* * *
In no time, the Veders family estate became a fortress even a mouse couldn’t escape.
Smaller than Pomel Castle as it was, the lockdown was quicker, and the inspections would be even faster.
“Where’s the healer?”
“Here! I just arrived!”
The estate’s on-call healer burst into the dining hall.
After examining the remaining contents of Ranshel’s cup, he announced:
“It’s Merk, a demonic herb! Fortunately, it’s not lethal, but full-body paralysis will soon set in.”
“Is there a treatment?”
“I can make a remedy, but the ingredients must be sourced from outside. As you know, the gates are sealed…”
As the onlookers exchanged troubled glances, Petro stepped in.
As the Pomel family’s gardener, he knew all about Merk.
Using some pig’s blood obtained from the kitchen, he prepared a makeshift antidote.
Ranshel, meanwhile, lay stiff as a board, pretending to be paralyzed—enjoying a well-earned rest.
The entire scene was staged, but it was true that Ranshel had ingested the poison.
Faking it poorly in front of so many witnesses would’ve been too risky.
But thanks to his training, Ranshel had built up resistance—Merk didn’t affect him.
So he decided to pretend his legs were paralyzed for a week after being prescribed the makeshift antidote.
“And during that time, I get to ride in carriages, be carried around… real comfy.”
There was a bit of personal desire to rest involved, but in any case, it was all to catch the real culprit.
The viscount’s estate didn’t have a physician, only a healer in residence.
And healers, who were like apprentices to physicians, didn’t possess the same level of skill.
The Physician’s Guild, wanting to prevent the few existing doctors from being monopolized by noble families, forbade long-term exclusive contracts—except with royalty.
So in most cases, physicians did outpatient visits, and healers were on-call residents.
Which meant today’s incident could only happen because the conditions were perfect—many eyes watching, but no fast way to resolve it.
Ranshel and Petro did have a vial of Merk on them, but no one would suspect the victim of the poisoning, or the one treating them, to be the ones responsible.
Ranshel was certain the real culprit would be flushed out before they were even considered suspects.
“Search every room! Find the Merk!”
And if they didn’t find it in any rooms, they’d begin inspecting personal belongings next.
It was a tense moment—they could be discovered at any time.
Ranshel had chosen today’s dinner for that exact reason: to create this heightened tension.
In this suffocating atmosphere, someone was bound to crack under pressure.
“Forgive me, young master! I’ve committed a grave sin!”
Someone burst out from among the guards.
“That’s right. You, Doter. I knew it.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“Hans, it was you?”
“What? Why would you…?!”
Wait, what?
Ranshel nearly forgot to pretend to be paralyzed and almost sat bolt upright—but just barely stopped himself.
There he was: the earnest young man who had once brought him well-roasted quail as a bribe and cared for his widowed mother.
Now, he was kneeling at Zavad’s feet.
“I’m so sorry. Please… please spare me…”
The young man pleaded. Zavad tilted his head slowly, his expression unreadable.
“You put the poison in the glass?”
“N-no, I didn’t. I only had Merk in my possession…”
“So you had poison, but didn’t use it? Do you really think that sounds believable?”
“Truly, that wasn’t me. But… it’s true that I… I tried to poison you, my lord…”
Hans sobbed, clutching both knees, head hanging low.
He must have felt suffocated by the absurdity of the situation.
Anyone hearing him would think he was just making excuses.
After all, it was Ranshel who had actually poisoned the food—so for now, Hans was technically innocent.
But he had been planning to commit the crime.
Ranshel, wary of every bit of food that went into Zavad’s mouth, had chosen to act preemptively rather than keep searching for poison.
‘I really thought they’d catch Doter instead.’
Apparently, Hans had been carrying more incriminating evidence than the medicine bottle Doter had.
Maybe he had even brought the raw Merk plant in its natural form.
That would be impossible to pass off as medicine, so he had no choice but to confess before it was found.
“I was in such a desperate situation… I did it to pay for my mother’s medicine.”
“So someone gave you money to buy you off?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
“Who was it?”
“…I can’t tell you.”
Zavad drew the decorative dagger strapped to his thigh.
It was a ceremonial weapon he’d never used—and probably never intended to—but it was still a blade, sharp and deadly.
“Even if I were to slice your throat right here?”
“…I still can’t tell you.”
Ranshel wanted to intervene, but he had to pretend to be paralyzed.
At that moment, Petro poured the antidote he had finished into Ranshel’s mouth.
“Well, if that’s your decision, then there’s no helping it. I’ll end this by cutting your throat today.”
Ranshel was mentally counting how long the antidote would take to work.
Just as Zavad raised his arm, Ranshel abruptly sat up and grabbed onto the hem of his pants.
“Is he… someone of high rank?”
“…I can’t…”
“Someone so high-ranking you feared for your mother’s safety?”
“…”
Hans froze, repeating the same answer until now.
He’d clearly been struck in a vulnerable spot.
Zavad, still holding up his arm while Ranshel clung to him, let out a sigh.
Then he sheathed his dagger and grabbed Ranshel’s head like a ball.
“Alright, let go already and back off….”
His clenched voice dripped with irritation.
Before Zavad could put pressure on his grip, Ranshel quickly let go and pulled his body back.
But since he still had to pretend his legs didn’t work, he dragged himself backward using only his arms.
‘Wait, this is already exhausting…’
Ranshel had poor stamina, little strength, and even less muscle—a weak, rotten character all around.
Just using his arms to move his body was proving nearly impossible.
This was much harder than he’d expected.
He briefly considered abandoning the act and standing up, claiming divine intervention—but then, a polished shoe tip turned his way.
Moments later, his body was lifted clean off the ground.
Zavad had grabbed him by the waist and plopped him onto the dining table.
Apparently, having him lying at his feet was bothersome, and before he could be kicked away, Zavad had decided to deal with him personally.
‘But why the dining table, of all places…’
All the nearby chairs had been knocked over by Ranshel earlier, so it seemed like the only viable option.
Still, being manhandled and moved like luggage by someone smaller than himself was thoroughly humiliating.
Above all, the difference in innate traits was just too much.
Knight traits were broken.
This game needed a balance patch.
Zavad needed several nerfs, minimum…
‘Wait—wasn’t this a romance game?’
Ranshel was starting to lose track of what was the main game and what was just a mini-game.
* * *
