Reading the Future (2)

I watched as the nobles, deeply engrossed in their meal, sat together.

At the center of it all was Duke Gale, marveling at the Eastern cuisine before him.

Monet, it seemed, found my behavior rather odd.

Well, given how I usually dashed about trying to save my family, to sit quietly in the face of such a promising opportunity must indeed have appeared strange.

“You’ll find out in thirty minutes.”

“… In thirty minutes?”

Monet tilted her head at the strangely specific time.

Rather than answer Monet’s curiosity, I chose to observe the main players’ circumstances.

Duke Gale, and then Tedric Eaton.

And finally, Baian Deoric.

Duke Gale was happily enjoying the dish set before him, while the other two were conversing with familiar nobles.

It was a typical banquet scene.

But I knew.

That this sight was merely the prelude to an approaching storm.

And that storm struck the banquet hall exactly thirty minutes later.

“The duke has collapsed!”

“Medic! Bring the medic!”

In an instant, laughter turned to chaos and the whole hall descended into pandemonium.

At its center was Duke Gale, collapsed as if in a deep sleep.

The confusion spread as far as this spot, a short distance from the banquet hall; even the servants, startled, were rushing toward the nobles they served, their faces panicked.

They had realized the banquet could no longer continue.

“M-my lord! What happened? Duke Gale…”

“It’s alright, Monet.”

I took off the coat I had worn to help in the kitchen and handed it to Monet.

“Take care of things here. There’s someone I need to meet.”

“… My lord.”

Monet must have sensed something from my strangely composed demeanor.

After all, just as I said, something had indeed happened.

“Hooo.”

She looked at me, as if she had much to say, but simply let out a sigh.

“If ever you need my help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Even with many questions on her mind, Monet chose not to ask and simply looked at me. I grinned and patted her on the shoulder.

“In that case, at least pray that things work out well for me.”

“Huh?”

She seemed to think I was joking, but I truly meant it.

According to the setting, Monet possessed miraculous good fortune.

If someone like Monet prayed, I might just end up with an extra boon.

* * *

“This is a setup! I tell you, I never once tried to poison Duke Gale!”

Tedric Eaton raised his voice from within the prison, but only a deafening silence greeted him.

‘What on earth is happening?’

His mind went blank and cold sweat beaded over his body.

To be falsely accused of assassinating none other than Duke Gale, the supreme commander.

‘Why Kinzel…?’

He never could have imagined Kinzel would poison the duke’s meal and frame him.

To claim that he did it at Tedric’s command!

He swore he had never even considered such a thing.

‘Could it have been at the instigation of Sir Deoric?’

Originally, Kinzel was a servant of House Deoric.

But now he was employed by House Eaton, on the recommendation of Baian Deoric himself.

‘Sir Deoric was also the first to act after the duke collapsed.’

Not only that, but every circumstance pointed to Deoric as the instigator.

‘But why…?’

His mind raced with confusion.

If Baian really was the culprit, why would he do such a thing?

“Your meal, Lord Eaton.”

“…!”

Lost in thought, Tedric looked up in surprise at the sudden voice.

‘A meal? It doesn’t seem time for that yet.’

With some suspicion, he looked toward the voice and saw an unexpected figure.

Black hair, blue eyes, and a rather good-looking face.

“Clay… Vanhart?”

“It’s an honor to be remembered by name.”

Clay Vanhart approached, smiling slightly, carrying a food tray.

Tedric didn’t know much about him.

He only knew him as the son of a count’s family that had joined the war to save their fallen house.

But even for a ruined noble, it was odd that the count’s son would do such menial chores.

Clatter.

“Lord Eaton, I believe in your innocence.”

As Clay slid the tray through the bars, he spoke.

The unexpected words made Tedric’s eyes widen.

“… Do you mean that?”

“Of course.”

“Even if it’s just lip service, I appreciate it.”

“Lord Eaton.”

Clay called out again.

In the dim, tented prison lined with cold iron bars, his blue eyes glimmered brightly.

“May I offer you a proposal?”

“A proposal?”

“Yes.”

In the face of those calm blue eyes, Lord Eaton involuntarily swallowed.

It was suspicious—yet, for some reason, he felt a trust he couldn’t explain.

“May I hear you out first and decide?”

“As much as you wish.”

“Then… go ahead.”

Seeing Tedric’s tense response, Clay offered a faint smile.

That was as good as acceptance.

* * *

“Even amid the confusion, I thank you all for gathering here tonight.”

With Duke Gale incapacitated, it was now Marquis Atram who led the military.

He addressed the gathered nobles and knights in a grave tone.

Standing beside him was Baian Deoric.

