flowers floating in it.

And there, completely out of place in this lovely space, sat Count Queensguard, leaning languidly against a sofa with a cigar in his mouth.

“Have a seat, son-in-law.”

He gestured with his eyes toward the sofa opposite him, which was covered in a floral lace cloth.

Fighting a sense of awkwardness and revulsion, Masera sat down across from the Count.

Noticing Masera’s furrowed brow, the Count let out a low laugh.

“It was my wife’s taste. The moment a man gets married, he loses his own opinions and learns not to complain even when he has to use a floral blanket.”

The Count glanced past the greenhouse at the mansion and the surrounding scenery, adding, “This estate was originally built as our marital home. Unfortunately, we had to go to the North, not the capital.”

“I understand it was not a smooth marriage.”

“Well, yes. The royal family was hardly going to give a princess to some knight with no title. So I groveled like a dog, just as they ordered.”

He flicked the ash from his cigar and shifted his posture, a signal that he was changing the subject.

“I heard you took Cynthia’s will.”

Masera lifted his teacup of rosemary tea with a blank expression.

“The Second Prince, who calls himself the last of the royals, came and delivered it to me himself.”

Though spoken in a polite tone, it was clear mockery.

“I wonder whose son he is, being such a dim-witted bastard. Just like you, my son-in-law. I hear you gave him several bullets as a thank-you gift.”

The Count spoke with a nonchalant expression, then added, “I suppose I see now why the royal family was so reluctant to accept me as a son-in-law. They shouldn’t have entrusted a princess to a military dog known as a human butcher.”

Masera’s eyes grew cold.

“Is that why you tried to have my wife remarry Duke Rukanosa? Did you know how I would react?”

“Isn’t it normal to choose the better option? Strictly speaking, it’s the same as choosing a knight to serve my beloved daughter for her entire life.”

Extinguishing his cigar, the Count savored his tea, the corners of his mouth curving into a loose smile.

“Since ancient times, the Bariesa Royal Family has assigned knights of a similar age to its princesses. A playmate in childhood, a knight who pledges loyalty in adulthood. It sounds plausible, but they’re no different from pet dogs who mistake obedience for a bond. Isn’t my way more humane than that?”

A lifelong knight could never marry and was expected to live and die solely for their master.

Because of this, there were often tales of jealousy and murder, where a knight would follow a princess to a foreign land upon her marriage and be killed by her husband, or conversely, the knight would murder the princess’s husband.

But Sir Grant Queensguard was different from those knights.

After annihilating every last member of the royal family, the last remaining knight had said, “I wanted a competent knight, not a son of a bitch who knew nothing but his master.”

Masera glared at the Count with ferocious eyes, as if he might bare his fangs and tear into his throat at any moment.

As if looking into a mirror’s abyss, the Count gazed back at the man who reminded him so much of his past self and murmured, “It only takes a moment for a loyal dog that wags its tail even when kicked to turn into a mad dog.”

A rabid dog, bizarrely twisted, that bites everything around it, then, left alone, spins in circles trying to tear at its own throat.

Though countless dramas of jealousy had unfolded within those master-servant relationships over the years, never once had a knight killed his princess.

Grant Queensguard was the first and the last.

Even he was aware that his own madness had driven Princess Margarita to her death.

Lost in reminiscence, the Count stroked his chin and said, “Of course, regardless of my personal opinion, the decision-maker was ultimately Cynthia, wasn’t it? I merely gave her some extremely rational advice.”

Despite his warnings not to get so sincere, Cynthia had stubbornly stepped into the realm of irrationality and curses.

Letting out a sigh, the Count got to the point.

“Brigadier General Vicente. According to marriage law, I must have the Nox and Diem regions returned to me. If things continue like this, they might fall into the hands of some undeserving fool.”

Masera lifted his chin, his face impassive.

“You need not worry about that. And of course, any claim that she is an impostor will be useless.”

He pulled what looked like a certificate from the inner pocket of his coat.

“I recently received another will through a priest. It seems my wife anticipated something like this might happen and prepared it in advance.”

The moment Masera finished speaking, the Count set his teacup down with a clatter—an uncharacteristic act for a man who maintained a noble demeanor in any situation.

Masera recited the contents, then placed the certificate of attestation that had been enclosed with the will on the table and pushed it toward him.

“My wife left an official will with the bishop of the Grand Cathedral and the royal family of Medea as attesting witnesses.”

“This is an official document with the highest legal authority, which cannot be forged in any way under the name of God.”

A single will now held absolute power, encompassing even the religious world.

To raise suspicions about it would be to challenge not only the royal family of the most powerful nation but God himself.

Even if Cynthia were deemed ineligible for the Bariesa Royal Family’s inheritance, the very act of doubting it would be considered blasphemous.

Count Queensguard, who had been frozen like a statue, took out a new cigar.

They say it’s human to fabricate even a last will and testament, but she used her death as a perfect means of concealment.

He had been the one who tried to bury the secret with her death.

But to think she would use her own death to her advantage first.

Such cunning hidden behind that innocent face—who on earth did she take after?

“Why are you so certain that she is the real one?”

At his question, Masera tilted his head slightly.

“That’s a strange question. You know the story behind the necklace.”

Masera retorted in a monotone voice, “How could I ever forget such a special Princess?”

The Count, who had only heard that the necklace was given to Madam Guise but didn’t know the full story, widened his eyes.

Did he know she was the real princess from the very beginning?

Masera recalled the pale white child wrapped in a blanket.

“Madam, is this child an Esatain? She looks like a cute rabbit.”

“She was born white, blessed by the winter god.”

He slowly closed and opened his eyes, then asked in return, “Are the rest of them real, then?”

“Ahaha.”

The Count finally burst into laughter. So he wasn’t a dog, but a sly little fox.

Masera maintained a relaxed demeanor, not pressing for an answer.

“This doesn’t seem to be the time to determine their authenticity. The truth could kill my one and only person.”

Then, his low voice made the air grow cold.

“Prince Carlos has been found dead. The only smokescreen left now is the Second Prince.”

This was why Masera had kept Edford alive.

It was for the same reason that the Count, who would mercilessly discard anyone useless, had kept him around.

Masera rose to his feet, his eyes cast down to look at the Count seated across from him.

“Ah, you called me an incompetent son of a bitch who couldn’t even protect his wife.”

“It wasn’t an incorrect statement. Are you perhaps offended?”

Masera, who couldn’t be scratched by such personal attacks, countered leisurely, “I just thought it was a peculiar way to introduce yourself.”

It was the Count, rather, who took the blow.

Silent, as if there was no room for rebuttal, the Count asked the question he had been putting off.

“What did Princess Margarita say back then?”

Masera, straightening his clothes, answered.

“She said she had to go to the North to find her child’s father.”

On the Count’s noble mask, which remained coolly composed in any situation, cracks slowly began to form.

“…What?”

💟 Translator Notes 💟
Seeing the Village Chief, my partner and story peddler, the two men began to inch backward.

[…]
“We’re partners, after all.”
“We’re partners-in-crime,” I corrected.

I attempted to keep the joke here as in-tact as possible.
In the narration and in Cynthia’s line she is using: 깐부 (ggan-bu) = squad/trusted ally/ride or die – but in a childhood games context (it’s the term used in Squid Games).
Whereas the Village Chief uses: 간부 (gan-bu) = executives/managers