“Then let me make the suggestion once more. A Spirit Beast is a being brimming with limitless potential. Rumor has it that this one can even foresee great events in the future. We cannot simply sit back and leave it alone.”
Greed blazed across Averitt’s face as he smugly stroked his mustache.
“I’m well aware that the Duke has taken the creature in as a pet. But given the gravity of the matter, isn’t it time we put aside personal attachment and selfish desires? So, what do you say, Your Grace? How about we consider making the Spirit Beast the property of House Laufe, rather than your personal possession, and begin its training so it can serve the duchy?”
Despite preaching the need to set aside greed, Averitt himself made no effort to conceal his own. Some frowned at his audacity, but others nodded in agreement.
“It’s a sound idea. The weather’s been unusually vicious this year, and the farmers have been struggling. If we could predict such events in advance, we could prepare and lessen the suffering.”
“Exactly! Why not start a new business venture under the Spirit Beast’s name? It would attract a staggering amount of capital. Profits would soar in no time!”
“Ha! Looks like fortune is rolling right into the Laufe family’s lap!”
Their voices brimmed with certainty, convinced the Count’s proposal would be accepted. A smug smile tugged at Averitt’s lips.
The prosperity of House Laufe? Vast wealth? Very well. But those were just pleasant side effects.
What Averitt truly wanted was to block Justyn Laufe’s path to power. The cursed Duke’s reputation—marred by a grotesque curse and a history steeped in cruelty—had always worked in Averitt’s favor.
But now, the Spirit Beast was the problem. With its small, fragile feline form, it had cleverly begun to shift public sentiment.
Spirit Beasts—sacred creatures with only a handful of known cases remaining. And this one had chosen a single master. That title alone was enough to fracture the once-unchanging perception of Justyn.
And once something cracks, it’s only a matter of time before it shatters.
—Maybe he’s not as bad as people say.
—What if the rumors were exaggerated?
—He’s scary, sure, but I don’t think he’s a bad person. I once spilled tea on him, and he let it go.
—Seriously, you should watch where you’re going. Still, you got lucky. If it had been the Count, he’d have thrown the cup at you on the spot!
Such murmurs had begun to creep into the open.
It wasn’t just that Justyn’s reputation was improving—now people were drawing insulting comparisons. When Averitt first heard whispers subtly tearing him down, he wanted to drag the rumor-spreaders out and kick them senseless on the spot.
Ungrateful bastards.
He’d taken them in, given them good-paying jobs, handed them money regularly. With that money, they ate well and lived comfortably—shouldn’t they be groveling in gratitude?
In any case, the damage had long been done. Averitt decided not to waste his energy plugging each crack. Instead, he’d eliminate the cause of the fissures entirely.
Simple enough.
All that needed to happen was for the Spirit Beast’s master to no longer be “Justyn Laufe,” but instead “House Laufe.”
The plan was to use “training” as a pretext to separate the two. Over time, the notion that the creature had “chosen” Justyn would gradually fade. As for the favorable public opinion surrounding him? That could be manipulated later with ease.
That’s how the lower class always was—clinging to power like bats, gossiping for fun, swaying like reeds at the slightest pressure, with no real convictions. If he gave the chief steward the order, they’d start badmouthing Justyn Laufe in no time.
And the ignorant rabble of the ducal lands? They’d chatter amongst themselves, swayed by rumors leaking out of the mansion. They’d start to believe that the cursed Justyn Laufe lacked the capacity to lead the ducal house.
Heh. Perfect.
All Averitt had to do was slip into the cracks.
The situation was leaning in his favor. The retainers he’d contacted beforehand were doing a fine job playing the instigators.
Even those who had initially been displeased began to change their expressions.
It was undeniable that the Spirit Beast could bring benefit to House Laufe. There was no harm in giving it a try. That simple proposition was shaking their resolve.
It’s done.
And just when Count Averitt was ready to declare victory—
“I see things a little differently.”
A dissenting voice cut through the chamber. Averitt’s brow furrowed deeply in annoyance as he whipped his head around to identify the speaker who had ruined his moment.
“W-What? Baron Embio?”
The moment he saw who had spoken, all the blood drained from his face.
Baron Paulen Embio. And who was he?
The current head of House Embio, a family with a long legacy of loyalty to House Laufe. A man who, through his shrewd business acumen, had elevated the Crystal Trading Company—operating under the Duke’s authority—into one of the Empire’s top three merchant groups.
Baron Embio’s business acumen, sharp intellect, and immense financial power had elevated his influence to the point where his opinions could never be ignored.
Up to now, Averitt hadn’t paid him much mind, assuming he was content to remain neutral. But the rules he’d learned through experience were crumbling right before his eyes.
