YWPWYLFDM 01

Chapter 1

A woman sat alone in a dark room. The room was spacious, yet the small lamp burning beside her was far too dim to drive away the darkness that smothered the world outside.

She was waiting for her prey within that darkness.

Roderick Allen Weishafen.
That was the name of the man who would become her sacrifice.

…I can do this. No— I must do this. For Father.

With her silver hair gleaming faintly in the lamplight and blue eyes set in a tense expression, she drew a dagger from her bosom.

It was a weapon wholly unsuited to the lavish, elegant dress she wore, yet she gazed at it with eyes that revealed nothing of her heart.

The dagger was splendid— its sheath worked in platinum and set with a violet diamond. It was her father’s most treasured possession, one he had never let anyone else touch.

And yet he had lent it to her.

So that she might kill Roderick Weishafen, the duke who had ruined his life.

I must do this well. I cannot betray Father’s expectations.

Resolving herself, she slipped the dagger back out of sight.

For the sake of her father—her only family, her everything—she would kill Roderick Weishafen.

In truth, she had lived for this day alone.

She had trained in the arts of assassination since childhood, and two years ago had entered this household, pretending to be the duke’s long-lost daughter.

Fortunately, her appearance was strikingly similar to that of Aila Heiling Weishafen, the missing daughter.

Her father had lived his entire life without a right hand, severed by Roderick’s blade. And that was not all. He said Roderick had stolen everything that should have been his.

Thus her father had lived branded as a criminal, forced to wander in hiding.

And she, too, had shared that fate—drifting from place to place with her father since childhood. Until two years ago, when she entered this mansion under the guise of the duke’s daughter.

It should have filled her with satisfaction, preparing to kill her father’s enemy. Yet instead, an odd unease weighed on her heart.

Why? She herself could not explain it. Could it be she had grown some meager attachment—to Roderick, and to his wife Ophelia?

Or was it fear—fear of killing someone for the first time in her life? Though she had mastered countless techniques of death, the act itself was another matter entirely.

Don’t think about such things.

She shook her head, chiding herself.

This was necessary. For Father’s revenge. And to finally claim her true name.

For she had lived her entire life without knowing her own name, nor her father’s.

He had always called her “my daughter.” His subordinates addressed her only as “miss.”

Everyone had a name—even the dogs her father kept. Everyone but her.

Whenever she begged him to tell her, he always said the same thing:

“It’s too dangerous if you know your real name. The day my revenge is complete, I’ll tell you.”

Having lived her whole life as fugitives, she could only believe him.

Once the deed was done—once Roderick was dead—she would finally learn her name, and her father’s. She believed it.

As she wrestled with these tangled emotions rising within her, a knock came at the door.

He’s here. Her heart plummeted.

Was she still unprepared? No—she had prepared for this for years. Yet at the very moment itself, nerves were inevitable.

“Milady, His Grace the Duke has arrived.”

“Show him in.”

Forcing her trembling hands to still, she gave her answer.

The door opened, and Roderick Weishafen entered. With black hair and blue eyes, his physique was still powerful at forty, a body befitting the Empire’s foremost swordsman and the head of the Weishafen family—guardians of the Empire.

Though his gaze was ever sharp and wary, he had always been gentle to his daughter.

“I’m here, Aila. What were you doing in the dark?”

With a hearty laugh, he stepped into the room. At that sight, something pricked painfully in her chest.

Foolish man.

Did he not realize he was walking straight into a trap? That his so-called daughter had summoned him here to kill him?

She should have scorned him for that foolishness. But somehow, she couldn’t.

“It’s not my first time in your room, but for some reason I feel nervous.”

Scratching the back of his head awkwardly, Roderick stepped further in.

Once the door closed behind him, leaving only the two of them, his eyes suddenly sharpened.

“…Who else is here?”

“What? N-no, it’s just me.”

Panic welled in her. Would everything unravel before she could even draw her blade?

For indeed, someone else was in the room. Someone she had hidden.

Roderick, as a Swordmaster, had sensed it with his inhuman perception.

“Stay behind me.”

But he did not suspect her. He truly believed she was Aila Weishafen. Naturally, he would protect his daughter.

He stepped toward the wardrobe where the presence hid.

Now or never.

He had turned his back on her. If she hesitated now, she would never have another chance.

She drew the dagger, smothered her presence, and crept closer. She had to strike in one instant. Holding even her breath, she swung the poisoned blade at her father’s enemy.

In that split second—

Roderick turned, reflexively catching the blade in his bare hand.

“Aila… what is this…?”

His face was filled with disbelief. She gripped the hilt desperately, fighting to wrench it free.

Only a surprise attack could kill him. However skilled an assassin she might be, she could never defeat Roderick in a fair fight.

Was this the end? Would she fail—?

But then she saw blood drip from Roderick’s hand.

Success.

The dagger’s edge was coated with deadly venom. No matter his strength, not even Roderick could withstand it.

“Why…?”

Even as the poison seeped into his veins, he only looked at her with confusion.

“Aila…”

Stumbling, he braced himself against the wall.

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter.”

Nausea rose in her throat. Was it horror at seeing a man die before her eyes? Or hatred for the man who had ruined her father’s life? She couldn’t tell.

“…Aila. My daughter…”

The mighty duke collapsed at last, robbed of his strength. Yet still his gaze held no resentment—only longing, regret, and boundless affection.

Why?

“…I’m sorry, Aila. Forgive me…”

Even as his breath came ragged and broken, he whispered apologies, his eyes never leaving her face. Foolishly, to the end.

“No… I’m not…”

Not Aila. Not your daughter. She tried to deny it, but her throat clenched, gagging her words.

And then—

“Roderick Allen Weishafen.”

The wardrobe door opened.

Out stepped a man with red hair and amber eyes that gleamed in the darkness. His movements were refined, though where his right hand should have been, there was only a crude prosthetic.

Her beloved father.

“At last, I’ve destroyed you. I told you, didn’t I? That I would kill you. And I’ve kept that promise.”

His golden eyes blazed, his smile ecstatic.

“You stole my Ophelia, gave my place to my younger brother, and even cut off my right hand… I’ve thought long and hard about how best to make you die in agony.”

“You… Byron…”

Recognition widened Roderick’s eyes. His fading voice barely formed the name.

“Yes. Byron. You remember well. The name of the man you betrayed should never be forgotten.”

Byron.
So that was her father’s name—the name she had longed to know her entire life.

Roderick seemed to have more to say, but death claimed his breath. With a final gasp, he died—his eyes still open.

“Goodbye, old friend. You didn’t go far.”

Byron closed his eyes, smiling in rapture.

Watching him, she finally let out the breath she’d been holding. It was unbearable.

“Well done, my daughter. You’ve completed your task.”

Approaching her, Byron plucked the dagger from her limp hand.

“This blade is mine again. You’ve done well.”

He wiped the blood on Roderick’s clothes and sheathed it once more, then kissed her hair tenderly, as always.