The Duke’s Return

Merwell sat in the backyard, his mind blank with confusion.

If Bain were before him, he might have asked what on earth he was thinking, but that was impossible right now.

Electro involuntarily brought a cigarette to his lips, then sighed and put it back in his pocket. It was a habit of his past life to put a cigarette in his mouth, but Merwell’s body—which had never enjoyed smoking or drinking—instinctively rejected it. His stomach churned and his head ached, sensations he hadn’t felt in a long time.

To think that a habit he had shared with Bain from age twenty until death now felt so awkward. Electro gave a bitter smile. The cigarettes he had received from Chelen and his comrades totaled only two.

They had given Merwell those cigarettes with a stark warning: “Please, don’t even think about taking them out when His Grace returns.”

How badly did he scare those kids?

Electro clicked his tongue, though he still reached into his pocket to pull the cigarette back out.

“You’d better not smoke.”

“…”

Jex approached, whistling, having followed him without making a single sound. The X-shaped scar on his face stood out even more under the sunlight, making his expression look even rougher.

Jex wasn’t a heavy smoker, but he said he’d occasionally smoked since his mercenary days. However, he shook his head, claiming he hadn’t touched a single cigarette since entering the castle.

“…If you knew how His Grace tore that last bastard apart, you’d shut your mouth about smoking.”

Jex clicked his tongue and shuddered, as if the Grand Duke might burst out of nowhere and tear him to shreds at any second. Merwell was lucky not to have been there, but those who had witnessed it had such vivid, terrifying memories that they shuddered at the mere mention of cigarettes.

Despite his beautiful and refined appearance, the Grand Duke’s nickname was the Emperor’s Mad Hound, or the Merciless Watchdog. Jex had realized the moment he joined the knights that the rumor about the Grand Duke being able to tear ten men apart in one blow was no empty boast.

“That guy—he was just unlucky. Or maybe possessed by a ghost. He was smoking too boldly in the backyard and got caught by the Grand Duke, who was out in light attire, staring at the snow.”

The knight in question had been fairly skilled. Jex thought he wouldn’t have been an easy opponent, and his ability to channel aura was quite impressive. But he was a heavy smoker who would whine about needing at least one cigarette a day.

After the Emperor died, Grand Duke Blanchard posted a chilling warning throughout the castle: anyone caught smoking in his presence would have their limbs cut off, their tongue severed, and their eyes burned out with a cigarette.

Most quit smoking on the spot, following the Grand Duke’s order, but even now, there were still some brats who hid and smoked occasionally.

“Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard sometimes acts as if he’s losing his mind. He’ll lock himself in his room, remaining motionless like a marionette with cut strings, then suddenly, as if possessed by an unbearable force, he’ll explode and rush outside.”

On that day, the hound’s sensitive nose, made even sharper by a chronic lack of sleep, had caught the smell of cigarette smoke. The knight was torn apart by the Grand Duke’s bare hands, exactly as warned—no, even more cruelly.

Even now, Jex shivered at the memory. After that, even the brave maid Chelen rarely smoked, doing so only in small amounts, hidden so well that no scent could possibly escape.

Merwell, who had unconsciously flicked his index finger as if tapping away ash, put the unlit cigarette back into his pocket without lighting it. Jex, seeming to approve, patted him on the shoulder twice and went on his way.

Thanks to the warming weather, various fabrics and clothes hung everywhere, drying in the sun. With no blizzard and a clear sky, people who had been quiet as mice in the castle were now seen walking around.

Black magic…

Merwell had never expected Bain to go that far, not even in his wildest dreams. How could he have dabbled in black magic? Even if he was known as a mad dog, meddling in black magic carried far more dangerous consequences than his other violent acts.

Black magic was a terrible curse that borrowed the power of the dead, leading both the caster and all living things around them to ruin. It was magic akin to selling one’s soul to a demon.

The more one borrowed the power of the dead, the more their soul was devoured, until they died in agony. Ninety percent of those who dabbled in black magic did so after losing a loved one, driven by the vain hope of saving or resurrecting them.

For Electro, who had secretly hoped Bain would break free from his shadow and live happily, this was a massive shock.

Now, the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place. Bain, trying to hold onto Electro’s soul after his death, had performed necromancy—and though he deemed it a failure, Electro’s soul had actually ended up in this dying body.

