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62.
"Why?"
"The author claims his name is written here."
"What?"
Ferguson gazed at the blacklist affixed to the wall.
It was a roster of individuals whose likenesses and descriptions were never to be admitted within the castle gates.
A montage of Zeppelin, Earl of Devonshire, had been sketched in vivid ink—recently added, by the look of it.
The fact that his name was emphasized in crimson lettering made it abundantly clear that admitting him would invite severe consequences.
Ferguson's gaze oscillated between the montage and Zeppelin himself.
The rain made it difficult to discern his features clearly, yet there seemed to be a resemblance.
"Open the castle gate! At once!"
Below, Zeppelin continued to bellow, his voice strained with desperation.
If he truly were a nobleman, this would be troublesome indeed. Retaliation for refusing to open the gates was not uncommon.
Yet each time such incidents occurred, Julian ‌had compensated far more generously than necessary.
It was reassuring to serve as a ‌‌‌soldier of the Duke.
Ferguson addressed him with a measured, deliberate tone.
"I'm afraid, my lord, that even an earl cannot enter. Not even by imperial decree."
"What?"
"You see here. There is an explicit order from the Duke that Zeppelin, Earl of Devonshire, is never to be admitted within these walls."
The sentry waved the parchment before him.
'This accursed bastard...'
Zeppelin's teeth ground together in fury.
The sentry's words were true.
Within the Empire, only ‌‌‌‌three powers held autonomous territories: two Dukes and the Church.
The Duke of the northern frontier, the Duke of Johannes who symbolized the Empire itself, and the Church—all other lands fell under the Emperor's dominion. ‌‌‌
For convenience, they were called earldoms and baronies, with administrative authority granted to the nobles who held the most territory in each region, yet such power was merely administrative in nature.
No nobleman could defy any edict issued by the Emperor.
However, within their autonomous territories, ‌‌the two Dukes and the Church possessed justification to refuse the Emperor's commands.
Thus, if Julian had decided not to permit Zeppelin entry into his domain, he could not cross ‌‌its threshold without the Duke's consent.
Yet such ‌‌‌‌constraints could not stop Zeppelin now.
He had to enter.
Only by finding Rebecca within could he hold a trial or assert his rights.
"What's this? Gone quiet, have we? Planning to turn back now?"
Ferguson poked his head out slightly, peering down at Zeppelin.
But it ‌‌was merely a ‌fleeting delusion on his part.
"Ah... ah!"
Charles cried out in alarm.
Zeppelin drove his horse directly toward the castle gate.
"You mad—"
With a thunderous ‌‌‌‌crash, the gate shuddered. The anguished wail of the horse pierced the air.
The white horse collapsed to its side, foam flecking from its mouth.
Zeppelin kicked at the fallen animal.
"Useless beast!"
Ferguson and Charles stared in stunned silence at the unfolding catastrophe.
They had never anticipated he would hurl himself ‌‌bare-handed against a gate of stone. ‌‌
"Open it! Open it now! ‌‌‌Rebecca! Rebecca!"
Zeppelin pounded the castle gate with his fists, and though the stone ‌would never yield, he struck until his hands ran crimson with blood.
How many times did he strike?
When his hands would no longer obey, he began to ram the gate with his head.
The dull, sickening sound roused Ferguson from his shock.
"Stop this at once! If you do not cease within three counts, we will open fire!"
"Silence! Open this damned gate!"
Zeppelin's white shirt was now drenched in dark crimson blood.
Blood, rain, and tears mingled together, streaming down his body in rivulets.
He continued to sob as he battered the gate with his head.
"Rebecca... my Rebecca..."
"One! Two!..."
Charles kept his rifle trained on Zeppelin, awaiting Ferguson's final command.
His arm grew rigid with tension.
After all, Zeppelin was a nobleman—he had to aim carefully to avoid fatal injury.
Then it happened.
Before Ferguson ‌‌could count three, a knight on horseback came galloping urgently from the distance.
"Hold your fire!"
Ferguson flinched and stopped his count.
Bates dismounted hastily and shouted to the sentries, ‌‌‌brushing his blonde hair from his rain-soaked face to clear his vision.
"This man is the Earl of Devonshire! We shall take him into custody—cease fire ‌‌immediately!"
"Well, if you're taking him..."
Ferguson and Charles exchanged a meaningful glance.
Once Bates confirmed that Charles had lowered his rifle, he rushed to restrain Zeppelin.
"My lord. My lord. Come to your senses."
"Let go! I must see Rebecca. I must reclaim my lost Rebecca."
Zeppelin appeared to have abandoned all reason.
Bates hesitated for a moment, then bowed his head.
"Forgive me, then."
He brought the edge of his hand down sharply against the back of Zeppelin's ‌‌neck.
Without so much as a whimper, Zeppelin lost consciousness and crumpled to the ground.
"Um... something else ‌‌‌‌is coming over there?"
"Sigh... what now?"
At Charles's words, Ferguson lifted his gaze.
Two elegant white carriages were approaching leisurely in their direction.
I ‌‌‌couldn't fathom why there were so many ‌‌‌visitors at this ungodly hour.
As the carriage came to a halt, a servant descended and raised a large black umbrella.
Octavio, his expression deeply furrowed, stood beneath the umbrella's shelter.
He approached Zeppelin slowly, who lay in a pitiful state beneath the rain.
"Foolish wretch."
Octavio clicked his tongue once and gestured to Bates.
Bates hoisted Zeppelin onto his shoulders and carefully laid him in a different carriage—not the one Octavio ‌‌had arrived in.
The physician waiting inside the carriage examined Zeppelin's condition.
Throughout the journey to the Count's Mansion, he continued calling ‌Rebecca's name between moments of fading consciousness.
The next morning was ‌‌‌‌so peaceful it was difficult ‌to believe a tempest had just passed.
The clear sky stretched endlessly above, ‌‌‌brilliant and refreshing.
Rebecca, having risen early, stepped outside with the intention of taking a brief walk.
Upon crossing ‌‌‌the threshold, she stretched luxuriously while gazing up at the azure expanse.
As I drew in a deep breath, the crisp morning air filled my lungs completely.
I walked slowly past the gate and into the meadow.
The damp, ‌‌‌not-yet-dried soil ‌‌clung ‌‌stubbornly to my shoes.
I hastily gathered up my skirts and tied them at my waist.
Then I carefully removed my shoes and stepped barefoot into the soft mud.
The tender sensation drew an involuntary smile to my lips.
Some might have called it filthy, but the mud seeping between my toes carried the scent of freedom.
With a joyful heart, I wiggled my toes repeatedly and moved forward at a leisurely pace.
The grass, growing wild up to my waist, looked so verdant ‌‌‌that I reached out without thinking.
Each time my fingers brushed the blades, dewdrops scattered downward.
A breeze drifted from the distance.
The meadow began to ‌sing.
I hummed softly, following the wind's melody, as I made my way toward the hilltop.
Though not an exceptionally high hill, it was sufficient ‌‌to overlook the Duchy of Johannes.
The distant coastal city of Montfort came into full view.
Beyond Montfort stretched ‌dense forests and vast meadows.
Past the ‌‌‌verdant woodlands teeming with flora and fauna, and the fertile plains, lay treacherous mountain ‌‌‌ranges.
And within those mountains lay the Mining District, ‌renowned for its precious gems.
The Duchy of Johannes was abundantly rich ‌in resources—precisely the sort of prize the Church and the Emperor had long coveted.
Yet no one dared rashly encroach upon the Duchy of Johannes.
The backlash from laying hands upon a House blessed by God was terrifying indeed.
Whether by necessity ‌‌‌‌or chance, throughout history, those who opposed the Duke of Johannes had always met tragic ends.
God cherished the House of Johannes with almost cruel devotion.
The very existence ‌‌‌of the ‌House of Johannes was itself a ‌‌testament to the power of Defria.
At the heart of ‌‌Defrian faith had always stood Johannes.
Without the House of Johannes, the Defrian Church could never have risen to such heights.
I gazed slowly across all that Julian held in his grasp.
It was radiant enough to be called a land blessed by the divine itself.
Yet the shackles of fate that bound Julian were so terrible that he would forsake all that brilliance.
A sharp ache pierced my ‌‌‌chest.
Rebecca's furrowed gaze slowly descended toward the base of the hill.
A pair—a woman and a man—were walking toward us.
Since there was nothing atop the hill but the Obelia Mansion, ‌‌‌they had to be its guests.
In that instant, ‌‌‌Rebecca's heart plummeted.
Could they be Zeppelin's Hounds?
Had they come to find her and drag her away?
Fear seized her. Zeppelin was more than capable of abducting her.
This place saw only the occasional resident passing through to gather berries and such.
Even that was rare, making it a desolate stretch of land.
It ‌‌‌was quite far from the Obelia Mansion. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her.
'If that were to happen....'

