Chapter 37: The Grand Duke Investigates Three Problems (1)

If the past wanted my attention this much, the least it could do was send an appointment letter.

Preferably one written on decent paper, delivered at a reasonable hour, with an appropriate subject line and no ancient relics rummaging through memories I had no intention of acknowledging.

Alas, history had always been ill-mannered.

It hid in ruins, slept beneath cities, wore away inconvenient truths, and then had the gall to look mysterious when discovered. I knew this very well.

In my past life, I spent years digging through dead civilizations and trying to decipher what they had left behind. From broken pottery, damaged walls, burial sites, old tools, to faded inscriptions.

Humanity had a tedious habit of dying messily and expecting later generations to make sense of its process.

In that sense, this world was not very different from Earth.

It simply added magic, curses, ancient beings, and an unreasonable amount of people with swords to the mix.

The next morning, I woke up with a headache.

It wasn’t caused by alcohol. I had not consumed a single drop of palace wine, because I treasured my life and my digestion.

It would take barrels to get me drunk, as well.

No, this headache was born from a much more aggravating cause.

Thinking.

Too much of it.

By the time the morning light filtered through the curtains, I had already rearranged the events of the previous night in my mind several times.

The black-gold fragment reacted in the lower vault and the Crown Prince reacting to this fragment.

Abi recognized something and lied to me.

Yes, I will never let him live this down.

The empress knew enough to invite me but not enough to appear fully in control.

Lord Keeper Marcellus knew more than he let on. I’m betting half my wealth that he was somehow involved in this far deeper than anyone would assume.

And Spiro, in his sleep, begged not to be taken back.

All in all, a crowded list of irritations.

I preferred my problems neatly arranged, labeled, and preferably solvable with money, threats, or a sword.

These were not.

How rude.

After dressing, I went directly to the study.

William was already there, naturally.

Sometimes I suspected the man did not walk into rooms but materialized where his competence was urgently required.

On the desk were three separate stacks of documents tied by three separate ribbons.

Black. Blue. Silver.

I looked at them. Then at William.

"How thoughtful of you to categorize my problems."

"Your Excellency seemed displeased with their lack of organization last night."

"I was displeased with their existence, in general."

"That too, Your Excellency."

Abi, who had shamelessly followed me in despite the hour, leaned over the desk with interest. "What are these colors?"

William answered before I could tell him not to touch anything. "Black for the lower vault and relic. Blue for His Highness the Crown Prince. Silver for the Young Master’s matter."

Spiro’s matter.

My expression did not change.

Inside, something sharpened.

"Let us begin with silver," I said.

William had expected that. He had already untied the silver ribbon and handed me the first report.

Bernard’s preliminary investigation had expanded through the night. The steward connected to the route permit was named Edric Leeds, attached not directly to Duke Boleoti’s personal household, but to the estate office of the second duchess.

Second duchess. Must be a stepmother.

Typical.

The trader who carried Spiro was still unidentified by true name, but two false identities had been traced. Both had been used in transactions involving discarded servants, debt-bound laborers, and illegal child transfers masked as apprenticeship contracts.

Charming.

I could already feel my mood improving in the direction of murder.

"And the trader?" I asked.

"He is not yet found," William replied. "But his network remains active in the Capital. Our people are watching three suspected handlers."

"Alive?"

"For now."

"Good. Keep them that way, until I say otherwise."

I turned the page.

The Capital intermediary led to a charity called the House of Gentle Mercy.

There were few things I distrusted more than organizations with overly pretentious names. Gentle mercy. Pure light. Sacred hands. Benevolent refuge. The more beautiful the name, the more likely there was rot in the cellar.

It was cruel irony.

"What is this charity?" I asked.

William handed over another page. "Officially, it supports widows, orphans, and abandoned children displaced by border conflicts. It is patronized by several noblewomen and receives donations from temple-affiliated circles."

"Unofficially?"

"That remains under investigation. However, two former employees disappeared last year after accusing the administrators of falsifying adoption records."

"How predictable."

Abi picked up a pastry from a plate I did not remember ordering and bit into it. "Humans truly has a preference in dressing cages as kindness."

I glanced at him. "That almost sounded profound."

