Chapter 23
“Count. It’s Kaelan.”
A heavy knock echoed through the hallway.
Kaelan stood before the door.
“Come in.”
It was that same familiar voice, still devoid of emotion.
When he opened the door and entered, he was greeted by a middle-aged man with platinum-blond hair and golden eyes.
The same hair color as Kaelan’s.
He found that color utterly nauseating.
Unlike his gaunt body, his eyes shone fiercely.
“An order has come down from His Holiness the Pope. I hear the northern border has been unsettled lately.”
The Count looked at Kaelan with an empty, emotionless gaze.
Kaelan’s eyes narrowed at the Count’s always-unreadable expression, which had long displeased him.
“So you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to resolve the matter?”
“…Everything is for House Daker. Even if you protest, you have no say in it.”
His steadfast patron—and his oppressor.
Kaelan’s objection to the Count was casually dismissed.
“In four months, you’ll depart for the north with the expeditionary force. Go and wipe them out to the last.”
As always, the Count disregarded his artistic freedom, sought to control him, and tried to use him as a sharp, well-honed blade. Kaelan swallowed a yawn, looking bored.
“It’ll take at least a year. It would be a waste to leave you in this peaceful place. Paint the snowy fields of the north red with the art you speak of.”
One year.
A four-month reprieve would not be enough.
He would have to leave Ella behind for an entire year.
“The barbarians of that frozen land? You want me to hunt a few toothless wolves and come back? A place without even an audience is beneath my art.”
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had refused.
The Count’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“…A refusal?”
“Because I’m working on something more important than anything else right now.”
“Working?”
“I’m going to create a masterpiece.”
He couldn’t give up his own color.
The Count’s gaze darkened.
“I told you. You have no say in it. Your little artwork is not more important than the family. How dare you refuse for such a trivial reason.”
“The family. What on earth makes it important?”
A mocking laugh caught at his lips.
But the Count no longer reacted.
“I don’t expect much from you. A sword has no need for a sense of self. I’ll say this one last time. I can no longer simply watch them. Even if they are toothless wolves, they’ve bred too many cubs. If left alone, they’ll become a cancer in the kingdom. The details are here.”
The Count flatly refused him as he placed a letter on the table.
“Muen tells me you took in a woman.”
Ella.
Kaelan’s eyes sharpened at the Count’s mention of Ella, whom he considered his.
“Nothing more than a bit of amusement, as usual.”
“It doesn’t matter. As long as you don’t directly harm House Daker, I have no interest in what kind of person you ruin for fun.”
‘That damned House Daker. What meaning could a mere family have?’
Yet Kaelan knew very well that the family and the weight of the Count’s name kept his actions from being questioned.
“But remember this. The blood of House Daker is not to be sown carelessly. Don’t leave behind any unnecessary repercussions.”
Repercussions.
‘Ella’s child.’
He imagined the small life Ella would carry.
A small creature with navy-blue eyes and navy-blue hair.
A new work that had inherited all of his color.
He wondered what melody it would play.
Ella’s belly would gradually swell, and his color would grow inside her.
It would surely be beautiful.
A perfect work that only he could tune from the moment it was born.
He imagined Ella clutching her belly in agony.
The pain that would bloom during childbirth.
Screams, crying, blood.
The seed of maternal love that might take root.
That, too, would be beautiful.
If she looked at him while holding the child and felt a protective instinct instead of fear, it would be delightful.
The thought crossed his mind that making her give birth to a variation of such devastating beauty might be amusing.
But not now.
There was still much he had to do with Ella herself.
He needed more time.
Yet even as his thoughts continued, his mouth did not miss the opening.
“Consequences, you say. Then what about Daniel? The seed was sown without permission, so shouldn’t it be collected?”
Daniel Daker.
The Count of Daker’s fourth son.
A son the Count brought home from somewhere after losing his eldest son and wife.
The variation Kaelan loved, and the only person in this family to whom he had ever grown attached.
The air froze in an instant.
