Chapter 138

The northern harbor was encased in ice so thick it could betray the unwary, its treacherous surface threatening fatal consequences for anyone who dared tread upon it. Warning signs were posted liberally, their stark messages urging caution against the grim possibility of slipping and plunging beneath the breakwater’s frigid depths.

Wherever Rezette walked, however, the ice vanished entirely, evaporating into nothingness as if by magic. His path was left impeccably dry, devoid even of mud’s clinging remnants.

“‘Ricardo’s Mast’ refers to a grave located at the northernmost tip of Norella Harbor, also known as the ‘Graveyard of Sailors,’” Ruben explained, his voice steady as he followed close behind. “The grave belongs to a young sailor, Ricardo Asen, who vanished at sea 23 years ago. His ship wrecked without leaving behind a body or belongings.”

Ruben paused, his expression somber before continuing, “His grieving mother, stricken with despair over losing her only son, cut down the mast of the wrecked ship and placed it beside his gravestone. Seven days later, she threw herself into the harbor. Since then, the tavern owners in the area have called the spot ‘Ricardo’s Mast.’”

About a month earlier, the knights of Rotiara, secretly tasked by the Duke to monitor the remnants of Argan’s faction, had encountered a frustrating deadlock. Just days after the Princess’s escape, Argan’s loyalists, aware they were being hunted, split into two groups and vanished without a trace.

The Duke’s conviction that the Princess’s destination—and consequently the faction’s hideout—was Norella prompted the knights to scour the city tirelessly from the moment of their arrival.

Driven by a fierce determination to avoid the Duke’s wrath, they poured another two weeks into their investigation. Finally, their relentless efforts bore fruit—a lead traced to the unusual movements of Genovia Irrien, infamously known as the “Little Queen” of Norella.

Her frequent visits to the city’s intelligence guild had not gone unnoticed.

“Even in the midst of a blizzard, the countess kept sending people to the intelligence guild,” Ruben continued. “So, we raided their headquarters. The guildmaster revealed that one of her orders was to investigate the code phrase ‘Ricardo’s Mast.’”

Rezette nodded, processing the information. “And that led you here. So, what now?” He asked, his gaze fixed on the splintered piece of mast embedded in the ground before him. Along the seawall, a seemingly endless row of gravestones lined the shore, each marking the resting place of a sailor lost to the sea.

Turning away from Ricardo’s grave, Rezette’s eyes shifted to the row of taverns and inns facing the breakwater. Ruben pointed toward one of them.

“The spot directly aligned with this mast is over there—on the fifth floor of the inn with the blue roof.”

It was the only place that offered an unobstructed view of the area around Ricardo’s Mast throughout the day. The knights had already identified the people staying in that room, as well as their affiliations, through contact with the intelligence guild a week ago.

Since then, another week had passed, and the transactions between the guildmaster and the countess had quietly come to a close. Today, those dealings were set to culminate—with Rezette playing a pivotal role.

“There are far more of them than the ones we captured at the Tene River. Fifteen so far, but counting those disguised as sailors aboard the ships docked here, there are easily dozens. They’ve spread across two ships anchored at Dock 5. It seems their plan is to take control of the ships once they set sail, eliminating the captains. Since their destination is Argan, they’ll likely head straight northeast, bypassing stops at Hamaram or the Tentaluna Peninsula.”

It was clear they had made meticulous preparations, aiming to sail south swiftly as soon as Elise boarded the ship.

The inn was already surrounded by Rotiara’s knights. Rezette passed the perplexed innkeeper, who seemed oblivious to the unfolding situation, and ascended the creaking stairs. Soldiers in the hallway, hurriedly changing their clothes, paused to salute upon recognizing him.

“As you instructed, we’ve selected personnel to infiltrate the ships. About twenty men should suffice to replace half of Argan’s forces. What should we do about the rest?” Ruben asked.

Rezette’s gaze never wavered as he replied, “Handle them aboard the ship. Quietly.”

“Understood,” Ruben nodded sharply, already processing the orders.

Inside the inn’s room stood a young man with grayish hair, Barnon Conrad. Upon seeing Rezette enter, he closed his eyes with a deep sigh, as though weary of the confrontation.

“Damn it… Lord Almighty…” Barnon muttered under his breath, clearly exasperated.

“It’s been a while,” Rezette remarked casually, stepping further into the room.

Barnon’s eyes snapped open, his tone sharp. “So, it’s truly impossible to escape your pursuit within Van Yela’s borders?”

Just an hour ago, the inn had been ravaged by Rezette’s subordinates. The chaos was evident in the scattered debris. Through the half-open curtains, the fragment of Ricardo’s Mast swayed gently in the ocean breeze, its outline visible against the view beyond the window. It seemed they had been watching the area from here.

This, then, was the true purpose of Elise’s journey to Norella. Rezette took in the disheveled room with a casual glance, his tone unfazed as he replied, “I never let go of what I set my sights on.”

Barnon scoffed, crossing his arms, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Which is why you’ve been hounding me relentlessly for months. You even dared to blackmail Her Highness with such vile threats, placing her under surveillance. Does she even know what you’ve done?”

“What’s so wrong about a knight of Van Yela removing unwelcome intruders from Van Yela’s territory?” Rezette responded smoothly, his expression unchanged.

A map of shipping routes hung crookedly on the wall. Scattered on the floor were a compass, a pen, sailor uniforms, and a telescope—trinkets of an operation carefully planned.

