Chapter 54: A Rational Deal

“……For Grian to leave us like this.”

Count Frolan stood by the window, not moving a single step.

The butler, his head bowed heavily, continued to speak.

“I am reporting on the matter you asked to look into. The warehouse where Young Master stayed was completely burned down. The body was burned in the fire... There was also a record that the Young Master headed that way by order of the Marquis.”

The Count was at a loss for words for a moment.

The documents atop the desk trembled slightly.

It was proof that strength had left his raised fingertips.

“...I see. So that’s what happened.”

After the concise reply, he slowly turned around.

His voice, always so loud, was quiet now.

His silence weighed down the air around him.

“Where... are you going, sir?”

The butler asked carefully.

“There’s something I must confirm.”

Count Frolan donned his cloak.

The attendants hurried to ready the carriage at the sudden movement, but he raised his hand to stop them.

“There’s no need for a carriage. It’s close by.”

Outside, it was early dawn, with fog lying low over the ground.

He quietly took his steps.

There was no outburst, no words of rage, yet even the guards passing by instinctively straightened their postures.

‘So, you’re going to play it this way, Marquis.’

His fist clenched tightly.

The Marquis had always been like this.

He would clean up the aftermath neatly and shift responsibility elsewhere.

He used people as if they were pieces on a Skasch board, ready to be moved or taken off at any time.

And now, his son had become one of those pieces—returning as a cold corpse.

Was it because he had complained about the Empress Emilia matter?

Or had it been a mistake to place his incapable son at the Marquis’s side with such difficulty?

‘Grian was the ringleader of an illegal auction? What a laughable excuse.’

It was a convenient pretext.

Count Frolan knew the truth.

His son had been used, simply to give the Marquis an alibi to escape.

“......”

Lost in his quiet thoughts, Count Frolan soon arrived at the grand gate of the Marquis’s mansion.

In the stillness of dawn, the gate stood tall, its lights yet unextinguished.

A quiet drizzle fell, striking his face coldly as if mirroring his heart.

The Count slowly slipped his hand into his cloak pocket.

His fingers brushed against something small.

The cold feel of metal.

As he felt it, his sunken heart began to pound.

Step.

Just as he was about to take a step forward—

Someone emerged silently from the darkness near the main gate.

Their movements were quiet, their voice low.

“Would you spare a moment of your time, Count Frolan?”

At the words brushing his ear, Count Frolan’s gaze darted to the side.

“Who are you?”

He almost crouched in caution, then stopped himself.

There was no hint of attack. No hostility.

But there was something.

‘At this hour, in this place, going out of your way to block me…?’

Then, the stranger continued.

“There is something I must tell you in secret, Count.”

The Count’s eyes widened quietly.

---

Behind an old, abandoned building in a dark alley.

A small light flickered inside a shop that had closed for the night.

Inside, it was dark and cramped, dusty glasses left carelessly on a shelf.

Count Frolan followed the man, quietly stepping inside as the door opened.

Once in the darkness, a man with his hood pulled low took a seat and gestured with his hand.

“Please, have a seat.”

A single candle flickered, creating an air of unfamiliar tension.

“You are… who, exactly?”

In response, the man handed over an envelope with his fingertips, never raising his head.

“I am truly sorry for what happened to your son.”

At those words, Frolan’s brow knit tightly.

He’d asked who the man was, and yet, the man simply handed him a paper.

“What’s this?”

He accepted the envelope in puzzlement.

And the moment he drew out the contents, he could not help but hold his breath.

The handwriting was wild and rushed, but unmistakable at a glance.

A familiar script. A familiar tone.

It was, without doubt, written by his late son, Grian.

Count Frolan picked up the paper with trembling hands.

It was scorched and one corner had been crushed.

“......”

He took a deep breath and read the contents.

To Father.

...I have made a mistake.

I have been helping His Excellency the Marquis, but in hindsight, I realize none of it was right.

The Marquis is trying to kill me.

I can’t breathe. Father. I... I want to live.

–Rian

For a while, Frolan said nothing.

His grip on the paper tightened, further crumpling the already wrinkled edge.

Had Grian held this paper in the same state of mind?

Even to his dying moment, seized by fear and resentment?

His shoulders trembled slightly.

“I hadn’t heard any report of this existing.”

“The person who sent me kept it as a precaution, in case someone tried to destroy the evidence.”

“......”

Grit.

The Count’s teeth ground together.

If it was the Marquis, he would certainly do such a thing and more.

“Then why wasn’t this brought to court?”

The Count paused mid-sentence.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to use this as a bargaining chip?”

“Exactly.”

“Hah.”

The Count’s brow furrowed.

“Who sent you?”

To dare, knowing who he was, to try to negotiate with his son’s unjust death as leverage.

Fury simmered within him.

At his question, the man finally pulled back his hood.

Under the dim light, a youthful face with indigo hair was revealed.

Frolan narrowed his eyes, fixing them on the other’s face.

Then his eyes shot wide open.

“Y-Your Highness the Crown Prince?”

“Good to see you, Count.”

Rohan gave a slight smile.

