* * *
Meanwhile, Zavad was staring at his stinging finger.
He’d gotten a paper cut while flipping through one of the books left nearby.
It wasn’t even bleeding—barely a scratch, hardly worthy of being called a wound.
And yet, it still hurt. If such a minuscule injury caused pain, then surely when the nail had lifted, it must have been agony.
Zavad was puzzled.
Was it really worth dwelling so long on someone else’s pain?
When the boy wasn’t around, irritation flared.
When he was near someone else, anger surged.
Zavad couldn’t understand the source of this greed.
Why was he so fixated on something so trivial?
For someone who had always placed value above sentiment, this behavior was utterly foreign.
He wouldn’t deny wanting it.
The fact that it belonged to someone else was annoying, even distasteful.
Saying he coveted it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.
Why is that not mine?
That, in itself, felt odd.
It was right there beside him—why couldn’t it be his?
The idea of merely borrowing someone else’s possession deeply displeased him.
More than once, he had resolved that one day, he would surely become its rightful owner.
But unlike an ordinary noble, Zavad had grown up in peculiar circumstances.
Since birth, nothing had ever truly belonged to him.
He had learned to let go before he could ever learn to possess.
So why now—why was he still constantly thinking of something that already had an owner?
Why was he this greedy?
No matter how many times he experienced it, he just couldn’t get used to it.
It was truly strange.
“Is something the matter?”
Again. It was always someone else’s voice that dragged him out of the grave of his thoughts.
If no one called out to him, he could very well stay there all day…
‘Perhaps I really am possessed by some restless spirit.’
Zavad swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and lifted his head.
Frey was slowly approaching in her wheelchair.
He glanced past Frey to the one standing behind her and spoke.
“That’s not the same maid from before, is it?”
“No, she had a quick errand, so I asked another girl to assist me.”
“…If it’s not too presumptuous, may I accompany you for a bit?”
“Oh, of course. I’d be honored.”
The maid pushing the wheelchair quickly stepped aside.
Zavad positioned himself behind Frey and began walking slowly.
Click-click-click.
The wheels echoed through the quiet corridor.
“Is there something you wanted to say to me?”
Frey was the first to speak.
Zavad smiled gently.
Even in this empty hallway, surely someone was watching.
With the kindest expression, he spoke in a chillingly quiet voice.
“Why did you approach me?”
“…Pardon? I’m not sure I understand…”
Despite her words, she didn’t seem particularly surprised.
As if she’d been expecting this.
‘What a joke…’
Zavad held back a dry breath.
He shoved the sneer and sigh crawling up his tongue deep down his throat.
She was the daughter of Count Vershel.
Regardless of the situation, manners and boundaries had to be observed.
He’d been taught that ever since he could barely walk.
His mother had once crawled barefoot through mud, and later strolled the golden roads of the imperial palace.
There was no one who better understood what it meant to face someone higher when one had once been lower.
‘—Don’t see people as people.’
Look at their background.
Think of the land they own, the amount of tax they collect, how fertile their soil is, how strong their defenses are.
After that, there’s no need to try hard.
Just think of how that person might be useful to you, and soon enough, sweetness will pool on your tongue.
That’s what it means to deal with people.
Value their utility above all.
Her gentle voice still echoed in his ears.
Everything she’d left behind still coursed through his blood.
Even her final whisper—soft but unwavering.
‘—So always, remember this.’
Keep what’s truly precious clutched tightly in your hands.
Let no one take it from you.
Even if it means breaking, do not let it go.
A woman who once walked freely through the imperial palace, became the mistress of a duke’s house, and arranged every garden to her whim—only to abandon it all in pursuit of love—had said this.
In the end, it’s power.
The power to never lose what’s in your hands.
Gold crowns. Primula flowers.
The hearts of others.
He had to possess them all—that was the only way.
Zavad could never quite accept her final decision, but even so, he had taken it all in.
Still, to gain power, there was one thing he needed above all.
He had crawled like a rat beyond the walls of the Pomel estate, gathering intelligence.
In those moments, no one was watching, so there was no need for noble decorum.
He buried himself in books and memorized the whispers that passed through the walls.
He crammed it all into his mind, into a place where no one could steal it.
His mind had always been sharp, but what had truly shaped him was that obsessive hoarding of knowledge.
Anything left in the open would be taken.
If it wasn’t his, it was best to let go early.
But if he hid it away—then it became his.
Under that kind of pressure, how fiercely must he have memorized it all?
Zavad began to speak, his voice as sweet as melting sugar.
“If the name of a house is recorded in the royal registry, no matter how humble, I remember them all. I can even sketch the approximate territory held by most noble families across the continent.”
Click-click.
The wheelchair rolled forward slowly.
“Vershel… should be much closer to the capital than Pomel. And yet, despite arriving early, it seems you’ve been waiting for us. Or am I mistaken?”
“…Oh my.”
“For someone seeking a natural encounter, you never joined us for meals… Instead, you went as far as lending a personal item to my servant just to find a reason to talk.”
“……”
“So I’ll ask again. Why did you approach me?”
For a moment, only the sound of the wheels echoed through the silence.
Then, at last, a soft chuckle was heard.
* * *