The quill in the Count’s hand broke with a faint but sharp sound.
A trace of emotion passed through the Count’s eyes.
Anger.
Whether Kaelan had touched the Count’s sore spot or not, the faint furrow in his forehead quickly smoothed away.
He quietly placed the broken quill on the documents and spoke.
“Do you think you have the right to bring up that child?”
“He’s my younger brother. Am I not even allowed to mention him?”
The Count’s fist clenched briefly, then relaxed.
“Hah… And the north isn’t your playground. Forget any thoughts of dragging your toys there. Take care of everything cleanly before you leave. Now get out.”
It was an order to dispose of Ella.
At the Count’s command to destroy the color he had finally found, Kaelan, who had been reaching for the letter, paused.
Yet after his many past experiences, Kaelan knew all too well that he would ignore the Count’s words.
He couldn’t let Ella go.
He had to protect the perfect work he had finally found in his arms.
‘I’ll need a plan.’
He merely rummaged through his mind for any useful information and quietly withdrew from the room.
Kaelan leaned against the hallway wall opposite the door.
‘Refusing the Pope’s command without a reason would be impossible.’
Then what if he passed this poisoned chalice to someone else?
For example, his second older brother, Kalman.
An altruist like Kalman would be easy to use, and as a member of the Imperial Knights, he was skilled enough as well.
But even if he sent Kalman to the north, he would not be granted complete freedom.
Ella could be taken away from him at any time.
Besides, would the Count really send Kalman in his place?
Kaelan knew very well how deeply the Count clung to his power and position.
After the death of his ideal firstborn son, the Count came to believe that no one but him could properly lead House Daker.
He could never hand it over to the overly kind second son or the wastrel fourth son.
If Kalman distinguished himself in the north, the Count’s position would be threatened.
He would never allow that.
What if something more dangerous arose—something that meant he wouldn’t have to go to the north?
A plague, perhaps… or a rebellion.
If a rebellion broke out, there was no way the Count would send someone like him to the north.
There were already many nobles who resented the current royal family for launching reckless wars of conquest without first stabilizing the kingdom.
It was perfect, but exceedingly dangerous.
If he were caught, it would not end with death alone.
But for the sake of his art…
And if he did not merely start a rebellion, but joined it, he could become the protagonist on the stage of the entire kingdom.
Not the Count’s pawn, but a knight who overturned the chessboard itself.
Screams would become applause for his symphony, and burning cities would become the lighting that illuminated his stage.
And he could break free of every shackle that had originated with the Count.
Ella would become completely his as well.
It was an unimaginably dangerous thought.
But it was also the path he would forge through his own choices.
Beautiful.
‘Torture if I’m caught? Execution? Yes, that too is a splendid finale. The final performance in which my entire body is torn apart. How desperate a scream could I produce? How beautiful would that be as well?’
A moment of hesitation.
If he were caught, he would die without being able to tune Ella any further.
He could not accept dying before completing her.
He still had more melodies to hear.
More tears, happiness, pain, pleasure, screams, and ecstasy.
He could not die before then.
Then all he had to do was succeed.
A simple conclusion.
Failure was not a consideration.
Only success mattered.
A future in which the entire kingdom became his stage.
Beautiful.
He reached a hand toward empty air.
“Wait for me, Ella. Soon I’ll show you even more beautiful art on a greater stage.”
His laughter would not stop.
“I’ll have to make contact with them.”
He left the hallway.
His steps were light, like those of a musician who had received an immense musical score.
His heart was already fluttering with anticipation.
His heart pounded as he walked toward the south wing.
He wanted to see her eyes, those navy-blue eyes.
His perfect, uniquely personal color.
He walked quickly down the hallway.
‘Ella, I’ll show you a new story. A story about our future, with the entire kingdom as its stage.’
How beautiful would it be?
He stood before the door.
Ella’s room.
He would never let go of his perfect creation.
He opened the door.
“Ella.”
He called her softly.
“I missed you.”