"I have my moments."

"Rarely."

He smiled.

I continued reading. One name appeared among the charity’s patrons.

Lady Marielle Rouvier.

Rouvier.

As in Lady Evelina of House Rouvier, the Crown Prince’s first dance partner.

I leaned back.

This was amusing.

The same central faction family tied to the ceremonial first dance had a noblewoman involved in a charity connected to the intermediary tied to Spiro’s transportation.

Is it a coincidence though?

Perhaps.

But I disliked coincidences that involved themselves in my people and my business.

"William."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Find out whether Lady Marielle Rouvier has any connections in the North."

"We are already confirming it, Your Excellency. We’ll have word for it in a day or two."

"Excellent."

"Additionally, there is one more detail."

He handed me a smaller note.

I took it.

The note stated that the House of Gentle Mercy had recently sponsored a private blessing ceremony for children with unstable mana awakenings. The officiating cleric belonged to a minor temple branch that had sent a representative to my estate yesterday.

The cleric who smelled of stale incense and decaying wood, according to Abi.

I looked up.

Abi had stopped chewing.

"Oh?" he said.

"Recognize something?"

"Not yet." His expression turned unusually still. "But that smell from the cleric... it may have been from a sealed place."

"The temple?"

"Perhaps. Or something beneath it."

Wonderful. So wonderful.

Because what this delightful mess needed was another basement.

I set down the silver report and rubbed my temple.

Spiro’s trail now brushed against Boleoti, illegal child trade, a suspicious charity, the temple, and possibly House Rouvier.

A child should have a simpler history.

Eat. Sleep. Play. Learn. Cry over sweets. That should be the extent of it.

Not like this. Never like this.

"Do not let Spiro near any representatives of that charity or temple branch," I said.

"Understood."

"Increase the guard around him, but keep it natural."

"I have already had that arranged."

"Good."

Abi watched me with a small smile.

I ignored it.

"Blue," I said. Sigh. This is worse than any overtime work I had to do in the past.

William untied the second stack.

The Crown Prince’s condition remained frustratingly vague. Palace procurement records showed continued purchases of rare herbs associated with vitality stabilization, mana suppression, and inflammation of spiritual channels. None of the medicines by themselves confirmed a diagnosis, but together they formed a pattern.

A hidden condition involving life force and mana circulation.

I noted the possibility of it being worsened by ancient relic exposure.

It can also be that he had something sealed or cursed. It was still too unclear.

I despised vague illnesses. They had the same energy as vague prophecies and vague dinner invitations. All three were socially acceptable forms of harassment.

"Any physician names?" I asked.

"We discovered three recurring ones. Two are still employed by the palace. One disappeared from public record seven years ago."

"Disappeared?"

"Retired, officially."

"Of course."

No one important ever disappeared. They either retired, traveled, secluded themselves, pursued private study, or died from sudden illness.

It was polite vocabulary for disposal.

"Find him. Better if he’s alive. Bring me his remains if not."

I disliked disturbing the peace of the departed, however, some problems required special measures. Besides, if he died unjustly, I’d also be giving him justice.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

I turned another page. "What about the warding formations in the Crown Prince’s residence?"

"It has been observed that it is composed of old and new layers. The oldest were installed when he was ten. The newest modifications occurred three months ago."

"Three months?"

"Yes."

That was close enough to the coronation to matter.

"Who authorized them?"

"The empress’s office."

Again? Hmm.

Empress Lyrien’s hands were everywhere.

Whether she was protecting her son, controlling him, or both remained unclear.

Mothers, truly.

Mine would have done all three with terrifying efficiency.

"What materials were involved?" I asked.

"Silver ash, sunstone powder, powdered basilisk horn, and black salt."

I looked up. "Black salt?"

William nodded.

Abi frowned. "That is not for ordinary warding."

"No, it isn’t," I said.

Black salt had a specific use in wards and spells. It was commonly employed in boundary formations meant to keep spiritual pollution from crossing a threshold.

It is not a simple curse ward but a contamination ward.

"How familiar is the imperial palace with black salt formations?" I asked.

"Not enough to use them properly without assistance," William replied. "The technique is uncommon outside the East and certain older temple branches."