Kyrat led his knights at a steady yet hurried pace. The citizens made way for them, their gazes lingered out of confusion, probably wondering why a fully-armed squad of knights was marching through.

Although marching an entire squad would be seen as excessive escort, Kyrat hoped there wouldn’t be any knights or officials in their way. He was sure that they would understand his decision once he explained the circumstances, and considering the culprit’s actions, they might even send over support.

But that would take too long. The officials would demand solid proof before authorizing any action.

There was no time to waste. Every single second could be the moment that man realizes he was being targeted.

So, with no other option left before him, Kyrat decided to settle things personally.

Amidst his knights, a young man walked up to his side, a small book in hand.

“Anton,” he addressed him flatly. “You’re late.”

“F-Forgive me, Your Grace!” Anton stammered, more frantic than usual. “It won’t happen again!”

“No matter.”

They kept moving, boots striking the cobblestone in a steady rhythm as Kyrat continued.

“You can track that man, can’t you?”

Anton nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course! I got a good look at his face when he peeked out a window. If we get close enough, I should be able to tell where he is.”

Kyrat blinked, not outright pausing. This was the first time he had seen Anton so enthusiastic about a job before, besides the reward, at least. Perhaps he had decided to take things seriously for a change.

Whatever the case, as long as he did his job, all was well.

The Scented Rose Inn.

A lavish establishment reserved for visiting nobles and high-ranking merchants. Nestled in the upper quarter, it stood just beneath the shadow of the castle walls.

To think that bastard who dared to lay hands on Kyrat’s family, who tried to steal Carine away, was resting in such luxury, likely sipping wine and indulging in the company of perfumed maids…

It made his blood boil.

His fists clenched tight, gauntlets creaking under the strain.

No forgiveness.

None whatsoever.

He would deliver justice and rid the kingdom of this filth. Be it with his knights, his sword, or even his fists. He would not be satisfied with a simple capture. He wouldn’t want to grant him a quick death either.

Kyrat wanted that bastard to understand the true wrath of one of the kingdom’s former greatest generals.

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This feeling… This burning in his chest…

Not once had he felt such rage, not even in a war.

“—Grace? Your Grace? Are you alright?”

Anton’s voice snapped him back to reality. Kyrat blinked, then shook his head to steady himself.

“What is it, Anton?”

“We’re almost there, Your Grace. And as expected…” Anton’s gaze moved forward. “I believe he’s still in the building.”

The news elated Kyrat.

“Good, let me know the moment he moves.”

“Yes, Sir!”

—

The Scented Rose Inn loomed ahead, its marble walls adorned with neatly trained vines clinging to the stone. A wooden sign welcoming visitors hung to the side of its grand entrance, swaying in the wind.

“Where is his room?” Kyrat asked.

“The second floor. That window there,” Anton said, pointing to the building’s leftmost side.

Kyrat nodded before raising his hand, signaling his knights to listen up.

“Surround the building,” he ordered. “No one goes in or out.”

The squad dispersed swiftly, moving with practiced coordination. The street fell into murmurs and gasps as citizens watched the armored knights take position around the inn, blades ready at their sides.

Within moments, the front of the inn stood empty, save for Kyrat and a pair of knights. The crowd had pulled back, spectating from afar and murmuring to themselves.

Just from that small commotion alone, the bastard inside would already be alerted to their presence. But Kyrat didn’t mind. The building was sealed. All exits and windows were properly guarded by his knights. The bastard no longer had any way out.

“Two of you, with me.”

He stepped forward, and the closest knights fell in behind. They reached the entrance, where the two quickly pulled the doors open.

Inside was a modest in size yet rich in decor. Thick carpets, a chandelier, marble pillars. It wasn’t of the same level of opulence as a typical manor, but it was enough to please wandering merchants.

Standing behind the desk was a brown haired woman wearing an impractical maid dress, one meant to show cleavage and skin.

The moment she spotted Kyrat, her eyes widened. “D-Duke Sareid? W-Welcome, to the S-Scented Rose Inn…” Her words trailed off with a whimper as she gave a poor attempt at a proper bow. “H-How may I help you?”

Kyrat approached, leaning one arm onto the counter.

“I have business with one of your guests. Second floor—leftmost window. We’ll be paying him a visit.”

The maid blinked, as if taken aback. “Sir Nicholas’s room?” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened as she clamped a hand over her mouth. “A-Actually, he’s out at the moment… Perhaps if you come at a later time…” she said with a forced smile.

Kyrat’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, what relation do you have with that man to the point you would cover for him?”

“N-None at all! I-I’m just a humble maid serving him…”

That bastard was here, Kyrat was sure of it. If he hadn’t, Anton wouldn’t have sensed him.

Seeing as the maid wouldn’t cooperate, Kyrat turned to his knights. His gaze shifted deeper into the lobby. A carpeted staircase curved toward the second floor.

Kyrat looked at the maid once more, and she clearly wanted to stop him, Kyrat could see it, but fear seemingly rooted her in place.

He climbed the stairs without another word, his knights behind him.

At the end of the hallway was a door. The room that Anton had pointed out.

That bastard was inside.

So far, there’d been no sign of movement. No crash through the windows, no desperate escape attempt.

Kyrat wondered… was the man a fool, or had he simply accepted his fate? Either way, the bastard was waiting for him on the other side of this door.

Kyrat turned to his knights, giving them a nod. In response, they put their hands on their swords’ hilts, ready to strike at any moment.

Turning back to the door, he didn’t bother to knock. He raised his foot and slammed it into the door with a quick, single motion. The wood cracked, and the door blew inward.

The two knights rushed inside first before Kyrat followed, their boots stomping over the ruined door.

Inside stood a man, back turned, facing a mirror. He was calmly fixing the collar of an immaculate black suit.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Jet-black hair. Perfect posture.

Kyrat recognized these features. It was the same silhouette as the culprit behind that incident back at the manor.

He drew his sword in a single motion, the blade ringing as it left the sheath. The tip pointed squarely at the man’s back.

“So it really was you… ‘Sebastian.’”

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