Rebecca's mind spiraled into terrible imaginings.
But her worries were soon swallowed by a cry tinged with emotion that reached her ears.
"Rebecca!"
It was Kanna. Kanna and Robert were waving toward her.
Kanna hastily dropped the ‌‌‌‌‌luggage she'd been carrying to the ground.
And she began running toward Rebecca.
Rebecca grabbed her shoes and rushed toward Kanna without ‌‌thinking.
She stumbled several times on the slippery mud, but Rebecca did not stop.
When Rebecca finally reached Kanna, her face bloomed with a radiant smile.
Rebecca called out Kanna's name with a luminous expression.
"Kanna!"
Kanna could ‌‌‌‌contain herself no longer ‌‌‌and suddenly embraced Rebecca.
"Please, I beg you—promise me we will never part again."
Kanna's hands trembled terribly as they wrapped around ‌‌‌Rebecca's back.
Her embrace was fierce, holding Rebecca as though wringing her close.
Kanna's powerful embrace seemed to speak for all the anguish she had endured during their separation.
"Kanna, you'll ‌‌‌‌break Rebecca at this rate."
Robert followed behind with a melancholy smile.
"Robert...."
Rebecca gazed at him with misty eyes. His face was covered in wounds, yet he was alive.
Julian had previously brought back a blood-drinking plant, from which Eustaf had isolated a paralytic toxin.
The blood-drinking plant injected its paralytic toxin into captured prey.
Once the toxin spread throughout the prey's body, it entered a state neither alive nor dead ‌‌for hours.
Thus the blood-drinking plant slowly savored the fresh blood of its paralyzed prey at leisure. ‌‌
Julian found Eustaf's report quite fascinating.
He instructed Eustaf to formulate a drug ‌‌‌‌using this paralytic poison that could simulate false death. ‌
By employing this toxin, informants who were compromised need not resort to self-destruction, thereby ‌‌‌‌‌minimizing casualties.
The Countess who had fled returned.
E-book publication.

January 12, 2022
Author.

Long night sky
Publisher.

Desert fox
Published by.

Woongjin ThinkBig Co., Ltd.
Submission contact.

naver.me/54VzzLSn
Blog.

blog.naver.com/wj_fennecfox
Twitter.

@wjt_fennecfox

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