Embio pushed his glasses up, then continued, his voice flat and dispassionate, as if merely reciting objective facts.
“I’ve traveled across the continent several times for merchant business, so I dare say I’ve come across quite a number of records regarding Spirit Beasts. Some of them were rather intriguing.”
“I-Intriguing records?”
“Yes. There was one account where someone offended a Spirit Beast and suffered devastating consequences. I believe the one who incurred its wrath—and his entire bloodline—was wiped out.”
“…….”
Everyone in the room shuddered. A few instinctively glanced down at their own bodies, unable to suppress the primal chill crawling up their spines.
“The Spirit Beast seems to have grown quite attached to His Grace. If you try to separate them by force, you’ll only breed resentment. Especially in your case, Count Averitt…”
Embio narrowed his eyes, giving the Count a long, slow once-over.
“You’ve already incurred its displeasure, haven’t you? I heard a rather amusing rumor as I entered the manor.”
“T-That’s…”
Flinch. The once-imposing Count’s frame swayed helplessly. His previously pale face had now taken on a tinge of bluish-gray.
“…Perhaps this matter is premature for discussion.”
Baron Embio was a man of strict boundaries—unwaveringly rational, to the point of being unnervingly calculative.
That was enough for Count Averitt to retreat without a second thought. No matter how blinded by greed he was, risking the annihilation of his bloodline was a price he had no intention of paying.
Meanwhile, the “Spirit Beast” quietly listening nearby—who was, in fact, just a beastkin mistaken for one—had a very different thought.
What the heck? That’s terrifying.
Wiping out an entire bloodline out of anger? It seemed Spirit Beasts were far more fearsome creatures than Ries had imagined.
But that impression didn’t last long—something else was far more concerning.
He glanced up at Justyn. The Duke appeared composed on the surface, but having spent considerable time with him, Ries could tell that Justyn’s complexion was paler than he had ever seen.
I misjudged them.
He had underestimated the depth of human greed gathered in this room. If things had gone any further, real harm might’ve come to Justyn.
These retainers weren’t just subordinates—they were the voices of House Laufe.
Justyn couldn’t simply override a majority consensus without reason. He might hold the title of Duke, but he didn’t have a solid power base to lean on.
If not for the intervention of Baron Embio, the situation might have spiraled beyond repair. A weighty sense of guilt began to settle in Ries’s heart.
Which meant he couldn’t afford to just sit back anymore.
I’ve come this far. I have to do something.
The reason he’d slipped away from the escort Justyn had assigned and come here in secret—wasn’t it to identify the people who wished to harm him?
He had to at least accomplish this. Only then could he face Justyn without shame.
Ries quietly leapt up onto Justyn’s thigh.
Then he cautiously peeked his head up over the table. The retainers, deep in heated conversation, failed to notice the silent movement—or so he thought.
“…!”
Their eyes met—his and Baron Embio’s.
The moment of eye contact was brief, but it left a striking impression.
Pale green eyes, even lighter in hue than Melissa’s. The emotion in them wasn’t greed, but something closer to curiosity—or perhaps an intense thirst for knowledge.
He’s more peculiar than I thought.
At least, Ries noted with relief, Embio wasn’t carrying that familiar ominous fragment. Which meant he wasn’t one of those waiting in the wings for Justyn to fall.
Ries’s gaze shifted, studying the other retainers one by one. Meanwhile, the meeting continued steadily.
“Now, for the final agenda item.”
One of the younger retainers, clearly fatigued, forced a polite tone as he spoke.
“His Grace the Duke has submitted a proposal to revoke Count Averitt’s authority as acting head of House Laufe.”
The meeting room fell into a murky silence—but only for a moment. Someone soon voiced a tentative objection, laced with unease.
“But hasn’t the Duke’s curse been worsening? We don’t know when his health might suddenly deteriorate. I think we still need someone in place for emergencies.”
“Hmm. But the title of acting head exists solely to fill the absence of a true patriarch. With the rightful head now returned, placing someone else in that role seems contradictory, doesn’t it?”
“Then are you saying you can guarantee the Duke will never be incapacitated again?”
“You sound like you want something bad to happen to His Grace!”
“I wasn’t aware you were so talented at twisting words. I merely raised a possibility. It’s hardly the kind of thing one says to the Duke himself, but let’s be honest—curses don’t bend to human will. We’re in a situation where an ‘emergency’ could happen at any time.”
“Watch your mouth!”
Chaos erupted.
Those opposing the proposal clashed fiercely with those supporting it, twisting each other’s words and digging into every little point of contention.
And amid the turmoil, Ries’s eyes darted about, working overtime.
He needed to identify who was clean and who wasn’t. To memorize their appearances, their seating positions—every detail he couldn’t afford to forget.