“Fortunately, thanks to Sir Deoric’s efforts, we caught the culprit who poisoned the duke in short order, but not everything has been revealed yet.”

Marquis Atram placed a hand on Baian’s shoulder and continued.

“For that reason, I intend to entrust Sir Deoric with the investigation until the end.”

As his words ended, Baian stepped forward.

“If it’s Sir Deoric…”

“He was the one who immediately apprehended Kinzel and got a confession, so it’s only right,” someone said, echoing what most present felt.

Baian Deoric had already handled the situation and moved things forward, and few would pick a fight with the son of a count.

“I oppose.”

Save for one.

“… Who said that?”

“Was that someone objecting just now?”

The hall, which had been buzzing, fell silent at the unexpected words.

Baian’s appointment to the investigation was almost a foregone conclusion.

Yet someone spoke out against him—not quietly, but openly.

“Isn’t that… Lord Vanhart?”

Hearing a knight murmur, Baian’s eyes trembled slightly.

At the edge of his vision, Clay stood with a calm expression, his hand raised.

‘Clay Vanhart, what are you doing?’

That pathetic, foolish brat.

The incompetent fool who only now scrambled to save his family.

That was what Baian thought of Clay.

“Lord Vanhart, did I hear you object…?”

From Marquis Atram’s view, Clay’s interference in a matter already settled was unwelcome.

If Clay objected without any good reason, his future in the military would not be easy.

“Yes, marquis. I think it is inappropriate for Baian Deoric to be in charge of this case.”

“Do you have a particular reason?”

“I do.”

The confidence in Clay’s reply greatly stirred those present.

Marquis Atram quieted the gathering and spoke.

“Let us hear your reason.”

“After investigating through the other servants, I found that Kinzel originally belonged to House Deoric—as Sir Deoric’s direct servant.”

“W-what! Is that true?”

“It is. There are several witnesses, and most of all, no one would know better than Sir Deoric who stands right beside you.”

With no hesitation, Clay spoke, causing another round of commotion which even Marquis Atram could barely calm.

Before that, he turned and quietly asked Baian,

“Is this true, sir Deoric?”

“…”

Baian couldn’t answer right away.

He was the most shocked of anyone.

‘How did Clay Vanhart know this?’

There was no reason any of the nobles would know Kinzel was formerly a Deoric servant—no one cared that much about the staff shuffling between houses.

Perhaps some servants knew, but Baian had already warned them to keep quiet.

He had no idea who could have divulged this information.

Watching Baian’s flustered face, Clay smiled inwardly.

‘Baian Deoric.’

Until now, he’d never even registered Clay’s existence.

He must have thought that no matter what Clay Vanhart did, it wouldn’t affect his plans.

To him, Clay was just an ignorant fool acting above his station.

‘Baian, you’ve always been like this.’

At last, from behind that mask of kindness, Baian truly saw him—as his enemy.

Clay faced him directly for the first time, acknowledging him as his ‘foe’.

‘Against those he looks down on, Baian has no patience at all.’

A while back, this would have been unthinkable.

Challenging Baian?

Clay had never once won against Baian since childhood.

Clay always lost, no matter the contest.

But that didn’t mean he was bullied outright.

Baian’s face twisted in discomfort as an unwelcome memory surfaced.

‘You’ve always been an annoyance, Clay Vanhart.’

Clay never gave up. He dogged Baian relentlessly, pestering him without end.

Baian hated that relentless, worm-like persistence.

And Clay felt the same toward Baian.

‘Don’t ever think you can always win, Baian.’

This time, Clay looked straight at Baian.

This time, he would win. He would repay every slight and humiliation he had suffered.

“Upon investigation, it turns out Lord Vanhart’s claim is true.”

After a short while, marquis Atram, who had gone to confirm Clay’s claim, returned with a heavy tone.

“It’s true?”

“Kinzel was truly a Deoric servant?”

The assembly was shocked, never having expected Clay’s words were true.

Baian’s face, of course, was even more rigid.

‘Their stares are like needles.’

The other nobles’ curious looks were bearable, but Baian’s glare was truly sharp.

If looks could kill, Clay’s face would have been in shreds.

“My apologies, sir Deoric. It seems you’ll have to be investigated as well.”

“… That is quite alright.”

Baian’s face, however, was anything but alright.

Yet, he showed no sign of desperation.

Although his plan had encountered a setback, he clearly thought it no major problem.

He was still underestimating Clay.

Even after acknowledging Clay as an enemy, he did not believe Clay could ever threaten him.

‘Is that truly so?’

Clay smiled to himself.

The true gift for Baian was only just beginning.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep