Time of the Blind Beast - Chapter 62

He sat blankly for a moment, then suddenly burst into a fit of snickering laughter.

“A war hero really is something. What, are they hoping for some miracle where he opens his eyes? Just sitting still, and they’re turning him into a legend. The lame walk, and the blind see—I’ve only seen that kind of miracle in scripture.”

There must be a lot of people who still miss him. If they’re still bothering to bring up a guy rotting away in the countryside like a corpse.

“They say they really saw him.”

“They must’ve seen a ghost.”

“No way. If you’ve got eyes, there’s no mistaking that face…”

The mistress, who was about to retort impulsively, quickly changed her tone after gauging Akenaus’s expression.

“…Rather, he’s just so well known publicly. And the North has been a constant battleground. Anyway, they said he stopped by Cielsa. People who saw him were making a big fuss. Said his face and build were all exactly the same… Cielsa’s close to the border, right? They were wondering if he’d rejoined the army and gone out on reconnaissance.”

“If that were the case, the news would’ve reached me first…”

…wouldn’t it have?

…Would it?

Suddenly, his certainty wavered.

Hadn’t that whole string of recent events ended on an unsettling note? Unfamiliar faces and unknown soldiers challenging him to duels anywhere and everywhere, people firing in the wrong direction with no target in sight, then brushing it off as a mistake made during a bet—those vague explanations now started coming back clearly.

He should’ve gone straight to Derosa back then.

The person who stopped him at the time was his father. With the Valdemaira name already being gossiped about for internal strife, he’d been scolded for behaving so disgracefully—asking how far he intended to put their family squabbles on public display.

There was at least a courier who moved between the main and branch houses, bringing news to ease his thirst for information, but that man hadn’t been handpicked by Akenaus. Of course, he had intended to send someone himself. But the courier subtly dissuaded him.

He said Ezekiel, having served as a soldier, would have animal-like instincts. If they carelessly sent people and stirred up the estate, they might lose the chance to scout out the situation altogether.

So all he had were indirect updates, filtered through other people’s eyes and mouths.

And Ezekiel hadn’t lost an arm or a leg—it was his eyes. Sight is the most critical sense for survival.

Maybe that’s why he’d let his guard down a little.

A chill swept down the back of his neck. The alcohol lost all its taste. The tipsiness vanished in an instant.

Akenaus jumped to his feet.

He had to see it with his own eyes.

As soon as he returned to the Valdemaira estate, Akenaus flung open the door to his father’s study.

The study happened to be empty.

He started by rummaging through the desk. Nearly all information arriving at Valdemaira passed through that desk.

Where on this desk might there be a clue?

Akenaus pulled out the document drawer and overturned it. Piles of documents and letters bearing the stern handwriting of Fern Valdemaira came spilling out. Akenaus skimmed just the first lines and middle sections to quickly grasp the content. There was nothing related to Ezekiel in the document drawer.

He opened drawers roughly, rummaged through both the desk and the bookshelves above and below, then spotted the basket where papers for burning were gathered.

Usually, burned mail fell into one of two categories: either completely useless or so important that no trace should be left behind.

He examined it front and back. At a glance, it looked like a blank envelope that had been misplaced. In fact, that’s exactly what Akenaus thought it was—and he was about to toss it.

But it had a slight, suspicious thickness.

It definitely contained something, yet bore no sender or recipient name. A blank envelope.

“Aha, now that’s suspicious.”

Akenaus opened the letter. The handwriting was exceedingly elegant. Before he even read it, he was momentarily entranced.

No matter how you looked at it, the penmanship belonged to a well-educated woman.

Then he read the first sentence.

I bring news from Derosa of Lord Ezekiel. The surgery was successful.

“…What?”

A curse slipped out without thinking.

Surgery? He was blind—how could surgery fix that? They had used poison. How could this happen? Did that woman botch the job? But he had seen the man floundering in the dark, fleeing to the North—how could this be?

The confusion continued without end. It seemed he would have to check what kind of report had been delivered earlier.

Akenaus hastily searched around for an envelope of the same appearance. But the letter he was looking for was nowhere to be found. It seemed all previous letters had been incinerated, and only this one had somehow been left behind.

“Damn it.”

Whatever had happened while his attention was elsewhere was now lost to him, but one thing was clear.

If that man had truly regained his sight, he would never be crouching in Derosa.

Ambush, surprise attacks, marksmanship.

As soon as he recalled the characteristics of the 37th Regiment, which had made Ezekiel’s name known far and wide, a chill ran through him.

“…Ah, damn.”

He hadn’t even realized he was crumpling the letter in his hand. He shoved it into his pocket and looked around. The lavish estate, filled to every corner, suddenly looked like a sniper’s hideout. The atmosphere had never felt so ominous.

What if a bullet came flying into the back of his head out of nowhere? Or if he was stabbed in his sleep?

The mere thought sent shivers down his spine.

On top of that, there was no one in this mansion on his side. They were all in on it together.

His father, though secretly receiving updates on Ezekiel, had never once let a word slip to Akenaus. The courier, too, had lied with a straight face.

So that’s how it is…

He had often been criticized for not confronting his brother in a fair and upright manner. But those criticisms came from ignorance. That man had undergone professional military training in killing. Whether with a rifle, a sword, or even in hand-to-hand combat, he was exceptional at subduing opponents. Soldiers and civilians approach battle from fundamentally different stances. Naturally, as a civilian, he had to devise different strategies.

Once fear set in, his unarmed state made him feel as helpless as a naked child. Moreover, his office had a structure where one side was connected to the garden through a large window. Carelessly, he had been sitting with his back wide open to the outside. It was utter madness.

Akenaus recalled the day Ezekiel had gone blind. The woman he had hired for the assassination had fled without explanation, and Ezekiel had sealed his lips in protest, so no one knew exactly what had happened in that room. But the incident that had gathered everyone in the house at once was a single gunshot fired from the bedroom. Later, the servants had found the bullet embedded in a tree in the garden, having shattered through the window. So if that man ever intended to take a shot, the office was indeed well within sniping range.

First, he urgently pulled the curtains shut, then looked around the now dimly lit office. Just in time, he noticed a rifle collected by his father in a display case. He took it out and began ransacking the office for spare powder and bullets.

Still, there was a problem—experience. He had rarely handled a rifle and his memory was hazy.

“Is this how it’s done?”

He had heard that soldiers used a simple and efficient loading method since they fired from horseback, but Akenaus had never learned it properly. Even as he pushed in the powder and bullet, he wasn’t confident he was loading it correctly.

Even the feel of the weapon in his hand was unfamiliar. Just as he slung the loaded rifle over his shoulder and began aiming around the room—

He suddenly felt a shadow move and glanced toward the door. Someone was silently opening the office door.

Without hesitation, Akenaus pulled the trigger toward the slowly moving door.

Bang!

A loud gunshot rang out.

“Aaah!”

A maid, who had been cautiously peeking behind the door, screamed and collapsed.

“Oh, I guess that’s how you do it.”

Seeing that the shot had fired successfully, it meant the loading had worked. The recoil was stronger than expected but manageable.

Akenaus examined the barrel, blowing away the smoke.

“I—I heard strange sounds from the office…”

The pale maid stammered excuses, looking up at Akenaus. She seemed too frightened by the unexpected gunfire to speak properly. Akenaus replied kindly.

“Just doing a bit of practice.”

“P-practice…?”

“If an uninvited guest trespasses, shouldn’t the homeowner be ready to shoot?”

“W-what are you talking about…?”

“It’s ridiculous, right? You don’t know what’s going on? Neither do I. That’s exactly the point—this situation is so absurd I can’t even.”

Just then, hearing the gunshot, the servants came rushing from all over the mansion.

“What was that just now?”

“There was this loud bang—ugh…”

The servants gasped as they spotted Akenaus and the maid.

Stunned by the chaos and seeing that it was Akenaus holding the rifle, the servants exchanged glances filled with fear and confusion.

Then, a stern voice cut through the crowd, rebuking Akenaus.

“What do you think you’re doing!”

It was Fern Valdemaira, father of Akenaus and Ezekiel.