Chapter 49
They were so young.
Only twelve years old this year.
Even counting by this world’s age system, that was still young.
But here, once a child turned ten, they began official successor training.
By fifteen, they were already called young marquis or young duke.
So by local standards, they were more than ready.
Besides, they’ve already tasted how cruel life can be.
Sure enough, the twins answered right away, standing side by side.
“I told you before — I’ll be your sword and shield, sis. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“I said I’d repay you. Whatever it is, leave it to me, Eileen.”
Their words made something in my chest feel tight and warm.
Was it because the door handle broke earlier, or was it my heart melting?
Ugh, Eileen, stop it. Keep your emotions together.
“If you slack off, I’ll fire you both. I’m tired, so go.”
I opened a book and laid it over my face.
Not pretending to sleep this time — actually sleeping.
***
The twins were up at dawn, already busy.
Bar went to find Catherine at the mines, while Bari began checking the estate’s paperwork formats.
When I went to see them that afternoon, they were both so focused they didn’t even notice I was there.
They knew what to do and didn’t need further instructions.
A few hours later, once things had settled, Catherine came to see me.
“Wow. When you punished Butler Scar, I was worried about how things would run. But those kids… they might actually pull it off.”
“You think so?”
“I do. They remind me of young wolves.”
She gave me a thumbs-up before leaving.
Grandpa Spoon, floating near the window, looked ridiculously pleased, smiling as he watched the twins outside.
Bar was still hauling firewood nonstop, even during break time.
<Ah, happiness! This is what family feels like! So heartwarming!>
Grandpa’s little spirit form stood with his hands behind his back, admiring them like a proud ancestor.
“You look way too happy.”
<Of course I’m happy!>
“Gillian got kidnapped by bandits, though.”
“Funny, you say that now, but you cried when we threw him out.”
<You’re too harsh to your poor old grandpa!>
Grandpa pouted, eyes watery again. The oldest member of this house also happened to be the most emotional.
“So, what about the mole crest?”
<I don’t know… It was a royal gift, but that’s all. I don’t know everything that happens in this family. I was asleep around the time your father left home…>
“Ugh. Useless.”
<Hey! You promised to make me a meal, remember?>
“Oh, you mean the memorial meal?”
<Yeah! That one!>
“Why should I? You’re a spirit — go eat morning dew or something.”
<You promised! My granddaughter’s a liar!>
He sulked and turned back into an ordinary spoon.
I ignored him, sipping my bland tea and nibbling a hard cookie.
We’d save points together — no reason for me to spend more than him.
***
The next day, a delivery arrived from the Duke of Asser’s estate — along with a letter.
“What’s this?”
“Wine, sis.”
“I can see that, thanks.”
It wasn’t just a few bottles.
It was a lot of wine. Mountains of it.
“Did Cartiman secretly fall in love with me or something?”
Probably wishing I’d die of liver failure, more like it.
Bari explained from the side.
“He must’ve heard you’re refurbishing the mansion. High-quality wine is useful for hosting guests, and if aged properly, it sells for a good price later.”
“So… expensive?”
“It’s also often used as a gift between lovers. So this shipment from the Duke might be—”
“No, no. I asked if it’s expensive.”
“…Yes. Very.”
“Perfect!”
As expected of Cartiman — never sending anything ordinary. Even his gifts could be sold for profit.
What a responsible contract husband.
While I was inspecting the bottles, Seba approached me nervously with an envelope.
“Uh, madam… maybe you should read the letter first. I think that’s the main thing — the wine’s just extra.”
“Can’t it wait? I want to check how much this haul’s worth.”
“How long will that take?”
“A week?”
“Please, just read it first…”
He looked like he was about to cry, so I gave in.
The envelope was fancy — gold foil and the duke’s seal.
“Does the Duke’s house just have too much money lying around?”
“That kind of stationery is used only when the Duke himself writes. It’s incredibly expensive.”
“So it must be important.”
I felt a tiny bit nervous as I unfolded the letter.
It said, simply:
“There will be a royal ball next month. Attend with me.”
…That was it.
I flipped the letter over. Front, back — nothing else.
