Thud, thud—with every step he took, the weight of his fury echoed. Count Averitt’s expression was so twisted with rage that the servants who crossed his path had to tread as if walking on glass, desperate not to provoke him.
Goddamn it.
Averitt cursed silently, grinding the words in his mouth. A mountain of tasks and documents needed to be handled before everything he’d overseen was fully transferred into Justyn’s hands.
There wasn’t just one or two tampered ledgers—he had been clever with his manipulations. If even a single one were discovered, it was all but guaranteed he’d be thrown into the dungeons beneath the Capital’s courthouse.
He had done well to prepare in advance when he caught wind of Justyn’s return. Using the excuse of a handover, he’d bought himself some time. As long as he worked fast now, there was still a chance to tie up loose ends.
But none of that changed the sting of humiliation that clung to his mind like a brand.
How many years have I given to this household?
And yet they cast him aside like some useless mutt. So heartlessly, too. And him—the elder of the house?
Sure, he’d skimmed a bit off the top and doctored some records, but compared to the vast wealth of House Laufe, what he took was a mere stream beside a vast ocean. The amount he embezzled didn’t even leave a scratch on the estate’s fortune.
If anything, Justyn should be thanking him. While that bastard had been moaning under the weight of his curse, he had been the one fortifying the foundation of the household. Averitt truly believed that.
Not that he had ever intended to hand his position over cleanly from the beginning.
Luis.
His only son—so precious, he wouldn’t even feel pain if the boy were to pluck out his eye. From the moment that child was born and opened his eyes, Averitt had made up his mind. He would place his son atop the highest seat in House Laufe.
Watching the boy grow stronger by the day only solidified that resolve. Outwardly, he’d performed his duties as Acting Head of House, but beneath the surface, he had been quietly building his own faction.
There had never been any hesitation in his judgment. The current Duke was cursed. If Justyn were to die, the title would fall to the closest male relative—him. And once his son came of age, he would relinquish the title entirely.
The end had always been clear. Even if Justyn were buried six feet under sooner rather than later, it wouldn’t have mattered.
If it weren’t for that damned curse, I’d have killed him long ago…!
Ironically, the very curse that tormented Justyn had also been his shield.
When he’d shared the plan with the Countess, her face had been pale with anxiety as she asked:
“What if that thing dies and the curse passes to our Luis?”
Averitt had scoffed at the worry, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to ignore her relentless nagging. That was how they ended up digging through the Duke’s archives, scraping together every scrap of ancient record.
Only one case stood out—an instance where someone had become the host of the curse just before reaching adulthood.
Historically, the curse manifested once every two to three generations, typically between the ages of eight and ten. There was no known record of it ever transferring to a living direct relative after the host’s death…
But “one in a million” was still a possibility. The Laufe family had lived with the curse for generations, yet its full nature remained a mystery even to them.
And what if Justyn died—and the curse really did jump to his son?
It would be catastrophic. So Averitt had resolved to keep Justyn alive at least until Luis safely reached adulthood.
He had sent assassins, of course—but those were merely warnings.
They were the type to value quantity over quality. He knew full well that someone like Justyn Laufe wouldn’t fall prey to those measly minnows. In fact, it had been an act of mercy.
“Rot away in the capital clinging to your pitiful hopes.” That had been the message. And he’d thought Justyn understood it loud and clear. He’d stationed eyes and ears around him, and every report confirmed it: a bleak, monotonous life inching slowly toward death.
So he had stopped paying attention.
And now he stabs me in the back like this?
Out of nowhere, Justyn had returned to the duchy and moved to reclaim actual authority. Worse yet, there were signs his health had begun to improve.
Averitt’s fury deepened as he realized how thoroughly his carefully laid plans were unraveling—and yet his instincts told him exactly who was to blame.
It’s that damn beast.
That uncivilized mutt who had the nerve to bare his teeth at him. It had to be him—he must’ve played a role in Justyn’s recovery.
Averitt had thought that taking the creature and raising it in secret might someday be useful, but clearly, he’d been wrong. That little bastard had just enough self-awareness to be dangerous. Leave him hanging around any longer, and he’d only stir up more trouble.
He ground his teeth. That poisonous brew of wrath and irritation bubbling in his gut had finally found its scapegoat in that tiny Spirit Beast.
I need to get rid of him—fast.
Whether the creature was still breathing or not didn’t matter. As long as he could be thrown out beyond the Duke’s estate, it was enough. Selling him off to a black-market dealer for a handsome sum wouldn’t be a bad idea either.
A twisted grin crept across Averitt’s lips, laced with arrogance and a flicker of desperation. If he could just make that happen, everything would fall back into place—the way it was when the duchy had been his to bend and mold as he pleased.
***
Only three people and a single cat remained in the meeting room. Despite the wide, open space, the air inside had grown oppressively heavy.
