Chapter 87

The bottles in his hand were clearly the antidote.

Lyssel reached them in seconds and asked at once,

"Iberin?"

"We've done everything we can to slow the poison. How did you—"

"Got it. We'll talk after she's taken it."

"Yes."

Lyssel had brought back four bottles in all.

Split among the patients, it was more than enough to handle the poisoning.

---

The medicine worked fast.

Iberin, who'd looked wracked by climbing fever, settled into something far easier.

Only then did Lyssel collapse — he sank to the floor like the strength had gone out of him all at once.

"Your Highness. Are you all right?"

Pons grabbed his shoulder in alarm.

"I'm fine."

It was only then that Lyssel's own state came into focus.

With Iberin in critical condition, no one had paid him any mind — and now they could see he was soaked through with sweat and marked all over with small cuts.

"You need to be treated as well, sir."

"I'm fine."

The doctor and the staff pressed him to rest; Lyssel held the line.

"When Lady Iberin wakes, she's going to be furious, sir."

But the moment Iberin came up, Lyssel's head dropped.

He muttered that he'd just go and clean up, and stepped out.

Iberin's name worked on him like a key in any lock.

---

The antidote worked for the critically poisoned knights too.

Only then did the people of Lecashe let out a breath.

The knight orders were taking care of their own recoveries, looking after each other.

Meanwhile, dawn was breaking.

The sunlight that morning was so bright it was as if the night's events had been a lie.

Lyssel, freshly cleaned up, didn't look like he intended to leave Iberin's side for a second.

Ether, Rozel, and Kal had kept watch beside her too, until they'd dropped off where they sat.

"Your Highness, you really should get some sleep too…"

"Someone bought every dose of miyeolcho antidote and made sure none could be found."

"What?"

Pons's brow knit.

"It was either Moana — that assassins' guild — that engineered it, or whoever's behind them."

"Th-then the antidote you brought back, Your Highness?"

"Thankfully, the physician had set some aside."

"Which means—"

He'd almost not made it back in time.

Just thinking about what would have happened without that physician sent a chill through Lyssel.

If Iberin had been lost, he would have become exactly what people had always called him — a cursed thing, the wickedest spirit in the world.

"I'm not letting this go."

That didn't mean he was fine now.

"I won't be settled until every one of them is dead."

The fact remained: Iberin, already fragile, had been hurt — and had nearly died.

He had no intention of letting them live.

Whether the one behind it was the emperor or Cherity.

He wouldn't feel right until he'd extracted payment, in whatever form.

"Of course, sir. Whether it's a debt or a grudge, we pay it back many times over."

Pons answered with the same hardened resolve.

Listening to Lyssel, he was starting to think Moana had deliberately picked miyeolcho.

The order might have come from above, but they were vicious all the same.

---

"Huh! Mommy!"

Ether jolted awake with a short cry.

Rozelia and Kal were still out cold.

They must have been carrying a lot of tension.

Even asleep their faces were pale — it didn't look right.

"M-mommy…."

Rotte had set up a cot beside Iberin and dropped off there too.

Ether scrambled to reach out and check on Iberin, then breathed out, whew, relieved.

She wasn't sweating anymore, and the fever was gone.

"Master Ether, you're awake?"

"Mm. Mommy's sleeping, right?"

"Yes. She's sleeping."

"Whe's she gonna wake?"

"She'll wake up soon. She's a strong person."

"Mmm."

Ether held back tears and rubbed his face against her hand, fidgety.

"Why don't you sleep more, though? It's still morning."

"I don' wanna. I had a dream."

His face was anxious.

"What kind of dream?"

He clamped his mouth shut, like he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

Rotte stroked his hair with a pained look.

But then she made her face bright and said,

"Whatever the dream was, dreams come true backwards, you know."

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"That'd be a re-leef!"

"Try not to worry too much."

Only then did a small smile creep onto Ether's face.

As the day wore on, the people who'd been poisoned were waking up, recovered.

Captain Esmore was one of them.

It hadn't taken half a day to get from unconscious back to upright and moving.

It wasn't that hard a poison to come back from.

But against everyone's hopes, Iberin was the only one still not opening her eyes.

His nerves drawn tight, Lyssel kept pressing at his throbbing temples and breathing out.

All he could do now was wait for Iberin to wake.

