Chapter 7
The question hadn’t really been meant to challenge his identity.
It had been a test to see how he would react.
Whether he truly had amnesia or not.
But why is he asking about it again?
For now, she played dumb.
There was still the slim possibility that the person standing before her wasn’t actually Shite.
If that were true, then the moment he realized she had figured it out, he might eliminate her to get rid of the evidence.
“Suspicious? Not at all. I was only joking. You just seem different today.”
Shite stared at her silently for a long while.
Just as his silence and relentless gaze were beginning to make her uncomfortable, he finally spoke again.
“In what ways am I different, specifically?”
Why is he asking that now?
Is he trying to figure out how much I know about him?
And if I know too much, is he planning to get rid of me?
Careful not to let down her guard, she only mentioned the most superficial differences.
“Well… you used to trail off at the ends of your sentences, and you stuttered a little. Your posture was different too. You always hunched over and made yourself look as small as possible.”
“Like this?”
Shite tucked in his neck and curled his shoulders and back inward.
“Yes. A little more… your shoulders should curl inward more, and your hands should stay in front of you… That’s right. Like that. Lower your head a little more and let your bangs cover half your face.”
She reached out and brushed his bangs forward.
The hunched posture.
The face partially hidden behind uneven strands of hair.
The only thing out of place was how normal his eyes looked.
Otherwise, he finally resembled the Shite she knew.
Satisfied, she nodded.
Shite turned toward a mirror.
He studied his reflection for quite some time before straightening up and brushing his hair back.
In an instant, the unfamiliar man returned.
Smiling at her, he asked,
“Besides that, is there anything else you know about me?”
Just as I thought. He’s definitely trying to find out what I know.
Deliberately drooping the corners of her eyes, she put on an apologetic expression.
“I’m afraid asking me isn’t the most efficient way. It would be much faster to look through your diaries or documents. Ours was a contractual marriage, and we weren’t particularly close.”
“…”
“Oh! Or should I call the butler? Just wait a moment.”
Perfect. I’ll use this excuse to escape—!
That had been her plan.
But before she could even open the door, Shite stepped forward and turned her around.
Bending slightly at the waist so their eyes met, he lowered his voice.
“My lady, I would prefer that no one else learns I’ve lost my memories.”
“Not even the butler?”
“Not even the butler.”
“Why? He’s the person you brought with you when we got married.”
“I’d simply like it to remain a secret between the two of us.”
What’s he plotting now?
She narrowed her eyes at him.
A secret between the two of us? Is he trying to create some kind of bond? What exactly is he after?
The only thing I have is money.
Maybe he’s trying to build trust so he can squeeze even more money out of me.
Or use me somehow.
She forced her eyes open again before her suspicion became too obvious.
In any case, she had already decided to play along for now.
“All right.”
When she nodded seriously, Shite lightly placed his hands on both of her shoulders.
Is this where he finally reveals his true intentions?
she wondered.
Instead—
“You may go now.”
He gently spun her around again.
“Huh?”
Wait. Weren’t you trying to build some kind of emotional connection?
Before she could voice her confusion, Shite personally opened the door and gently ushered her outside.
His voice followed from behind.
“Then have a pleasant night, my lady.”
“A pleasant… night?”
Dumbfounded, she turned back.
Over his shoulder, bright sunlight was pouring through the large window.
At some point the rain had stopped, and dawn had already broken.
As she stared at the door closing with a heavy thud, a new theory suddenly occurred to her.
“…Could he simply be insane?”
* * *
Inside the room after Amaryntis left.
Ulysian sat alone at the desk with his legs crossed.
The deeper he sank into thought, the slower his foot tapped.
Amaryntis’s knowledge had been disappointing.
Still, he had obtained at least a few clues useful for imitating Shite.
For the rest, I’ll have to search the desk, just as she suggested.
Ulysian opened the drawer.
Most of the documents inside were written in an ancient language.
This is troublesome.
Only a handful of people could fluently decipher the ancient tongue.
Unfortunately, Ulysian was not one of them.
Meaning there was almost nothing he could read.
Judging from the illustrations, these seem to be research records.
Setting the papers aside, he examined the desk itself.
Eventually he noticed a decorative ornament covered in unusually deep scratches.
People with many secrets often create private spaces for themselves.
When he turned the ornament, both sides of the desk creaked open.
One compartment was packed with letters and documents.
The other was filled with notebooks containing handwritten records.
The letters and documents were all written in code.
The notebooks contained a mixture of coded writing, the ancient language, and Melvernian.
There were occasional sketches, but they were difficult to understand as well.
After skimming through a notebook, he focused on the sections written in Melvernian.
December 30, 1804 — 14:40
Lord Wellotl called me a gloomy bastard with a crooked back.
Count Treas agreed and said it was fortunate that my hair covered my face.
January 1, 1805 — 06:01
A petite maid with brown hair and green eyes told another maid:
“Isn’t our master kind of creepy? I want to save enough money and leave as soon as possible.”
The entries were simple.
Minute by minute, they recorded who had insulted Shite, when, and how.
Why would anyone keep records like this?
He couldn’t understand the purpose, but they were useful for gauging Shite’s reputation.
There’s hardly anything about his wife.
The notebook recorded when she left the house and whom she met.
Most of it appeared to be observations made from secretly watching her.
There was almost nothing about private conversations.
So it was true—they weren’t close at all.
Returning the notebook to its place, he headed toward the bookshelf.
Among the neatly arranged books sat a single rolled-up parchment.
If it’s important enough to preserve on parchment, it must be significant.
He removed it and unrolled it.
It was a prenuptial agreement.
To leave something like this lying around carelessly…
That alone revealed a great deal about how Shite Hunniswald viewed this marriage.
As he was about to roll it back up, one name caught his attention.
Amaryntis Rootschild.
That woman is far more influential than I realized.
As he continued reading, Ulysian finally understood.
The enormous dowry Amaryntis had paid at the time of marriage.
The monthly living allowance she continued to provide.
He now knew where all that money had gone.
Kildian’s mercenary company had dramatically expanded during the past year.
Throughout that period, Ulysian had been tracking Kildian’s military funding.
Yet no matter how deeply he investigated, he could never discover where the massive influx of money had originated.
So this is where it came from.
The timing matched perfectly.
Kildian had begun moving aggressively at roughly the same time Shite married Amaryntis.
And when he compared the previously unexplained military funds with the dowry and monthly payments Amaryntis provided, the numbers aligned almost exactly.
Is my lady an accomplice? Or is she being exploited?
The thought had barely crossed his mind when—
Boom.
A heavy sound came from beyond the bookshelf.
Footsteps followed shortly afterward.
Ulysian quickly rolled up the parchment and wedged it back between the books.
Then he retreated toward the wall where a decorative sword hung.
If the newcomer proved hostile, he needed to be ready.
Anyone who can freely enter this private room through a secret passage must be someone very close to Shite Hunniswald.
One wrong move could expose the fact that he wasn’t Shite at all.
Remaining tense, he recalled everything Amaryntis had told him.
He lowered his head, let his hair fall forward, and hunched his shoulders.
The bookshelf slid fully open, revealing a pitch-black passage.
A lone figure stood motionless within the darkness.
When the bookshelf stopped moving, a suspicious-looking man stepped slowly into the room and removed his hood.
It was someone Ulysian knew very well.
Brother.
The man approached casually and, as if by habit, claimed the seat of honor on the sofa.
Leaning back comfortably, Kildian looked Ulysian up and down.
“I came because there was no report even though the appointed time has already passed. You’re in quite a state.”
His gaze sharpened.
“What happened to Ulysian?”