“That’s it? He used gold-foil paper for one sentence? Poor trees. Poor gold.”
Nature probably cried when this letter was made.
“Maybe it’s a secret code? Should I hold it over a flame to reveal hidden text?”
“Ah, no, madam,” Seba said quickly. “The Duke doesn’t use codes. If I may ask, what did he write?”
“Here, you read it.”
I handed him the letter and went back to organizing wine.
Then Seba suddenly jumped like he’d been electrocuted.
“What’s wrong? You look like you got struck by lightning.”
“M-Madam! You must return immediately!”
“Huh? Why?”
“This means the royal ball is next month — the Duke is ordering you to come back right away! He must’ve waited as long as he could before sending this!”
His voice shot up an octave. I stayed calm.
He was nearly having a breakdown, clutching the letter like it was a royal decree.
“Especially since it’s the royal ball. Preparation takes weeks! Everyone important in the kingdom attends!”
Seba went on to explain in full detail:
How nobles and royals all gather, how political power games erupt behind polite smiles, how people duel with words and etiquette instead of swords.
Apparently, it’s so fierce inside that even the servants can feel the tension in the air.
“Usually, preparations begin a month or two beforehand! That letter basically says, ‘Come home and start preparing now!’”
“Oh. Why didn’t he just say that, then?”
“He did! This is as direct as a duke ever gets! Even a fool could understand it!”
“Your tone’s getting sharper lately.”
“I… I’ve been hanging around the mercenaries too much, sorry…”
Honestly, it suited him better this way.
He’s right, though. It’s about time I went back.
Most of my work here was done anyway.
But I couldn’t shake a sense of unease. Like leaving a bomb behind me.
And that bomb’s name was Scar.
He was unpredictable — just like me. What if he caused chaos while I was gone?
“Seba, that communication crystal can reach Scar too, right?”
“Yes.”
“And it has the text message function now?”
“Yes, I made sure of it.”
“Good. Send him a message for me.”
***
The Duke of Asser’s territory was quite far.
It took Scar a few days of travel by carriage before he finally arrived.
“Go in,” the guard said.
Always acting so high and mighty.
Scar smirked to himself and walked inside.
The Duke of Lemone’s estate was bustling — preparations for the upcoming royal ball were in full swing.
All for the duke’s beloved only daughter: Lady Rosi Lemone.
Rosi was practically worshipped like a goddess within her family.
Every young noblewoman around her behaved like a loyal disciple, hanging on her every word.
“You’re so beautiful, my lady. If angels exist, they’d look like you.”
“You’ll surely be the star of the royal ball.”
“But isn’t the princess attending too?”
Rosi’s lips curved.
“Even if the princess brings all the royal jewels, she can’t outshine me.”
“Exactly! I still remember last year’s ball — every eye was on you, and the princess was so jealous she wouldn’t even come near you! She just sat in a corner petting her cat!”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Rosi laughed elegantly.
“What was your name again?”
“Rona Lann, my lady.”
“Ah, from the Lann family. I’ll remember you.”
The young lady nearly fainted from happiness.
Mocking the royal family so openly…
But it wasn’t that strange.
The royal family’s power had waned, rivaled or even surpassed by certain ducal houses.
Magic Towers and holy orders had risen to power, taking away much of the king’s divine image.
People once believed royals were “children of the gods,”
but now they found more wonder in the miracles of magic and the blessings of priests.
And so, the royal family’s authority dwindled — while houses like Lemone flourished.
When Cassas entered the room, Rosi motioned with a finger.
“Everyone leave. I have business.”
“Shall we wait next door?”
“Yes.”
The perfumed young ladies bowed and left the chamber.
“Sit,” Rosi ordered.
Three people — Rosi, Cassas, and Scar — sat down.
The atmosphere was heavy.
Paintings lined the walls, golden light flickering across them.
Behind Rosi hung a painting of a noble stepping into the royal palace — a not-so-subtle symbol.
Her voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut glass.
“I want those who covet what’s mine… to fall.”
“…”
“I want House Dante to fall.”
Her eyes gleamed with obsession.
“I want Eileen Dante to fall.”
