A baron approached me with the kind of polished grin that could rival a silver tray.
"Lord Hugo, a delightful evening," he said, offering a slight bow. "The garden is splendid, and the wine is exquisite."
"Only the best for Falcon's guests, Baron," I replied with a measured nod. "Do enjoy the rest of the evening."
He offered a shallow bow, then moved along, clearly satisfied with having been seen talking to the heir.
Ugh. Nobles.
Clara, of course, had already melted behind me like a second shadow the moment I muttered we'd be going for a walk.
I didn't even have to look to know she was there—silent, precise, as natural as my own breath.
Sylvia simply rose from her seat without hesitation, as if nothing at all was wrong with her plate. No panic, no questioning glance. Just a graceful shift from chair to step, her posture straight, eyes calm.
She walked behind me like we were on a casual garden stroll, not trailing the scent of attempted murder.
Smart girl.
And I was glad. I needed her with me.
Because if she stayed behind and made even the slightest wrong expression, someone would notice.
Someone would whisper.
And tonight was not the night for whispers. Not about me. And especially not about Falcon
So we strolled.
Three calm figures taking a casual walk through the gardens.
Perfectly normal.
A few guests offered polite nods as we passed.
"Lord Hugo," a viscountess greeted as we passed beneath the arching vines. "A beautiful evening for a stroll, isn't it?"
I gave a practiced smile. "Quite so, my lady. The moonlight does lend a certain charm."
Sylvia nodded beside me, offering the noblewoman a pleasant smile of her own.
None of them noticed that Clara had subtly adjusted her position behind me—wider field of vision, tighter spacing. None of them saw Sylvia's hand brush the hilt of her fan ever so slightly. Elegant, poised. Lethal.
We kept walking, slipping farther from the main courtyard, letting the noise fade into background music.
Once the last laugh dimmed behind us and the marble fountain ahead marked the edge of privacy, I exhaled.
Now came the real part.
The Inspect skill was quiet. Subtle. Passive, even.
It didn't show anything unless something entered its range.
When it did, a translucent window would appear right in front of me, like a pop-up begging for attention.
And if I was looking at the object in question the window would politely scoot over beside it, like a helpful label pointing out the guilty party.
But if I looked away, it'd drift back right infront of my face.
Which meant…
To find the person I want, all I had to do was let my self in a situation where they can be in my skill's range.
Wait for that little inspect window to show itself and then look around slowly until the window slid sideways.
Elegant in theory.
Slightly absurd in practice.
But no one said solving crimes had to look dignified.
"I suggest we continue toward the eastern path," I said, gesturing gently. "The moonlight hits the koi pond around this time. It's… rather serene."
Sylvia tilted her head, offering a faint smile. "Sounds lovely."
And Clara?
Still a shadow. No words. No nods. Just a ghost at my back.
We walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching softly underfoot.
Then, casually, I glanced over my shoulder.
"Clara. Do you remember seeing Alina around the table?"
She nodded without hesitation. "I do, young master. She was the one who arranged the table setting. I've already begun focusing my mana to track her movements."
Of course she had. Clara didn't wait for orders. She anticipated.
"Forget her," I said flatly.
Both Clara and Sylvia looked at me.
"Alina's likely already dead."
Clara's lips parted slightly like an objection half-formed but she said nothing. Just closed her mouth again and dropped her gaze, the faintest flicker of emotion passing through her eyes.
Smart woman.
I turned to Sylvia next, speaking in a tone meant just for her.
"I'm glad you came with me tonight."
Her eyes met mine, calm and unreadable.
"By the end of this evening, you'll understand exactly what you're getting into. This"—I gestured loosely to the garden, to the fading music behind us—"is just the polished veneer."
I stepped a little closer, voice low but clear.
"After tonight, you can decide whether or not you still want to be my fiancée. We'll speak again tomorrow. Your choice."
Sylvia blinked once. Then smiled, not the elegant kind, but something more honest. "Understood."
And just like that, we reached the pond.
I turned to Clara with a sigh. "Ashen is truly troublesome."
That earned a reaction.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide, shock flashing like lightning across a stormy sky.
"How did you know about that…?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled. The irritatingly smug kind.
"You mean—how do I know you've been fending off and capturing assassins sent after me?" I tilted my head toward Clara, my tone still light, still measured.
"Or that you had the Falcons interrogate them… only to find their strongholds can't be revealed because of the 'Licharus' parasite baked into their skulls?"
