* * *
“Today’s lesson will be difficult.”
At his uncle’s abrupt remark upon entering, Melody furrowed her brow.
Though she hadn’t known the Count for long, it was unlike him to cancel lessons on the same day without warning.
Sensing the silent demand for an explanation, Ashard sighed and spoke with a troubled expression.
“He seems unwell.”
“Is he in pain somewhere?”
“Yes. He barely managed to fall asleep before I left the mansion, so let him rest today.”
The very person responsible for Eren’s exhaustion lied smoothly without batting an eye.
In truth, Eren had only collapsed into sleep after Ashard had refused to let him go until well past noon.
Falling for Ashard’s effortless deception, Melody shot up from her seat.
She reached toward the bookshelf, and with a touch, the shelf split in two.
Inside lay carefully stored potions.
After examining them, Melody pulled out several and placed them on the desk.
“Please deliver these to the Count.”
“……All of them?”
“They’re my own concoctions, so they’ll be more effective than calling a physician.”
As potion after potion piled onto the desk, Ashard stared in disbelief.
He hadn’t expected Eren to have earned this much favor from Melody.
This woman was notoriously possessive of her creations—handing over so many was nothing short of extraordinary.
“This one’s a stamina restorative, that one’s a strength enhancer…”
As the potions—ones Melody hadn’t even spared after Ashard’s return from war—continued to appear, Ashard exhaled, feeling oddly hollow.
When he noticed Melody’s pointed gaze, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“These aren’t for you, Uncle. Make sure they reach the Count.”
Though unnecessary, Melody hammered the point home. Ashard smirked, tucking them one by one into his inner pocket.
He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment at his niece’s coldness toward his own blood, but satisfaction outweighed it.
He’d only hinted at Eren’s illness on the off chance Melody might offer potions.
He hadn’t expected this many, but at least it eased some of his guilt for exhausting Eren two days in a row.
‘I’ll have to feed them to him as soon as we’re back.’
He recalled how Eren had fallen asleep the moment he was released from Ashard’s arms.
He’d known the man was physically delicate, but not this much.
Not that Ashard spared a single thought for his own responsibility in keeping him pinned down for half a day—his conscience had long since been sold off.
“It’s what I want too, so don’t worry.”
Having presumably heard that lessons were canceled, Melody had nothing further to discuss.
Yet Ashard lingered, unmoving, prompting Melody to glance up at him.
“If you have nothing else to say, you may leave, Uncle.”
The dismissal was icy.
But Ashard, as if he still had business, flopped onto the sofa.
“Is it really fine to stay apart like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re taking lessons at the imperial palace because that thing you’re overseeing can’t be let outside. I’m asking if it’s alright to not keep him close.”
The potions were one thing, but this was his real goal.
If it were Melody, she’d surely have prepared a solution.
Though phrased indirectly, Ashard was demanding the artifact.
Stunned by her uncle’s shamelessness, Melody ignored him and returned to her work.
“Eren seems uncomfortable sharing a mansion with that thing. It’s giving him a headache.”
The Count…?
At Ashard’s words, Melody’s expression darkened.
She’d heard rumors that the three from Epentel had come to Trovien because of the Count.
She’d dismissed them as baseless gossip, but…
The memory of Helid’s attitude toward Eren flashed in her mind, hardening her expression.
The Count did seem uneasy around those three.
If the sudden illness today was because of Julius Renan… that was reason enough.
‘I should’ve warned him in advance…’
She’d thought it would be fine since Eren would find out soon anyway.
But the faintest pang of guilt flickered in Melody’s chest for not speaking up sooner.
“Here.”
A small gem and a mirror—identical to the one she’d given Ashard before.
Tapping the mirror twice, an image began to form inside: a figure practicing swordsmanship in the imperial training grounds.
Helid Yulta, someone Ashard also knew.
“Have that man carry this gem at all times. Then you can monitor him through this.”
“Ha…!”
It was the perfect tool for surveillance.
With this, she wouldn’t need to keep Julius nearby to keep an eye on him.
Given that even sound carried, she’d be able to uncover the man’s hidden intentions, too.
“To think you were planning to hoard this for yourself. Our dear nephew has quite the petty side.”
“Had it not been for the Count, I wouldn’t have given it to you at all. It originally had a different owner.”
“Original owner? You mean it was meant for someone else?”
Helid was Melody’s.
Julius was Ashard’s.
That left only one.
Carlyle Firentium.
He hadn’t heard who was overseeing him.
Since Helid was the only one remaining at the palace, it was most likely one of the nobles.
“Firentium—so it’s whoever’s in charge of him.”
“Now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t have given it to you after all.”
A strange emotion flickered across Melody’s face.
At the mention of an entirely unexpected name, Ashard’s expression twisted completely.
“Kehahahaha! Carlyle Firentium—that poor bastard’s in for a headache!”
Ashard clutched his stomach, roaring with laughter.
If Melody’s words were true, Carlyle wasn’t just in for trouble—he was downright pitiable.
“To pair two people who are complete opposites… His Majesty must’ve known exactly what he was doing.”
Melody shook her head vigorously.
“Filthy big place.”
Carlyle, the first among the three to acquire a mansion, had an unknown man standing in front of his residence muttering under his breath.
When the man pressed the doorbell embedded beside the front gate, a loud chime echoed through the grounds.
About ten seconds passed.
When no one came out, the man furrowed his brows.
“Fuck. My legs are killing me and no one’s coming out. What the hell.”
With a snap of his fingers, the gate exploded with a deafening noise.
The metal door crumbled into powder and was swept away by the wind.
As the sound reached the mansion, Carlyle emerged from within—and the man smiled upon seeing him.
The wind blew off the hood of the robe the man was wearing, revealing his tousled, silver-gray hair.
* * *