---

Meanwhile, inside Moana's hidden den, the head and one of his subordinates were the only ones present.

The leader, who'd received the morning's report the moment day broke, slammed his hand down on the table.

The subordinate giving the report wore a face full of fear.

There were no survivors.

They hadn't even been able to recover the bodies.

"I think we picked up a job that was completely beyond us."

The head's mouth trembled.

"Then what was I supposed to do. With a heavy hitter like Duke Cherity right there threatening us."

He'd underestimated the duke based on the rumors — that had been his fatal misstep.

The man had this neurotic obsession with purity. He'd assumed he couldn't even kill an ant.

Turned out he was an absolute lunatic.

"What do we do?"

The night before, they'd thrown in every elite blade Moana had raised.

Raising assassins wasn't easy, and twenty-five of them was a substantial number.

Their top corps.

What was left wouldn't take Lecashe — they'd just be food for them.

"Hh."

The head's brow drew deeper.

Until the moment he'd met Cherity, he'd been confident.

But Cherity had killed the previous head right at that first meeting.

Cherity hadn't actually drawn the blade himself, of course — that had been the guard knight standing beside him — but he'd given the order.

He was so insolent I just slipped and made a mistake.

The dead head had had no answer to that.

Cherity had smiled brightly and pointed at the second — at him.

You're the head now.

Hgh.

The killing aura had been so heavy he hadn't even been able to push back.

If he didn't become the head, death was all that was left.

Well. Doesn't that please you.

Y-yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Your Grace.

Crushed by that pressure, he'd just kept thanking him, bowing his head over and over.

Cherity had waved off the reverence and given the order.

Kill the Grand Duchess Lecashe.

S-sorry?

Fail and it's your lives that go.

He'd thrown down a staggering amount as an advance and walked out.

Even thinking about it now, the head's skin crawled, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"What am I supposed to do. Either way, it's death."

In the south, nobody didn't know how much Lyssel loved his wife.

The assassination had failed — but they'd hit him where it hurt, and there was no way he'd leave it alone.

"Aaagh!"

A week into the job, the head clawed at his hair, no idea where to turn.

The subordinate watching him had gone dead-gray in the face too.

"Even at this point — if we throw ourselves at Lecashe and beg… no good, right…?"

"You think it'd work?"

"No…"

"Or — should we take this money and… run?"

"That's the most realistic option, honestly."

"Right?!"

"We'd die by Duke Cherity's hand, but."

"Aaargh! What are we supposed to do!"

When whales fight, the shrimp gets crushed.

Not that anyone would feel sorry for an assassins' guild.

---

Marquis Bilson and Count Elton got word from their knight orders a little late, but it had been dangerous work, and they'd been the ones to volunteer for it — neither made a thing of it.

For knights, it was something like a calling.

Lyssel, however, wasn't about to let it slide.

He vowed to support the bereaved families as much as possible.

The marquis and the count said that could be discussed later — for now, they'd keep the knight orders stationed at Lecashe until the assassins' guild was dealt with.

It left Lyssel with a lot to think about.

Like Iberin had said once — if Lecashe had been strong, would any of this have happened?

Would they have had to hold their hands out to others, ended up in danger like this?

For the first time, he started to doubt his own life.

"Your Highness…"

Pons looked at him with quiet pity.

The truth was, a normal grand duke's house would handle this without leaning on other nobles — whatever the cost.

"Pons."

"Yes."

"After we deal with Moana, I'm going to the capital."

"You mean to see the emperor, sir?"

"Yes."

Whatever Lyssel was thinking, his face was anything but easy.

"What are you going to do?"

Pons quickly thought better of the question and lowered his head, holding his tongue.

Then Lyssel asked, low,

"If ever you want to leave Lecashe, at any time—"

The words pulled Pons's head up sharply, eyes welling.

The Loyetti family had served Lecashe since the founding.

Even without that, Pons was already so attached to Lecashe that he had no thought of leaving.

"I — I'd never! How could I!"

He didn't want to hear leave, even hypothetically.

"It was just something to say. Just — that it's always your choice to go."

"That will never happen."

Just then.

Without even the presence of mind to knock, someone threw the door open without a word.

Pons was about to frown and say something — when the staff member who'd burst in shouted,

"Lady Iberin is awake!"