Clara stopped walking... Just like that, mid-step.
Her body stiffened, as if my words had frozen the very air around her. Even her shadow, which usually danced with elegant discipline, seemed to pause.
I watched her carefully.
That was the reaction I expected.
Serena didn't want me to know. The Duchess herself made sure the security reports were scrubbed before they reached my eyes.
Clara must have been under strict orders to keep the details buried, to never let the heir of Falcon know how close he'd been to dying on multiple occasions. Because, you know… trauma.
Seventeen and already being hunted by one of the Empire's most discreet, insidious units?
Not exactly bedtime story material.
But what could I say?
I found out. And frankly, it was a little insulting that they thought I wouldn't.
Beside me, Sylvia's brow creased ever so slightly.
"Isn't Ashen just the imperial scouting and intel unit?" she asked, her tone thoughtful, not accusatory. "Why would they go after you?"
Smart girl. That wasn't a real question. She already had half the answer. She just wanted to see if I'd say it aloud.
I gave a faint smile and kept walking.
"Guesclin Viscounty was in line to receive duchy privileges two decades ago," I said casually, like I was reciting weather patterns. "I doubt the Empire would consider awarding duchy status for 'scout unit contributions.'"
Sylvia blinked. Her steps didn't slow, but the air around her shifted, like her mind had just caught the weight of the implications.
"And," I continued, "for an organization that traffics in intelligence, don't you think it's odd they've never had a single recorded tie to print media? Not even once."
I turned slightly, casting her a sidelong glance.
Sylvia met my gaze with those obsidian eyes, sharp and calculating—but quiet. She didn't speak, didn't push. But I could tell: her mind was racing.
Given that her S- intelligence stat is the same as the Duchy's finance expert, Gaveric, Sylvia can probably figure the rest.
So I didn't have to explain how the 'promised' privileges were handed over to house Gyrfald thanks to my father and that their only daughter was made a mere second wife.
Clara, however, still hadn't moved.
I sighed internally.
"But of course, they're just an imperial scouting unit. Nothing more." I said calmly, prodding Clara to catch up. I mean, I wouldn't want a poison dipped dagger in my ass now, would I?
The poor woman had probably been rehearsing how to keep this secret for years.
Too bad I beat her to the reveal.
And dropped it in front of foreign nobility.
Oops.
We reached the crossroads where the gravel path split into two, veiled partly by garden hedges and the soft glow of moonlight.
That was when Clara moved.
Without a sound, she pulled the dagger hidden beneath her knee-length skirt, stepping smoothly in front of me and Sylvia.
Effortless. Efficient.
Her stance was sharp enough to cut steel. Anyone watching would think an ambush was coming.
They wouldn't be entirely wrong.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a woman in a plain, old maid uniform, hair tied back in a tight bun streaked with silver. No dramatic entrance, no aura, no threat. Just presence.
Clara narrowed her eyes. "Maria…? What are you—"
"You are late," I said calmly, cutting across her.
Clara blinked.
The elderly maid, Maria, bowed slightly. "Forgive me, young master. The assassin has been captured. She is currently in secure hold, as instructed."
Sylvia stiffened beside me. Clara, for once, looked stunned.
I turned to her.
"Seraphina's food security net... I let it slip—on purpose."
Her brows pulled tight, confused.
"I knew the only way to draw them out was to make them think they had an opening. They were watching. All I had to do was let them feel just confident enough to try."
"You—" Clara started, voice low.
"I ordered Maria to wait here," I continued before she could finish. "The Falcon soldiers were given precise instructions. If the assassins took the bait and acted, we'd converge here to follow through with the rest of the plan."
My voice dropped a little. Not threatening, not cold. Just… factual.
"They took it."
Sylvia blinked slowly, digesting everything.
We hadn't taken a single wrong step.
Maria led us down a narrow path, winding through the garden's outer edge.
The further we went, the fewer lanterns there were.
The chirping of the crickets felt... rehearsed.
"I didn't expect the head of the cleaning staff to moonlight as a secret operations handler," Sylvia said, keeping pace beside me. Her tone was light, but her eyes scanned everything.
"Oh, she's versatile," I replied, half-smiling. "Polishes silver in the morning, coordinates arrests by midnight."
Clara, still processing, walked ahead, gaze sharp. "If you're done joking, I'd like to know why I wasn't informed about this part young master."
"Because you're the blade I trust to kill, Clara," I said calmly. "Not the bait I can afford to expose."
