Last wish of the Guide chapter 4

* * *

After accepting the reality of waking up in the body of a stranger who only shared his name, Euston spent several days agonizing over it.

Should he return to House Rosendale, reveal who he was, and reclaim his old life?

In the end, he decided to remain hidden.

Because he didn’t know how or why he had come back to life—if this was even truly “life”—he couldn’t risk it.

What if something happened to the children after he returned too soon?

Then those poor nephews of his might have to suffer the trauma of losing their uncle a second time.

If anything ever endangered them, he would rush to Rosendale without hesitation.

But unless that happened, it was better to stay hidden and watch from afar.

And so, Euston quietly withdrew from the world.

Living out a second life he had never wished for, inside a body that didn’t feel like his own.

‘…Or maybe hiding like this was the right choice all along.’

But around half a year into this ghost-like existence, Euston caught wind of a strange rumor.

The Duke of Evernell was recruiting Guides—again and again.

Apparently, the Duke changed Guides almost daily. No one knew why.

More recently, it was said that he at least waited a month before replacing them, but it was odd nonetheless.

Arhan had never been the type to go through Guides so frequently.

And it wasn’t like House Evernell lacked quality Guides either.

Euston had found it just as strange.

But each time the recruitment notice went out, he applied without fail.

Coincidentally—or perhaps fatefully—this new body, “Euston Rael,” also happened to be a Guide.

‘I knew it was a foolish thing to do…’

But Euston, unable to let go of love even in his second life, threw himself at the chance like a moth to flame.

Arhan’s existence, in a life filled with nothing but pain and duty, was a temptation he simply couldn’t resist.

Even though that heartless love had never come to see him, even in death, Euston kept applying—over and over—for six months.

Now, about a year since “Euston Rosendale” had died, he’d finally been selected… by sheer luck.

‘I didn’t think I’d screw it up this badly, though.’

He’d thought that if he approached Arhan in this new body, hiding who he was, maybe—just maybe—Arhan would be kind to him.

Maybe he’d smile.

Maybe the dreams he never dared to hope for might actually come true.

After all, Arhan had always been kind to everyone.

He had arrived with those hopes in his chest… but from the very start, it felt like everything had gone wrong.

‘No matter what form I take… it seems I was always destined to rub the Duke of Evernell the wrong way.’

Was it because his new name was still Euston?

Or was it that a person like Euston, no matter what form he took, was never meant to stand beside Arhan?

With a bitter smile that wouldn’t leave his lips, Euston walked out of Arhan’s study.

So then, what difference was there between “Euston Rosendale” and “Euston Rael”?

Banished from the study, he stood silently in the corridor and clenched his fist tightly.

Then came the soft click of a door.

The butler, Renfield, stepped out after him.

There was a hint of awkwardness on the butler’s face.

When he motioned lightly and began to walk ahead, Euston masked his emotions behind a blank expression and followed after Renfield.

For a while, only the sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway.

It was only after they had gotten a fair distance away from the study that Renfield came to a stop and finally spoke.

“Mr. Rael.”

Euston also halted, silently gazing at Renfield as if to say, ‘Go on.’

His demeanor and air felt less like one attentive to a superior, and more like someone accustomed to receiving reports from subordinates—a habit carved by his upbringing.

Because of this, Renfield couldn’t help but feel as if he were serving someone far above his station.

Inwardly, he admitted it was difficult to deal with this young man—young enough to be his own son.

“Please don’t take it too hard. As long as you avoid mentioning the late Duke Rosendale, His Grace is a kind and gentle man to everyone.”

The reassurance, meant to soothe him, was something Euston knew better than anyone.

Even so, being reminded of it brought only fresh pain.

He bit down and lowered his gaze.

He had thought that, with time, resentment toward the dead would naturally fade.

Perhaps he’d foolishly dared to hope.

That Arhan, out of some small grace, might have let go of a bit of his hatred toward him.

‘How stupid… As if that were ever possible.’

But reality had returned with cruel clarity.

Arhan still seemed to loathe and despise him to his core.

If even the mere mention of the name was forbidden, just how deep did that hatred run?

His chest ached as if carved open by a blade.

Maybe it would have been better never to approach Arhan again.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to calm the storm inside him.

Showing emotion would do no good.

Burying his deep sorrow, Euston asked, in the same cool tone he always wore like armor:

“I heard His Grace was the one who personally selected me. But after today, I’m not so sure.”

“Well, that day… His Grace was a little… under the influence. It seems he doesn’t quite remember.”

“…Is that so.”

Even if each guide was only kept for a month before being replaced, it was said that Arhan personally selected them each time.

So when Euston was finally chosen after many rejections, he had felt… pleased.

He’d even dared to think he had finally been acknowledged by Arhan.

But to find out he’d only been chosen while Arhan was drunk—no, that made more sense.

A sober Arhan would never seek him out.

Not even if he had changed his appearance and hidden his identity.

A dull ache bloomed once again from sorrow and disappointment.

‘Why me, even drunk…?’

Euston tried to guess the reason, but gave up with a bitter smile to himself.

Whatever the reason, it could never be something he would want to hear.

“Well, of course. His Grace would never willingly choose a guide with a name like mine while in his right mind.”

To expect anything from the man who had killed the guide he once cherished—how foolish.

Maybe if Arhan had shown up that day, when Euston had met his end as Duke Rosendale, he would’ve died under a storm of curses and contempt.

He doubted his final letter had even reached Arhan.

And even if it had—would he have read it?

As far as Euston knew, Arhan hadn’t even shown his face at the funeral.

“If my being chosen was nothing more than a mistake…”

“You don’t need to worry too much, Mr. Rael. His Grace isn’t the sort to dismiss someone easily. Barring something extreme, I don’t think you’ll be sent away within the promised month.”

That assurance brought some relief—but not only that.

Euston had thought that if he approached with his identity hidden, he might be able to see Arhan smile at him again.

But it wasn’t turning out that way.

Just seeing Arhan’s face would bring Euston joy. But along with it, an overwhelming pain.

Would there ever be a day when that pain would dull?

Though his mind was a tempest of thoughts, Euston kept his expression unreadable.

He merely gave a faint nod.

“I see. That’s a relief.”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Renfield, again feeling how difficult it was to deal with the young man before him, cleared his throat and continued.

“You must be tired. I’ll show you to your room. It’s located in the same wing as His Grace’s—”

“Renfield!”

But before he could finish, a loud voice cut him off.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The voice was shrill, even obnoxious.

And the tone—especially directed at the head butler of a ducal house—was appallingly crude.

Even though it wasn’t his place, the old instincts of a noble, the former head of a great house, stirred within Euston, and his brow furrowed.

He turned around with a scowl.

But the moment he laid eyes on the newcomer, his anger and irritation vanished completely.

His mind went blank.

He was stunned, breathless. His body turned cold as ice.

* * *