“Wha...”

To think the one who brought him here was the Crown Prince.

“Why… why come yourself, when you have people for this…?”

Wasn’t it customary to have subordinates handle matters like this?

He shifted restlessly, immediately ill at ease.

“I thought you too must feel something amiss about Grian’s death.”

“Hm.”

The Count bowed his head silently.

His hand in his pocket still held the cold metal.

“The reason I haven’t handed this will over to the court is because I wanted to see something bigger.”

“Something bigger?”

“Your strength.”

“......”

So that was it.

Count Frolan lifted his head.

“You clear your son’s name, and I borrow your strength as needed. Isn’t that a perfectly rational deal?”

At Rohan’s words, the Count’s eyes narrowed.

‘Ha. Just as they say, meeting him face-to-face like this, the presence is quite different.’

He’d never spoken directly with Rohan, always being a close associate of Marquis Fabian.

He remembered the stories he’d heard—that the young Crown Prince was not to be underestimated.

“Can you truly clear Grian’s name?”

“Of course. If I couldn’t, I’d have already handed the evidence to the court.”

“What is it you want, exactly? Do you want me to become your man, Your Highness?”

The Count wasn’t one to mince words.

He went straight to the point, and Rohan smiled faintly.

“I want to form an alliance to bring down the Marquis. You know his inner workings better than anyone, since you’re close to him.”

At Rohan’s words, the Count shook his head slightly.

“I do resent the Marquis for what happened. But my family can’t maintain our fief without serving under him. I have to think of my remaining family, so...”

“So you’re saying you can’t do it? Then, what exactly do you have in your pocket right now?”

“...!”

The Count flinched and withdrew his hand from his pocket.

“I won’t mince words either.”

Rohan smiled slightly.

“The management rights to the Northern Mine that the Marquis controls. I’ll have them transferred to House Frolan.”

“...!”

The Count’s eyes went wide.

---

A few days later.

Despite the Emperor’s order to stay in seclusion, Marquis Fabian pressed on with a secret meeting with northern nobles of the capital.

The meeting room, with all curtains drawn, was disguised as a small banquet hall.

With a confident smile, the Marquis raised his glass to the nobles.

“The Empire must always be strong, and for that, it cannot stop moving. We have mountains of work before us.”

Some nobles nodded cautiously, others raised their glasses as they gauged the mood.

The Marquis looked over their faces, his voice softening further.

“At the upcoming council, I intend to begin earnest discussions on the matter of succession.”

“Already, my lord?”

“I worry whether the timing is right...”

At their words, the Marquis shook his head.

“Crown Prince Rohan keeps interfering with my work at every turn, so we must move quickly. Even though the recent incident was dealt with, I’m sure he and his people are desperate to drag me down by any means.”

“To dare attack you, my lord. That impudent Crown Prince, so reckless for one so young.”

“Ahem! Now that he’s Crown Prince, he acts with no respect. Does he not know who put him in that seat?”

A few nobles loudly echoed the Marquis’s words.

The Marquis smiled slightly and sipped his drink.

“I am simply striving for a stronger, more reliable Empire, just as all of you are.”

“Of course.”

“There is no one who cares for Schubert as much as you do, my lord! Need we say more?”

The mood steadily turned in the Marquis’s favor.

At that moment, the Marquis set his glass down and his eyes grew sharp.

“Now is the perfect time to fully revise the imperial succession law. The standard shouldn’t be birth order or age, but someone who has contributed tangibly to the Empire and can win the support of both people and nobility.”

Baron Berat nodded.

“Surely Prince Elliot would fit that standard as heir in every respect?”

Voices of agreement sprang up from all sides.

“That’s right! I heard His Highness recently mastered the difficult fifth chapter of imperial studies.”

“At such a young age? Truly remarkable.”

“Indeed!”

The nobles raised their glasses high, laughing heartily.

Then Count Frolan, who was present, spoke up.

“The Marquis’s words are correct. The times have changed, and so must the Empire. As you say, my lord, this is now the era of ‘ability’ and ‘results.’”

At his words, all eyes turned to him.

Everyone was aware of his recent troubles, and the room fell silent.

The Marquis smiled faintly and poured wine into Frolan’s empty glass.

“It’s a shame about Grian, Count. I had no idea he would do such a thing. If I’d known, I would have stopped him myself.”

“...No, my lord.”

“No one can fathom the pain of a father losing his child. I’ll bring some good wine and visit you soon.”

“Yes... I understand.”

Count Frolan stared at his now full glass.

By ‘good wine,’ he meant compensation.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen it, but this isn’t something that can be fixed by acting alone. An important time is coming, so mind your families as well.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“Of course.”

The nobles nodded vigorously.

“Then, let’s begin the banquet in earnest.”

As the Marquis motioned with his hand, a waiting attendant quickly stepped out.

Soon more barrels of wine arrived, and women in thin dresses filed into the hall in order.

Musicians played to enliven the mood, and the tables gleamed with food and fruit.

Once more, their private banquet grew lively.

“......”

And among them,

Count Frolan gazed only at his brimming glass.