Part One: Entanglement

  Chapter 5: Innocent Misfortune

  After listening to Ethan recount how his entire unit had been wiped out on that hill, the knight let out a long breath, bowed his head, and fell into thought.

  Ethan sat in a velvet armchair, his fingers kneading the soft, smooth fabric. He’d only seen such things before. The old scholar in his village had a thin layer of it lining the box where he kept his holy book. When Ethan was three, he’d watched an older boy just pinch it—and that hand had been beaten so badly he couldn’t hold a spoon for three days.

  To have such a noble, mysterious, and dangerous thing beneath his own buttocks felt odd, yet somehow satisfying.

  Duke Mrak had gone to the imperial capital for a military council, so a young knight who claimed to be the duke’s assistant had received him.

  The knight’s armor and sword were top-tier, adorned with the insignia of the Holy Knight Order—one Ethan had seen on his own captain. Young, handsome, imposing, charismatic, with a noble status and a demeanor that complemented it perfectly, he seemed like the hero from the tales bards used to sing about in his childhood.

  That such a figure was sitting on equal terms with him, lost in thought over his report, felt even odder and more satisfying than the chair—amplified a hundredfold.

  “So you were the only one to break through, then hunted, fighting your pursuers in the Lizard Marsh…” the knight repeated Ethan’s story, each word clear and slow, methodical. It was as if he feared no one might hear or misunderstand.

  Ethan nodded. “That’s right.” The long journey had left him parched. He picked up the pitcher on the table and poured himself a cup, only to find it was milk tea.

  “Are you certain you were the only one to escape?” The knight frowned, fixing Ethan with a profound, elegant gaze, asking slowly, word by word. It seemed an extraordinarily important question.

  Though already certain, Ethan thought it over carefully before nodding again. “Yes. Only me.” The milk tea tasted good, but the cup was too small—he kept refilling it. He’d wanted to drink straight from the pitcher, but the opulence of the duke’s mansion and the knight’s stare made him too self-conscious.

  The knight’s brow relaxed slightly, then furrowed even deeper as he pressed, more earnestly: “And have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No.” Ethan was sure of that. He’d been on the move nonstop since escaping the marsh. Even now, his left wrist was still wrapped in bandages.

  Thanks to the healing runes and potions in the pack, they’d managed to reach the river, find a driftwood log, and float to Brackard. When the local official learned the injured girl was Duke Mrak’s daughter, he’d summoned every priest and doctor within fifty miles. Ethan’s broken ribs had been set, and with healing magic, they were no longer critical—just fragile. His left wrist, though, had shattered so badly it took a full day, plus a few butchers and coroners to fish out bone shards from the flesh. It had knocked Ethan unconscious three times, but they’d finally pieced it roughly back together. With a shocking amount of healing magic and medicine, the pain was gone, but it still looked likely to be crippled. Now Ethan pinned his hopes on Duke Mrak’s wealth, influence, and the skill of the capital’s priests.

  “Then why didn’t you report this to your unit’s commanding officer?” The knight persisted, patient and thorough, as if determined to uncover every last detail. His focused expression was almost childlike—careful, with a hint of wariness, as if fearing the thing before him might suddenly fly away.

  “Because I’m not sure who my unit answered to. I just saw they were recruiting temporary soldiers in Brackard and signed up.” Ethan had wanted to ask about his ten-odd days of pay—who to collect those dozen copper coins from—but glancing at his cup, silver, he held back. “I asked Miss Sophia… who I should report this to. She said the duke is the imperial minister of war. I figured coming straight here would be faster.”

  “Oh, I see. Good, good, excellent.” The knight’s furrowed brow suddenly smoothed, relief washing over him as he brightened. His smile, like his golden hair, was dazzling, infectious. This was what most girls dreamed of in a lover, surely.

  As if remembering something, the knight asked, “And what of Lady Sophia?”

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  “She’s fine. The mayor of Brackard sent a caravan to escort her—she should reach the capital in about twenty days.” Sophia’s cervical vertebrae had cracked under the werewolf’s grip, and moving through the marsh had worsened the injury, slightly misaligning the bones. Brackard’s priests hadn’t dared operate, so they’d stabilized it with splints and healing magic, sending her back by slow carriage.

  “Hmm.” The knight nodded. “On behalf of Duke Mrak, I thank you for bravely rescuing Lady Sophia.” He paused, fixing Ethan with his slow, clear gaze. “And it was very wise of you to report this directly to the duke’s mansion. I’m sure Duke Mrak will be pleased to hear it.” His blue eyes sparkled with barely contained joy. “You’re very lucky. Truly, very lucky.” He emphasized those words, as if genuinely rejoicing in Ethan’s fortune.