Staring blankly at the piled snow, he suddenly remembered the old days when he and Bain watched the snow together.

Snow, which could only be seen at the southernmost and northernmost tips of the continent on high mountain peaks, was rare in the relatively warm capital. Here, it piled up to the knees, but even that was hard to see once you went down the mountain.

But very rarely, snow would hit the capital. In Electro’s hundred-year life, it had happened only twice. The capital had a warm climate and constant temperatures.

The occasional snow from abnormal weather was like a gift to the people living there. Among those rare times, Electro had welcomed the snow with Bain just once.

Gazing out the frosted window, Electro had put a cigarette in his mouth. Snow was falling heavily, and young servants, seeing snow for the first time, giggled and ran around the imperial garden. Even the strict head steward smiled and let them be. The nobles, too, stared blankly at the rare snow or took walks, enjoying the peaceful time.

The elderly Electro had no energy to move, and since he shouldn’t be out in the cold, he merely sat by his office window and looked outside. It would have been nice to go out and touch the snow, but his loyal hound, Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard, as always, knelt and pressed his face against the Emperor’s lap.

The Emperor’s dry hand patted Bain’s beautiful, fine black hair. Bain, enjoying the Emperor’s touch, raised his head.

And glared at the cigarette in the Emperor’s mouth. His murderous intent was so blatant that the Emperor burst out laughing.

“Your Majesty.”

“What is it?”

The Emperor pulled the cigarette from between his fingers and flicked the ash. It was a habit of his that even Electro had not noticed. Whenever Bain spoke, Electro would take the cigarette from his mouth and lightly tap it with his index finger, afraid that ash might touch Bain.

And Bain, watching that habit of the Emperor as if every second was precious, said,

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m only inside, how cold can I be? Just a bit chilly in my bones.”

Tap. Whenever Bain spoke, Electro tapped the ash again with his index finger. Bain stared at that action as if devouring it, then lowered his head again, resting it on the Emperor’s thigh and closing his eyes.

Black magic…

Haste makes waste, but there was no time to lose. Merwell decided to find a way before Bain arrived tomorrow and moved to return to the castle.

The servants who had been strolling in the garden until just now were suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Already gone inside? These youngsters are weak. Thinking thus, he opened the main gate and entered.

Creeeeak—

As he opened the heavy door, Merwell frowned at the unusually loud metallic sound.

“…”

Not long after crossing the threshold, he realized the silence inside was not natural.

In a stillness so oppressive he didn’t even dare swallow his saliva, all the servants stood with bowed heads, and the knights knelt in salute. In the midst of them, a man standing tall slowly turned around.

The man, with his long black hair—which Electro had once praised as beautiful—disheveled, turned his head. It was someone Electro knew better than anyone.

But while Electro knew him, Merwell did not.

He was met with cold, icy blue eyes.

His complexion, which had been healthy before, was now so deathly pale he almost didn’t recognize him at first. But those blue eyes, clear and beautiful like a transparent lake, he recognized immediately.

The man had an imposing, massive frame clad in the black uniform Electro had given him in life. He stared at Merwell, who had entered through the main gate, with entirely emotionless eyes.

Bain.

“…Your eyes.”

“…”

Grand Duke Berlowen, staring at Merwell’s bright brown pupils, suddenly grimaced and approached slowly. Having always seen Bain curled up meekly by his side, Electro hadn’t truly realized how massive the man was. He was instantly overwhelmed by Bain’s heavy aura, which he was experiencing for the first time. Merwell swallowed dryly, unable to move. A pressure he had never felt in his entire life weighed down on him.

“They look like they need to be gouged out.”

“…”

Merwell, purely by instinct, snapped his head back. Had he been even a second slower, the Grand Duke’s fingers would have pierced his eyes.

The Grand Duke tilted his head slightly, looked at Merwell’s pale face, and then, as if losing interest, slowly turned around.

A thin line of blood from the corner of his eye streamed down Merwell’s cheek. During all of this, Electro couldn’t move a single step. His legs trembled, and his breath quickened.

Was this the sheer, paralyzing terror that others felt when facing Grand Duke Berlowen Blanchard—a fear that Electro himself, as the Emperor, had never experienced?