Chapter 63

Serin paused, his bread halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Kennard, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Suddenly concerned about Miss Hazel’s safety?”

“Not particularly,” Kennard replied, his appetite waning. He had mentioned Hazel first but found himself suddenly uninterested in the topic.

“Miss Hazel left after the soldiers arrived. She probably saw the carriages preparing to depart,” Serin continued.

“Is that so?” Kennard had been with Elena when the soldiers arrived and Hazel left, and hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. Now, he realized the soldiers had arrived before Hazel departed.

“Are you worried about having sent Miss Hazel back? You never know how His Majesty might react…” Serin grimaced.

“I said no. The soldiers took a detour due to the landslide,” Kennard replied.

“That’s right,” Serin agreed. “They could scale the mountains in their wolf forms, but Hazel had to go by carriage.”

“That’s true,” Kennard admitted.

As Kennard spoke, Serin’s eyes widened slightly. “There’s no other way for a carriage to return.”

“Are you saying Miss Hazel might come back?”

“Let’s hope not,” Serin replied. “The thought of seeing her again is terrifying.” He rubbed his cheeks, his reaction understandable given the recent danger to Elena and his sister, Cura.

“Given the stern warning His Grace issued, is it likely she would return? Surely, she could find another inn nearby.”

“That’s probable. But we should still be prepared for the possibility, however slim.”

“Is that why you’re hurrying to clear the landslide?” Serin asked, his words hitting the mark.

Clearing the path was crucial for the people’s livelihood, but Kennard had a more personal motivation. He wanted to prevent Hazel from returning. If he had to face her again, he feared he might lose control.

The Blade Duke’s anger and the Emperor’s wrath were not his concern. He simply wanted to avoid further complications and ensure his time with Elena was uninterrupted.

***

“What in the world…” Serin muttered, looking around.

Kennard stood a few steps back, surveying the scene with Serin. The sight left them speechless.

The soldiers had been right: the landslide had occurred. Soil, boulders, and trees had tumbled down from the mountain, covering the forest on the other side of the path. The pile of soil towered over Kennard, or at least, it had before someone cleared a narrow passage.

The path was just wide enough for a single carriage and was flanked by massive dirt walls. Even where the path was cleared, muddy soil remained, and rocks were scattered around.

Kennard cautiously stepped forward, examining the ground with each step. The melting snow had revealed clear traces of recent activity. Wheel tracks from multiple carriages, hoofprints of horses, and the footprints of numerous people moving back and forth were evident, all leading from Terra Demorte towards the capital. In some spots, deep indentations in the ground indicated where carriages and horses had stood for a while.

“Who cleared this path?” Serin asked, following closely behind Kennard.

“Could it have been the local residents?” Kennard replied absently, his eyes still on the ground.

They passed the dirt walls and surveyed the area. The climate here was noticeably warmer than in Terra Demorte, with trees beginning to bud.

Kennard closely examined the numerous footprints, as if committing them to memory, then suddenly leapt onto the dirt wall.

“Be careful, it could collapse,” Serin warned, following him onto the opposite wall.

Footprints were scattered atop the mound of dirt as well.

“It seems the locals may have cleared the path, as you suggested. Their lives depend on it,” Serin said.

“That’s possible,” Kennard replied, his tone still indifferent. A mysterious ringing echoed in his head, like a distant bell. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was nagging at the back of his mind.

The footprints continued to puzzle him. Though they varied in size, the shapes pressed into the dirt were strikingly similar.

Kennard closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cool air. After a moment, he exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaped down from the wall and ventured into the forest.

Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, casting thin, thread-like beams between the trees.

“Where are you going?” Serin called out, hurrying after him.

Kennard ignored the question, his attention focused on the trail of footprints leading deeper into the forest. Although some prints were obscured by leaves and stones, the path was clear.

“Serin,” Kennard halted abruptly, his gaze fixed on the footprints before him.

“What is it?” Serin stood beside him, looking down at the ground.

“What…?” Kneeling down, Serin traced the edges of the footprints with his fingers and then looked up at Kennard with a puzzled expression.

“Was I right?”

“Yes, they’re fox footprints,” Kennard confirmed.

Serin brushed off his palms and stood up slowly. His face revealed a mix of intense frustration and confusion.

“Could the White Fox Tribe have traveled this far? Those remaining in Terra Demorte are confined to a specific area. If they have ventured here, defying your orders, they seem to be inviting exile,” Serin said.

“It might not be them,” Kennard replied.

“Then who? Are you suggesting the White Fox Tribe might have crossed the border to come here?” Serin asked.

“Yes. The consistent nature of the tracks suggests they were wearing military boots. I have seen similar footwear before, near the forest by the castle,” Kennard confirmed.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in assuming they were merely crossing the border to provoke him. It seemed they had already ventured beyond Terra Demorte into another region.

“Unbelievable. But why would they clear the path after the landslide?” Serin asked, rubbing his temples.

“Serin,” Kennard said.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Serin replied, straightening up.

At Kennard’s low, calm command, Serin tensed.

“Send a letter to the capital to inquire if Hazel has arrived,” Kennard ordered.

Serin’s mouth parted in surprise.

“Are you suggesting Miss Hazel was kidnapped by the White Fox Tribe?” he asked.

“We cannot be certain. The carriage tracks undoubtedly led toward the capital. However, we cannot be sure if the carriage reached its destination or veered off somewhere in between. Verify this,” Kennard instructed.

“Understood, Your Grace,” Serin replied.

As far as Kennard was concerned, after what Hazel had done to Elena, her fate mattered little. He would much rather eliminate her himself.

Nevertheless, he could not ignore the possibility that she had been abducted by the White Fox Tribe. Allowing them to cross over from Terra Demorte was a grave matter, but daring to infiltrate deep into the Baruchella Empire’s territory was something he could never tolerate.

He would find them and make them pay the ultimate price.

And that price would be nothing less than their lives.

***

“Lady Elena, this is the study,” Cura announced, opening the door and stepping aside.

With Hazel gone, Elena felt a profound sense of emptiness, wondering how she had managed to fill her time before.

“The greenhouse is still a mess, so you might injure yourself if you go there. Perhaps you should read a book instead,” Cura suggested, unable to watch Elena wander aimlessly about her room and the halls.

As Elena stepped into the study, the scent of old paper and dust filled her nostrils.

A cool breeze wafted through the open windows, gently stirring the curtains. Bookshelves lined every wall, save for the door and the window overlooking the garden, with books stacked from the floor to the high ceiling.

In one corner of the study, an intricately carved desk and chair were arranged, while a single armchair sat before the fireplace. The plush, ornate carpet that covered the entire floor lent the room a distant, almost dreamlike quality.

Dust particles danced in the sunlight streaming through the window, making Elena feel as if she were dreaming.

“Are all of these books?” she asked.

“There are so many, aren’t there? Some of them were here when the White Fox Tribe owned the place, but most of these were brought by His Grace. According to my brother, His Grace finds it tedious to even reply to letters, but when it comes to reading, he never seems to tire of it,” Cura explained.

Elena ran her fingertips over the books nestled in the shelves, taking in the sight of the room. Some had thick leather covers with gold-embossed titles, while others appeared so fragile they seemed like they would crumble at the slightest touch.

She carefully inspected each title until one particular book caught her eye. She gently pulled it from the shelf.