IVAGHD 07

Making excuses that they were just caught up chatting could only go so far—when evening passed and there was still no sign of them, worry was inevitable.

They’d left dressed in expensive clothes, so it was only natural to fear they might’ve run into trouble. But when the servants sent to fetch them didn’t return either, the worry doubled.

And when they discovered that all the valuables from the daughter’s room were gone… well, that worry squared itself.

Even before considering their children’s safety, the relationship between the in-laws was already on thin ice. Kadlen’s expression soured as he watched Monain—face twisted with rage—snap a mop handle clean in two.

“Please, calm yourself, my friend. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

“I’d like to believe that too,” Monain replied through gritted teeth. “But knowing my troublesome son, I can’t help but worry.”

He said he believed it was nothing, yet the thick wooden handle in his bare hands splintered neatly into three pieces.

Watching the shards fall like twigs, Kadlen silently prayed that Viretta hadn’t done anything… drastic to Iola. And no, he wasn’t thinking the other way around.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon, probably without any—”

“Miss Viretta ran away with a man!”

The words cut through the air like a bombshell, delivered by one of the workers who’d gone out searching.

An unexpected elopement.

In an instant, the mop handle became four pieces.

It’s harder to break smaller fragments than long poles—but Monain shattered the rest as if snapping brittle candy sticks.

Beside the trembling Monain, Kadlen shivered too—though his came from fear rather than fury.

“What is the meaning of this, my friend?! How could they do something so outrageous—!”

“Chief! The young master has run away with a woman!”

Another shout came from behind Monain—a subordinate returning from his own search for Iola.

A second sudden elopement announcement. Monain’s mind went blank.

Confusion spread across both fathers’ faces.

In less than a day since they’d met, both betrothed parties had vanished together.

But these were men who’d weathered their fair share of drama. They quickly regained composure and turned to their servants for clarity.

“Ran away? Impossible. Surely not. They were dressed for the ceremony, weren’t they? Maybe they just went out for a stroll?”

“No, sir. As they climbed over the wall, the young lady said, ‘Tell them I’m off to reclaim my life—wait patiently for my return!’”

“…”

That was a little too clear to pass off as a casual outing.

“Could this be a misunderstanding? What woman would Iola even run off with? It makes no sense.”

“But sir, as he ran beside her, he said, ‘I can’t give up the chance of a lifetime!’”

Running away from his own engagement ceremony while shouting about “the chance of a lifetime.” Monain felt as though someone had smacked him with that same mop handle.

The idea of his son eloping with any woman—ever—had never once crossed his mind. And yet, here they were, just three days before the engagement ceremony.

Barely holding himself together, he managed to ask,

“Th-the woman… the one who ran off with Iola—what did she look like?”

“She was young, short hair, sharp eyes—oh! She looked just like that lady over there!”

The servant pointed straight at Kadlen.

And there was only one young woman in the city who resembled him—Kadlen Medlit’s second daughter, Viretta Medlit.

“…That would be my daughter, then. Kimon, the man who ran off with her—who was he?”

Panting, one of Kadlen’s servants wiped the sweat from his brow.

“When I shouted to ask who he was, he answered, ‘The son of Monain!’”

There was only one son of Monain in this city—Iola.

“….”

“….”

“He’s my son, but at least he’s not a thief,” Monain muttered.

A thief wouldn’t shout his own name while fleeing.

Though dizzy with disbelief, Monain managed to stay on his feet.

It was, in a twisted way, fortunate—Viretta had run off with Iola, and Iola with Viretta. At least they’d run off together. But that didn’t make it any less absurd.

Running away with one’s fiancé before the wedding wasn’t exactly normal behavior. What were they even trying to accomplish?

Kadlen wondered the same, but as Viretta’s father, he was far more accustomed to her antics. And he knew just how to rationalize them.

“Ah… they’ve already grown close.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Close enough to go on a honeymoon together.”

“…What?”

Monain could only blink, bewildered. His servants, and even Kadlen’s own household staff, seemed equally lost.

But Kadlen simply gazed out the window at the evening sky and clenched his fist with conviction.

“Don’t you see, my friend? They must’ve wanted to spend time alone before the ceremony. It’s a bit… ahead of schedule, sure, but they’ll be married soon anyway. It’s fine. Perfectly fine.”

That “fine” was a desperate mantra.

A father’s refusal to let the engagement fall apart—a self-soothing declaration of willpower.

The faint tremor in his eyes betrayed the effort behind it.

“Yes… yes, you’re right. If you say it’s fine, then… yes, they are engaged, after all.”

If the bride’s father said it was fine, how could the groom’s father object? Like Kadlen, Monain wanted to preserve the engagement at all costs.

“Exactly. They’re engaged.”

“Yes, engaged.”

“Ah, young love.”

“Indeed.”

Their hollow reassurance hung in the air like mist over an empty house.

* * *

How did it come to this?

Rankin ran through the darkened city streets, barely lit by the moon.

Behind him came someone familiar. Ahead of him—a stranger leading the way.

The man was quick, and Viretta tireless. She kept pace, never slowing, even when her legs trembled.

Having trained together before, Rankin and Viretta scaled the wall with practiced ease and escaped safely beyond the city limits.

Once they finally stopped, Rankin straightened up and scanned the area.

In the distance, a group of merchants slept beside their tents near the city gate—no trouble there, and none looming.

Closer by, a neatly dressed young man caught Rankin’s eye and smiled.

“Ah, you must be Miss Viretta’s knight.”

“I’m not.”

“He is. This man swore eternal loyalty and friendship to me.”

“I’m just a mercenary.”

According to Viretta, Rankin was “a brave young knight who swore loyalty to her over a cup of crimson wine.” In truth, he was a freelance mercenary barely earning enough to keep his family fed.

With his dark-blue hair and golden eyes tinged with orange, he looked youthful—more boy than seasoned fighter.

His clothes were shabby, but his features were sharp and symmetrical, with nothing menacing about him. His frame, too, was slim and agile rather than brawny.

He tried to look fierce by furrowing his brows, but his neat appearance betrayed him. That was Rankin—a man too tidy for his own reputation.

“You’re a year younger than Viretta,” someone noted.

He was indeed one year younger. And while his fresh-faced look matched his age, his weary expression didn’t.

He shot Viretta a look, silently calling her out for her nonsense, but she didn’t even blink—just stood proudly.

“He wasn’t knighted due to status and wealth, but his skills rival any knight’s.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Of course, because what matters isn’t rank or appearance—but essence.”

“You’re not even listening. I told you, I’m just a mercenary. A hired hand.”

Her insistence that he was a “great unrecognized knight” was pure exaggeration. In reality, he was just an ordinary man with a sword and a job.

“True skill is proven not by one’s own words, but by the words of others.”

“I… give up.”

Rankin tried to argue again, but Viretta and Iola weren’t listening.

Just talking to them was exhausting—but he was used to it. With a sigh, he opened the pack Viretta had carried for him.

A spare set of clothes, underwear, a small plate, a personal seal—everything neatly packed. The bulkier supplies were likely in Viretta’s own bag.

“You packed all this in a hurry. How far are we going? Where to, exactly?”

Even from the luggage alone, it was clear this wasn’t a short trip. But in all the chaos, he hadn’t heard a single word about their destination.

Before they’d left, she’d mentioned something about a dragon—surely that was a figure of speech. Surely.

Then Viretta answered brightly, “We’re going to hunt a dragon.”

“…Right. Calmly insane, as always.”

Rankin narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching into a tired grimace.