“You needn’t be so wary. I stayed behind only for the sake of a brief courtesy.”
“……”
Ries held his breath, straining to follow the conversation. Was it caution? Justyn gave no reply—but he also didn’t issue a dismissal.
Perhaps as a formality, a flurry of pleasant-sounding words came first, tumbling smoothly from the Baron’s lips.
“Today’s meeting was truly impressive. I’d say it’s a cause for celebration now that the man who’d been clinging to a position far beyond his worth has finally stepped down.”
“I’d rather we get to the point.”
Clearly, Justyn wasn’t impressed. The one who seemed entertained was Baron Paulen Embio—his expression tinged with a trace of amusement.
“You’re more straightforward than I expected. Very well. Tell me, have you heard the saying? A needle in your pocket will always poke through eventually.”
No one in the room could’ve misunderstood what that “needle” represented. Baron Embio had taken it upon himself to point out the uncomfortable truth.
“If you’ve got even a shred of intelligence, you would’ve realized it too—no one attending today’s meeting could’ve missed how… unique that cat is. Some might even suspect something, given the timing of the Spirit Beast’s appearance and Your Grace’s recovery.”
“……”
“So allow me, if I may, to offer a word of warning—be careful not to let impure hands reach him.”
It was both a warning and a piece of advice. Ries could sense a subtle current of goodwill underneath the Baron’s words.
Justyn likely picked up on it too. After a long silence, he finally asked in a quiet voice,
“Why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why did you help me?”
He wasn’t just referring to the advice just now.
Baron Embio had long maintained a position of neutrality. Yet suddenly, during the family meeting, he had openly taken Justyn’s side—and not only that, he’d been genuinely helpful.
Unexplained goodwill was always something to be cautious of. Justyn wasn’t one for subtle maneuvering, so he simply asked, directly and without pretense.
And Baron Embio wasn’t the kind of man to kick away an opportunity that had walked up to his door.
“I’ll say a few things that may sound disrespectful. May I be permitted?”
“Go ahead.”
With that clean approval, the Baron spoke as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“I stayed neutral all this time because the options were too grim—on one side, a greedy count with ambitions beyond his station; on the other, a weak Duke, broken by his curse and stripped of the will to live. There wasn’t much to choose from.”
“……”
“Whichever of the two ended up with the estate, the fall of House Laufe was inevitable. It was plain as day.”
His words weren’t just irreverent—they hit with ruthless precision.
Listening silently, Ries glanced sideways, stealing a peek at Justyn. Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended.
“I saw no future. You, Your Grace, showed no sign of returning. And even if we removed the Count, there was no one ready to take his place. I once pinned some hope on that man’s son, but he’s just like his father—short-sighted, obsessed with money and power.”
Baron Embio didn’t seem the least bit concerned with how bold he was being. Whether he was simply fearless or exceptionally good at toeing the line—it was hard to tell.
“If things kept going that way, we’d end up surrounded by a pack of wolves, waiting for the right moment to sink their teeth into us.”
He cast a glance across the room. For a moment, it felt like their eyes met.
“But now… it seems there’s no need to despair anymore. So naturally, the scales have tipped.”
“……”
“That’s all I have to say. I can only hope Your Grace gives me enough time to prove myself.”
With that, he concluded, looking oddly refreshed. This man, in more ways than one, was a standout. In contrast, the two across from him…
What kind of expression is that?
Ketir’s face was unreadable—a strange mix of shock and relief, as if unsure which feeling to settle on.
But it wasn’t Ketir that Ries was curious about. He shifted his gaze, trying to discreetly glance at the man beside him when—
“…I appreciate the advice. If you’ve nothing more to say, I’d prefer you excuse yourself for a while.”
Justyn struck first.
It was a brief acknowledgment of gratitude for the counsel—a way of confirming that he wouldn’t seek retribution, as promised—and at the same time, a subtle order to leave.
Baron Embio, who’d perhaps expected a longer exchange, took it surprisingly well. If anything, it was Ketir who seemed disappointed.
“It would be useful to have someone like Baron Embio on our side.”
The regret was thick in his voice.
It was understandable. From what he’d heard, the man was wealthy, talented, and still quite young for a retainer. Joining forces with him would certainly help Justyn solidify control over the ducal household.
“I still can’t fully trust him. Until I’ve weeded out all of my uncle’s pawns, it’s too dangerous to place my trust in others.”
But Justyn’s wariness wasn’t so easily disarmed—even by an attractive opportunity like that.
“Ries.”
He had something else in mind. Something he’d clearly been holding back but could no longer ignore.
“…M-mrow?”
Ries flinched, a full-body shiver running through him.
Right. I… I messed up, didn’t I?
Every misdeed he’d committed so far lined up in his mind like a parade. Ditching his escort. Smashing that weird ornament. Crashing the meeting uninvited…
There was no way he could claim self-defense for any of that. Ries screwed his eyes shut.