  Somehow, Ethan felt uneasy at the knight’s bright-eyed look. It didn’t seem goodwill —there was a malicious glee flickering in it. “Who exactly are you…?” he asked.

  “Clovis Erney, Baron, Captain of the Second Division of the Holy Knight Order, and Duke Mrak’s assistant.” The knight’s gaze withdrew, his voice smooth and gentle, matching his noble titles. “And Lady Sophia’s fiancé.”

  “Ah?” Ethan was taken aback by that last bit of information.

  The knight stood, his sword-like brows lifting, a blade-sharp glint in his eyes. All trace of a smile vanished; he looked so imposing it seemed his face had never been softened by one. He barked, “Guards! Seize him.”

  A dozen fully armed guards seemed to rise from the floor, appearing at the hall door and rushing in to surround Ethan.

  Still reeling from the first surprise, Ethan was plunged into an even bigger one. He stood, saying, “There’s been a mistake, I—”

  The knight’s hand strike gave Ethan no time to react, landing precisely on the carotid artery in his neck. Ethan crumpled like an emptied sack.

  “Take him to the cells. See he’s guarded well—he’s an important spy.” The knight’s voice was more intimidating than his gaze. The guards hurried to drag Ethan out. “Prepare my horse. And my credentials. I have urgent military business to discuss with the duke at the palace.”

  For the duke, this was dangerous good luck. And his own, of course. The knight picked up a cup from the table, intending to drink some tea, only to realize it was the one Ethan had used. He grabbed the pitcher, but it was empty.

  “Clang.” The knight dropped the cup, pointing to the velvet chair Ethan had just sat in. “Throw this cup, the pitcher, and that chair away.” As he stepped through the door, he added, “I don’t want to see any of them when I return.”

  The duke’s household was efficient, and the horses were fast. In under ten minutes, the knight had passed through the guards and reached the military council chamber, where he found Duke Mrak.

  After the knight whispered a brief account, the duke smiled warmly, then addressed the assembled ministers in the same gentle tone: “Pardon me, but might I step out for a moment? It’s about my daughter—she’s been fooling around and got hurt.”

  In the garden outside the hall, the knight relayed Ethan’s story to the duke, word for word.

  The duke listened, squinting. His eyes were small; when squinted, they seemed to smile. A neatly trimmed handlebar mustache framed his slightly plump figure and round cheeks, making him look like a kindly, peace-loving merchant who believed harmony brought prosperity.

  “Your Grace, this is very dangerous. Luckily, this soldier fell into our hands. Does this mean they’ve made a mistake? Should we…?” the knight asked.

  The duke’s smile never faded as he shot back，“I recall you’ve met them.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you make of them?”

  The knight took a deep breath, a look of ill-fitting resentment flickering across his face—defiant yet unable to hide his fear, like a stubborn boy recalling a terrifying beast. He frowned, clinging to his opinion: “But there was a mistake…”

  “Nobody is infallible, nor can anyone control everything. With sound reasoning, you must trust your own instincts and judgment. Even if a mistake is made, there’s no use in regret or hesitation.” The duke, like a teacher instructing a pupil, explained carefully. “We trust they’re better at handling such matters than we are, more efficient. So we focus on our own part. If a mistake happened, perhaps due to uncontrollable factors—like luck—there’s nothing we can do. At least, things seem fine for now. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” The knight listened intently. Working under such a superior, the greatest gain was all there was to learn.

  A flicker of worry crossed the duke’s eyes. “How is Sophia’s injury?”

  “Probably nothing serious. The local official sent a caravan to escort her—she’s on her way back.”

  The duke gave the knight a reproachful glance and sighed softly. “And what have you done with that soldier?”

  “He’s locked in the city jail, awaiting your orders.”

  The duke asked, “What do you think I’ll order?”

  “His execution.”

  The duke pressed, “What makes this soldier dangerous?”

  “Leaking what he’s been through to others.”

  The duke guided him step by step: “Every minute he lives and interacts with others increases the danger to us. Since you know how to handle him, you should minimize his chances of living and interacting.”

  “I wanted to wait for your decision. It’s a serious matter, after all.”

  “Don’t be too rigid. Rules exist to handle things. In any situation, prioritize your own judgment and reasoning.” The duke fixed the knight with a stare, saying slowly, “More importantly, have confidence in your own judgment.”

  “Yes.” The knight bowed his head, answering firmly.

  When Duke Mrak returned to the council chamber with a smile, the ministers asked after his daughter. After thanking them for their concern, he suggested resuming the meeting: “Regarding the general’s request for increased funding for his western army to wipe out the orc tribes—I fully endorse it. After all, the safety of the nation and its people comes first. Cutting back elsewhere for that is only right.”