Chapter 64

“You look like that came out of nowhere—but it didn’t. I mean it. I don’t mind if we get married later.”

Rodella stared at him, dumbfounded.

Then she glanced around and said, “There’s not even an ant in this hallway.”

“I know.”  His reply came instantly.

…Well, with Aivert’s sharp senses, he probably knew exactly how many people were walking around on the floors below, too.

But then why…?

“…”

Rodella fell silent.

Why was he saying all this, knowing there was no one around to hear?

Sure, they were supposed to pretend to be an engaged couple, but with no audience, there was no reason to keep up the act.

Then it hit her.

This wasn’t the first time.

No—he always did this.

Thinking back, yes, he had always been like this.

She wondered how she had only just realized it now, when it should’ve been obvious.

—Smooch.

That kiss on her head earlier. The way he smiled as he met her gaze.

Even now, the way he talked about marriage like it was a given.

None of it felt foreign. That meant she had seen it too many times to count.

So many memories passed through her mind.

She’d always thought he was joking, or just acting.

But if, just maybe…

She parted her lips slightly.

That was when Aivert asked, “Why? Do you not like it if I’m over twenty-five?”

Rodella blinked, the strange trance breaking.

Unlike those uptight noble families who acted like getting married after twenty-five was some kind of curse, she had never cared about that.

“No, what does that have to do with anything?”  The answer came out naturally.

It was instinctive, because the idea of being lumped in with those people made her bristle.

At her words, Aivert looked at her for a moment, then said,

“Good. Then I don’t care how old you are.”

He smiled.

“You’re mine, regardless.”

Rodella stopped walking and looked up at him.

His blue eyes met hers, shining confidently, as if to say this is the truth, no lies at all.

There was no one around.

Which made what he said all the more unnecessary.

Still, Aivert, who had also stopped walking, didn’t look away.

“And the ones who spread those rumors about you—I’ll deal with them properly. If it comes to it, I’ll start a territorial war.”

Rodella faltered.

“You’d go that far?”

“Of course I would. It’s about you and me.”

It was a layered answer.

What was their relationship?

They were about to part ways, but closer than anyone else?

Everyone believed they’d be married—but in reality, was it all false?

What did he mean by you and me?

Why did he keep…

“Unless… he wants to be something else entirely.”

Cecilia’s words floated through her mind.

What kind of relationship did he want?

Why did he keep saying things that made it easy to misunderstand—especially when it was just the two of them?

The question came to her lips, nearly formed.

‘Could it be that you—’

But Rodella couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Because she knew that one question could shatter the thin wall between them—open a box that couldn’t be closed again.

***

Aivert wasted no time taking action against those who had spread the rumor that Rodella was having an affair.

He focused on tracing the source among the “Royden people” who operated in the imperial capital’s social scene.

There were far more Royden agents in the capital than anyone knew—so pinpointing the origin of the rumor didn’t take long.

The result?

It traced back to three or four houses, all centered around Marquis Darkella, known as the right-hand man of Duke Benerix.

Naturally, they were all houses traditionally aligned with the noble faction.

“They’d really stoop to anything, huh.”

In the Vice-Commander’s office.

With Rodella absent, Aivert didn’t bother hiding his frigid expression.

Reading through the report with a cold gaze, he picked up another sheet of paper.

Then dipped a feathered pen into ink and began writing:

[To Royden.]

The ink on his pen shimmered oddly.

It was enchanted—only visible to those who had drunk a special potion made with Royden blood.

These were blood-bound agents who acted as Royden’s hands, eyes, and ears—and received Royden’s full protection in return.

Most of them were from noble houses Royden had once saved, and followed Royden with sincere loyalty.

As a symbol of their contract, they were given a middle name beginning with R, like the Royden family itself.

Under the “R” names, they built a vast underground network that supported one another like a single, silent kingdom—loyal only to the Royden bloodline.

The man who had built and grown this network was none other than Aivert Royden.

When the former duke died suddenly during the demonic war, Royden’s network nearly collapsed.

But Aivert, upon coming of age, revived it—and made it stronger and wider than ever.

He had saved dozens of failing noble houses.

Which is why, despite his public nickname—Royden’s Heretic—those bearing the “R” middle name revered him as the true head of Royden.

Now, that very Aivert Royden was issuing a new command.

[As of today, House Darkella, House Moltwin, and House Plurkin are declared enemies of Royden.]

To be branded an enemy of Royden, which was respected (and feared) by countless families and individuals across the Empire, was practically the same as being declared an enemy of half the Empire.

Not long after that command went out, strange things began happening to those families.

***

In just a few days, misfortune began piling up around them.

Even without counting the minor incidents:

House Moltwin, known for its tourism industry, suddenly found itself under pressure from a rival house backed by an enormous, unknown fund.

Marquis Darkella’s magical architecture business stopped receiving orders, and existing payments began to delay—causing clients to lose trust fast.

Something similar happened to House Plurkin—and only then did the houses realize something was very wrong.

But they had no idea why.

“How can our luck turn this bad overnight?”

This string of disasters was nothing like the incident with the Azure Knights’ Ortin family, whose merchant building was mysteriously sabotaged by the Red Knights and House Bran.

This was bigger. Much bigger.

The damages were already three to four times worse than the Ortin incident—and still rising.

But still, they couldn’t figure it out.

“Why?!”

Why were former trade partners suddenly switching to rival houses?

Why were they losing contract renewals to clearly worse deals?

Why were people who used to beg for their attention at banquets now avoiding them?

It felt like… part of the Empire had turned against them.

Even more desperate than the victims… were those watching them fall.

—Clatter.

The sound of cutlery echoed through the quiet banquet hall.

This was the grand dining room of the prestigious Duke Benerix, where the food was elegant, refined, and exquisitely prepared.

But only one person was eating.

“Hmm…”

Duke Benerix tasted a tender duck breast and smiled faintly.

As expected of the chef he personally selected—it was superb.

Across from him sat two men, sweating bullets and swallowing dryly, unable to even sip their wine.

Malik Bran and Ryan Diepelt.

They were his candidates for Head of Etiquette and Chief of Administration.

‘So completely useless.’

The Duke sipped his red wine, a faint sneer tugging at his lips.