Her steps didn't falter, but her silence said enough as her face slightly turned red.
We walked a little further, turning one last corner. The gravel path narrowed into a forested slope, darker than before.
Then we arrived.
And something was off.
Where I'd expected a single assassin tied up and a couple of Falcon soldiers... there were shadows.
Many of them.
Ten... no, maybe fifteen.
Surrounding us from all angles. Faces covered, blades drawn. Silent and lethal.
I didn't need Inspect to tell me they weren't here to talk.
The air thinned.
Each of them—every single one—had mana control above forty percent. Silent steps. Perfect concealment.
Clara stopped cold.
Her fingers twitched on her dagger.
"I didn't sense them," she whispered, almost to herself. "They cloaked too well…"
She snapped into a defensive stance, eyes locking on the three closest.
Sylvia didn't speak. She simply exhaled.
A pulse of mana burst out from her skin, thin but sharp. Her body shimmered faintly, eyes gleamed and her very presence changed. Strength and endurance stats boosted up.
That's when Maria turned around.
Her face was the same but her eyes... were not.
The kind old maid's warmth was already Gone.
She smiled.
Calm. Sinister.
Then she said it.
"Tonight's moon is full and bright," she mused, looking into my eyes. "Perfect for digging graves. No oil for lanterns needed."
My fingers curled loosely.
The elderly maid's smirk widened as her eyes locked onto Clara's guarded stance.
"There's no use trying," she said calmly.
"We've already assessed your capabilities. You're formidable, yes… but we came prepared. Battle power sufficient to overwhelm you." She tilted her head toward Sylvia. "And the unexpected variable...Though annoying, can at best stall the inevitable."
Clara's eyes narrowed.
Sylvia cracked her neck.
"Irritating variable, am I?" she murmured, her tone cool and measured, mana still surging beneath her skin.
But the maid wasn't done basking in her confidence. Her grin deepened as she turned to me. "What's the matter, young master? Shocked speechless?
I blinked at her.
Then, with a blank stare, I tilted my head.
"You Misunderstood. I was admiring the hair."
She blinked.
"... hair?"
"Mhm." I nodded solemnly.
"That flawless bun, those neat folds, that glimmering silver... truly immaculate. Must have taken hours."
Maria frowned.
Sylvia's brow lifted subtly, while Clara narrowed her eyes, poised to strike at the first twitch.
"You've gone mad," the old woman sneered, lifting her hood slightly. "Have your eyes gone too? My hair's black."
She drew a curved dagger—slim, aged, soaked in the quiet threat of experience. Shadows closed in, reducing the area for our activity.
"Oh no," I said, sighing wistfully. "I wasn't talking about your hair."
Her grin faltered. "…What?"
My eyes drifted behind her, then locked forward again.
"I meant the hair of the man standing right behind you."
She stiffened.
I shifted my gaze past her shoulder.
"It's my second time tonight saying this…" I took a small step forward, voice dropping into a chilled, commanding register.
"You're late."
Her eyes snapped back—
But there was no one.
Just as confusion contorted her face, a calm voice echoed from the shadows behind her.
"Apologies, young master," came the slow, gravel-edged voice. "These old bones didn't immediately realize those words were meant for me."
A tall, ash-blonde figure emerged from the darkness, coat fluttering gently in the night breeze. His gait unhurried. His presence undeniable.
If no one here sensed him then there is no way in hell I did.
Except, my inspect window showing his stats slid to the maria's right when I looked at her indicating he is right behind her, facing the same direction.
Clara's lips parted in shock.
Sylvia's brows shot up, and though she said nothing, the weight in her eyes shifted.
I didn't look away from the maid as I spoke.
"Delivery complete, Sebastian. The full set of 'Ashen in the castle'—just as promised."
The maid flinched.
I continued, voice like silk over steel. "I assure you, these are the only ones. They wouldn't dare spare their efforts when they know they're up against Clara."
A pause.
Then, Sebastian chuckled softly.
"Thank you," he said, eyes glinting with something dangerous. "For the wonderful meal."
Clara couldn't piece it all together—but her instincts told her enough.
Sylvia, though silent, was clearly studying me again—curious, calculating, and maybe… a little intrigued.
And that's when the moonlight finally seemed to cut through the night, illuminating the garden like a silent stage waiting for the curtain to rise.
It's fascinating that among a dozen blades drawn and mana flaring like wildfire… I'm the only one without a weapon in hand.
And also the only one who won't need one.