The Brave Man Glimpses a Corner of the Truth

“Not agreed to the engagement?”

Syldra repeated Samael’s words, momentarily stunned.

“From whom did you hear that the daughter of House Wylding is to be engaged to me?” Samael studied her eyes, as if searching them for the answer.

“—Wait a moment. If you haven’t agreed to marry Lakazet, then…”

“At the very least, I—as an outstanding single young man—currently have zero desire to marry Miss Lakazet.”

He spoke with solemn seriousness, his tone calm yet firm. But the underlying sentiment sounded oddly like petulance.

…… Wait.

This was the normal reaction of someone caught in a political marriage.

Resentment. Resistance. Reluctance. Inability to rebel—and eventual submission due to overwhelming pressure.

Syldra stared at Samael’s composed face, the faint furrow in his brow.

A subtle dissonance tugged at her.

Something wasn’t right.

Could there be hidden truths behind this engagement?

“So, Lady Lentiya—how did you come to know of my affairs?” he asked, leaning closer.

“This is private, Lord Samael,” Syldra said, startled by his sudden proximity, instinctively pulling back. “Even if someone told me, under the name of Lentiya, I cannot betray their identity…”

“I will ask you once more,” Samael pressed, drawing even nearer. He placed both hands on the armrests of her chair, leaning forward until they were face-to-face.

His crimson eyes locked onto hers—cold, piercing, invading her vision.

“Lord Samael, this is incredibly rude!” Panicked, Syldra pushed against his shoulders, trying to force him back.

But the strength of a fourteen-year-old girl couldn’t budge the young man’s frame.

“Samael!” she nearly shouted, but he remained unmoved, unshaken.

Samael stayed silent, exerting oppressive presence from mere inches away.

What? Why? How did it come to this?!

Her arms trembled with effort—useless.

Breathing grew ragged from the strain.

..…. Is he going to kill me?

Utterly confused, Syldra’s mind spiraled into its most extreme fear.

“Doubt… regret… and…” Samael suddenly sniffed the air, as if detecting a scent. “Fear. Fear doesn’t smell like the kind a trained stalker would carry.”

With that, he straightened up—his oppressive aura vanishing instantly.

Syldra sat frozen in the chair, heart pounding.

Huh?

“My apologies, Lady Lentiya. Your scent… it’s remarkably similar to that of an ordinary noble girl. Forgive me—I was mistaken to suspect you.”

“—Why did you just do that?!” Recovering, Syldra snapped at him immediately.

“I apologize, Miss Syldra. I understand such intimate contact may be too much for you. Please don’t misunderstand—while I do find you quite charming, my actions had no ulterior motive.” Samael quickly added, as if reading her thoughts.

“I needed to test your true intentions—to ensure you weren’t approaching me with some hidden agenda.” He glanced down at his gloved hands, brushing off invisible dust.

“What are you even talking about?” Syldra demanded, furious.

“I can detect the scent of negative emotions. From a person’s reactions, I can tell if they’re lying.”

After speaking, Samael paused. Seeming to realize she truly wasn’t who he suspected, he lowered his voice slightly.

“If you only know of me because Miss Lakazet is to be engaged to me… then please accept my apology for my excessive behavior.”

He bowed deeply, head lowered—just as he had when they first met on the stairs that morning.

“……Regarding the matter of my engagement to Miss Lakazet, there is nothing I can discuss with you, Lady Lentiya.”

“Please, I beg you—not out of concern for myself, but for my homeland—do not let this affair bring disgrace upon the Duchy of Camille.”

He kept his head bowed, voice sincere.

Syldra stared at him, dumbfounded.

Her mind, briefly paralyzed by the cascade of information, suddenly whirred to life—like a clockwork mechanism wound tight by Samael’s final plea.

His words were strange.

He didn’t say:
“Please don’t blame me.”

He said:
“Please, Lady ‘Lentiya,’ do not hold the Duchy of Camille accountable for this.”

And he said it so earnestly.

Syldra’s aristocratic instincts—her deep sensitivity to every nuance of power and status—caught a vital clue.

——Samael, fearing offense, wasn’t pleading for himself.

He was begging on behalf of the Duchy of Camille.

Because Lentiya’s influence far surpassed Camille’s, he feared retribution—not for himself, but for his nation.

Regardless of who was in the right, how serious the issue was, or whether retaliation would even be justified—

He feared consequences. So he lowered himself. He begged.

In international relations, weaker nations groveling before stronger ones without reason was nothing new.

But now, a memory surged into Syldra’s mind—connecting perfectly with the present.

——Last night, from her fourth-floor window, she’d seen Samael and Lakazet secretly conversing in the shadows beneath the trees…

Samael had been on one knee, face filled with desperate sincerity, speaking words she couldn’t hear.

…… At that moment—was he also pleading for the Duchy of Camille?!

In an instant, a storm erupted in Syldra’s mind.

She couldn’t stop the chain of thought.

——A normal political marriage requires mutual agreement between both parties. This means that regardless of motives—whether exploitation, alliance, or absorption—if consensus isn’t reached, the foundation of the marriage collapses.

Second, as previously considered, both sides must first inform their respective factions of the intended union. Only then can they secure internal support, neutralize opposition, and ensure the marriage’s successful execution when made public.

But now…

…… Something was deeply wrong. Syldra frowned. Why was everything so off? Wylding’s actions defied all logic.

Wylding and Camille had not reached mutual agreement.

Wylding had not informed its own faction of the planned alliance.

What on earth was Wylding planning?