Barnon’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not as if I was eager to see your face again either. Especially not when you skulk into others’ lands and spy on a couple’s private quarters, much like a prowling voyeur…”

Rezette’s sharp gaze swept over every item in the room before settling on Barnon. As he tilted his chin slightly, the light in his blue eyes flickered, darkening into something far more dangerous for just a moment.

“Wouldn’t anyone despise sharing the same space with you?” he asked, his voice low and biting.

Barnon’s composed expression twisted into a snarl. The memories of that night by the Tene River came rushing back with terrifying clarity, as if it had all happened yesterday. His teeth ground together involuntarily, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re one to talk!” Barnon snapped, his voice tight with fury. “Her Highness is not your plaything, you vile man!”

Rezette’s eyes narrowed, though his expression remained unfazed. “It seems I’ve been misunderstood a lot lately. Do I really appear that way?” His voice dripped with feigned innocence, an almost amused indifference coloring his words.

Barnon’s face reddened with anger. “Then what of that night? When you, knowing full well that others could overhear, shamelessly defiled Her Highness? Is that what you call honorable? Have you no shame?” His voice was thick with disgust.

Rezette raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Oh? Is that all you heard, Duke?”

His tone was mocking, and a cold amusement flickered in his eyes. He had known there was a rat lurking in the cramped, grimy farmhouse that night—someone listening in on them. That’s why he had shielded her exposed form with his own body, making sure nothing inappropriate could be seen. But he hadn’t cared enough to suppress the sounds. Why should he? Letting the eavesdropper realize they weren’t the only ones intoxicated by passion had been deterrent enough—or so he had thought.

Now, facing Barnon Conrad again, that assumption seemed like a miscalculation.

“You despicable bastard…” Barnon’s voice trembled with barely contained rage as he spat the curse, his lips quivering with the weight of the humiliation he had been forced to endure.

The memories flooded back, rising up uncontrollably—the suffocating moment wedged between narrow stairs, forced to listen to what he had no right to hear. The image of that night, those sounds, haunted him still.

“Rezette, tonight… I… I want to try.”

“What do you even know?” 

“I want to see your face too, as we do it… Let me take the lead, just once…”

Even covering his ears had done little to block out the tender moans and soft cries that followed, searing Barnon’s memory like indelible ink.

He found himself questioning his own accusations. Was it truly accurate to claim that Rezette had defiled Elise? Their marriage, steeped in so much suspicion, the nights they shared—passionate, even tempestuous—had it all been solely due to Rezette’s coercion? Or perhaps, just perhaps… had Elise been the one to initiate?

No. Such thoughts are pointless, Barnon thought to himself, his mind racing.

Biting down on his lip, he shoved aside the unwanted suspicions. Whatever had transpired during Elise’s time in Van Yela, she was an Argan Princess. What mattered now was that she sought to return to them.

She must not fall into Rezette’s hands again, only to be used as a weapon against them.

With a heavy sigh, Barnon looked up at Rezette, his voice cold and firm. “This time, you won’t drag me before her.”

Rezette’s lips curled into a slight smirk as he casually swept the clutter off the table, leaning against it with an air of casual indifference. His eyes locked with Barnon’s, a predatory glint in them.

“Of course, my wife will not know of your demise,” Rezette replied smoothly, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

He paused for a moment, letting the words hang between them, then added with a calculating edge, “She needs to remain calm before the baby arrives. There’s no need to trouble her with such shocking news.”

“…You beast,” Barnon spat, his voice thick with venom.

“You’ve got it right,” Rezette replied coolly, his tone dripping with mockery.

Barnon let loose a string of curses through gritted teeth, his words trembling on the edge of fury. The very thought of Elise carrying the child of such a monster—without shame—was infuriating.

The Emperor’s concerns were justified, after all, Barnon thought bitterly.

In Andrei’s letter, delivered by messenger bird, he had instructed: Upon meeting Elise, first confirm her physical condition. Barnon had dismissed the ominous warning as an exaggeration, but now, that unease had become undeniable reality.

If his sister truly were with child, the situation was far worse than he had feared. Rezette—and by extension, the Van Yela royal family—would never let her go. They would deploy all their forces to keep Elise captive, no matter the cost.

It was clear now that a full-scale confrontation in Norella might be inevitable.

From the start, he had anticipated conflict. Half of the remaining Argana forces had been relocated to Norella, prepared for the worst. Even against Rezette himself, their resolve would not falter.

Barnon’s hand instinctively moved to his hip, his fingers gripping the hilt of his sword as he glared at Rezette.

“Know this,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Even if you slaughter countless Argan men here, we will never abandon Her Highness. Again and again, we will infiltrate your lands to make our presence known to her.”

“I’m well aware.” Rezette’s voice was calm, almost bored. “That’s precisely why I plan to stop this pointless cycle.”

Barnon’s brows furrowed in confusion. “…What?”

Rezette’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. “As you said, Duke, my perspective has been narrow. The fastest, most definitive way to resolve this is to eliminate the source at its root, rather than waste effort on mere branches.”

With a slight tilt of his head, Rezette signaled to his men. The knights of Rotiara swiftly hauled the kneeling Argana captives to their feet.

Barnon’s face twisted with growing fury, his mind racing to make sense of Rezette’s intentions. His expression was as cold and impenetrable as ever, leaving Barnon no closer to understanding what he was planning.

Then, the realization struck him like lightning. New figures entered the room, their presence stark and unnerving. The Rotiara soldiers who appeared bore an uncanny resemblance to Barnon’s comrades—same skin tone, same attire.