Chapter 19

“They said killing a mere girl would be as easy as pie.”

“We even provided private soldiers in case anything unexpected happened!”

“Then who on earth were those protecting the noble lady?!”

If the operation had succeeded, they could have split the overflowing fortune of House Elemoer among themselves.

Of course, a bloody internal war would have followed as they fought to claim a bigger portion, but at least they wouldn’t have lost everything like this.

“That’s…”

Padelmon furrowed his brow deeply.

That was precisely what he wanted to know most.

How had she managed to fend off such a large number of attackers?

Was Katrin Elemoer truly capable of predicting it and preparing a defense?

If so, then there could only be one answer.

“It must be that one of us betrayed the plan and leaked information, don’t you think?”

At Padelmon’s sharp conclusion, the entire room buzzed with rising agitation.

“They probably got something from that wench. Otherwise, there’s no way she would’ve survived all that bloodshed.”

A voice rose in protest.

“That can’t be true!”

But another voice, persuaded and angry, shouted back.

“Then who the hell would do such a thing?!”

Their collective anger toward Padelmon—the mastermind—began to morph into distrust toward each other.

“But really, as Count Padelmon said, how could she have prepared if someone hadn’t tipped her off beforehand?”

“Damn it! Who was it?!”

Shouts of frustration and betrayal echoed through the hall.

Padelmon crossed his pudgy arms, his eyebrows twitching.

These pathetic, useless Elemoer wretches. Still… they were too valuable to completely discard just yet.

Better to settle them down for now and draft the next plan.

“Now, everyone, let’s stop this infighting and—”

“Besides, there’s already a letter from the House of Elemoer.”

Just as he opened his mouth, someone interrupted, making Padelmon flinch.

“What did you say?”

“They said they’ll spare exactly ten people—just ten—if they surrender and beg for forgiveness quickly enough.”

Padelmon’s pupils trembled violently.

“I’ve heard a few have already gone to her. If you don’t act soon, Count, we might all end up bowing to Katrin Elemoer!”

Now that they thought about it, several familiar faces were missing.

In the growing murmur, someone quietly scanning the room suddenly stood up and left.

Soon after, others began to follow one by one.

“…!”

Padelmon’s head buzzed in stunned disbelief. A memory suddenly resurfaced—what Lucia had said after returning from the ball, pale-faced.

“Katrin… she’s changed. Before, she just seemed like someone with a bad temper. But now, she’s sharp. Cunning. It gives me a bad feeling.”

He had scoffed at the time.

Was she… right?

Meanwhile…

At the palace training grounds, a junior noble aligned with the Emperor’s faction smirked while holding a wooden sword and staring down the man before him.

Standing opposite him in a ready stance was Etias von Clyde—a prince of the empire.

“What an honor it is that someone as lowly as me gets to challenge Your Highness.”

The junior noble’s sharp smile was echoed by snickering from his friends gathered in a circle around the match.

“Calling him ‘lowly’? Look at those clothes! That’s pure mockery—hah! Who’s really lowborn here?”

Behind Etias, Caron stood in tattered clothes with leaves stuck to him, watching his lord’s back with a helpless expression.

It had started when the noble ordered Caron, who’d been tending the garden, to climb a tall tree and pick fruit from the top.

Caron reluctantly obeyed, scaling a ladder and perching on a branch to collect the fruit—only for the noble and his friends to remove the ladder.

They laughed and taunted him to jump down. But Etias, discovering this, rushed over and pointed his sheathed sword at the noble’s throat.

“Do you wish to die?”

The ladder was quickly restored, and Caron descended safely—but the noble, humiliated, challenged Etias to a duel.

Because no matter how noble he was, threatening someone—even with a sheathed weapon—could be considered an insult to the challenger’s house.

“Your Highness…”

Caron bit his lip in misery, fists trembling.

For a mere junior noble to challenge royalty was unthinkable—but Etias was seen as a puppet prince.

While harming a royal was a grave crime, once a duel was accepted, injuries were dismissed under the code of masculine honor.

“Hey, go easy on him!”

“He’s still royalty. You’ll be punished if you overdo it!”

The nobles laughed cruelly.

They had all seen Etias standing powerlessly in his shabby clothes during imperial ceremonies.

A weakling raised under the Emperor’s shadow—what skills could he possibly have? That was the common opinion among young nobles.

Their challenge was partly driven by a base instinct to crush someone who, despite his status, still dared to carry himself with dignity.

“Well then, here I come.”

The noble arrogantly announced his attack, aiming to overpower Etias with a single move using his family’s secret sword technique.

He was confident. After all, he worked in the palace’s military division and was known for his sword skills.

“Hah!”

In an instant, he rushed forward, swinging the wooden sword—

Crack—

Pain exploded across his forehead. Stars danced before his eyes.

Before he could react, Etias delivered a flawless horizontal strike across his chest and immediately drove the blade down into the noble’s knee.

Crunch—

“Aaagh!”

A scream of agony echoed across the arena.

1 second. 2 seconds. 3 seconds.

He collapsed to the floor, clutching his leg and howling.

“My leg! My knee!”

Etias had shattered his kneecap with ease. He stared down at the writhing man, cold eyes gleaming.

The spectators, who moments ago were laughing, now stared in stunned silence.

This was the same puppet prince they had all dismissed—and yet, he had just demonstrated overwhelming power.

Etias turned away without a word, leaving the noble screaming.

No one could stop him. No one dared.

“Your Highness.”

Caron, covered in dirt, rushed to his side.

“As I’ve said before… it’s dangerous to reveal your true strength like this…”

“The goal of the revolution is not merely to overturn the world.”

Etias halted, his voice chilling.

“It’s to protect my people.”

Their eyes met. Caron lowered his gaze.

“You’re one of them too.”

At five years old, Etias had lost everything. Caron had never considered what kind of weight that left on his lord’s shoulders.

“I… I’m sorry.”

Etias began walking again. Caron followed behind.

“Besides, you know full well what my real power is.”

“Your Highness…”

The true power Etias must hide—the power befitting the empire’s true heir—was something else entirely.

A rare ability, even among the Clyde imperial family.

The supernatural art of shadow control: “Umbra.”

The weapon no one else knew he had.