Chapter 79

Leon held little affection for the nobility as a class. While they paraded their titles, many proved both extravagant and morally bankrupt, treating the very values they championed as little more than hollow theater and antiquated vanity. For their part, the aristocrats viewed Leon with equal disdain; he shunned their gala events and displayed no inclination toward securing a bride, despite having long since surpassed the conventional age for marriage. Their mutual discomfort was inevitable.

Anticipating that the Count of Ravenwell would prove yet another tiresome caricature of his station, Leon greeted him with the most cynical, crooked expression he could muster.

“I am Leon. For the time being, I shall be assisting with the administrative operations at the neighboring mine.”

“I see. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Despite his expectations, the count beamed with a genuine warmth that seemed at odds with his peers. His appearance, in particular, was striking. It was one thing to dress down for the rough environment of a mining site, but the man had a streak of black soot smeared across one cheek. When Leon cast a fleeting, perplexed glance at the smudge, the count merely caught his reflection in a nearby mirror and wiped his face with his sleeve as if the grime were of no consequence.

“Forgive me, I have presented you with a rather unsightly spectacle. The soot must have clung to me when I inspected the gallery a moment ago.”

It was bizarre to encounter a count so utterly indifferent to his own presentation. While some might have deemed such negligence rude, Leon held no great store by appearances himself, so he ignored the quirk and navigated directly to the heart of the matter.

“I understand you assisted in drafting the report for our mine. It was a duty that fell to me, so I regret having imposed upon you in such a manner.”

At Leon’s admission, the count adjusted his spectacles and offered a look of quiet pride.

“Imposed? Not in the least. I find a great deal of satisfaction in organizing such data.”

In truth, Leon had entered the office intending only to feign curiosity about the report’s figures while secretly investigating why a count would involve himself in such labor. Yet, the man’s enthusiasm appeared authentic; he began to explain the lengthy document with infectious excitement, turning page after page. His delivery lacked aristocratic flourish, favoring a logical and clean clarity that allowed Leon to grasp the fundamental mechanics of the mining operation in an instant.

He is certainly a breed apart from the common sort of noble, Leon mused. Come to think of it, is he the man they call the eccentric count of the south? He must be a scholar of wide reading, yet hopelessly detached from the intricacies of worldly affairs.

Just as Leon arrived at this internal verdict, the count flipped to the final page. As the parchment laid bare, Leon thought, Dammit.

There, at the base of the final paragraph, sat a specific phrase Leon typically reserved for his personal reports or correspondence with the Queen. The supervisor of the royal mine had evidently copied the phrasing to make the document appear as if Leon had personally sanctioned it.

“This particular sentence was absent when I assisted in revising the report.”

Leon harbored a fleeting, desperate hope that the count might pass over it, but the man read the lines aloud in a low, measured voice.

“‘Respectfully reported beneath the shadow of the two lions.'”

For a subject submitting a document to the royal family, the customary address would be, “I offer my loyalty to the two lions.” To anyone acquainted with the protocols of royal documentation, the variation was an undeniable tell—it marked Leon as royalty.

“You stated your name was Leon… May I ask, if it is not too forward, where your origins lie?”

The count straightened his posture, his tone laced with newfound caution. Feeling cornered, Leon reluctantly replied, “…From the royal family.”

The simple admission seemed sufficient for the count to synthesize the truth of Leon’s identity. A fleeting ripple of agitation disturbed his features, but he quickly reclaimed his composure, offering a formal and respectful bow.

“I see. Savar holds many significant mineral deposits, and I believe the management of these mines will contribute greatly to both the prosperity of the nation and the royal family. A person of such value has come to a post of equal importance.”

That was the extent of it. Unlike others who had discovered Leon’s status, he did not pivot to sycophancy or performative awe. Upon reflection, the count had treated Leon with the same steady courtesy from the moment he had first entered the office, long before he had divined his guest’s true standing. It was clear this man would never weaponize his knowledge of Leon’s identity for his own gain.

Yes. He is a decent man.

Beginning with that auspicious first meeting, Leon and the Count of Ravenwell gradually forged a genuine friendship over the ten months Leon spent in Savar. The count remained stubbornly unpretentious, possessing a moral core that far outstripped his peers. The fact that Leon’s identity never once leaked into the local gossip circles was testament to the man’s character. Furthermore, the count would occasionally treat Leon with such casual warmth that he would forget he was in the presence of a prince, an ease that Leon found profoundly refreshing.

In particular, the count’s commitment to frugality was total, no doubt born of his ongoing financial strain. He economized even on basic daily necessities. Watching a nobleman live with such disregard for his station, the local populace began to weave strange rumors.

They whispered, “The Count of Ravenwell is desperately scraping together a dowry so he might marry his Omega eldest son into a noble house of immense standing.”

It seemed the son had rejected every proposal from the wealthy merchants and landowners near the estate, as if holding out for some truly extraordinary match. The count, already dismissed as an eccentric, became the subject of public ridicule. “If he could just abandon his obsession with titles and marry the boy to a wealthy man, he could secure a tidy profit. The vanity of nobles, honestly.”

“What, is he hoping to land a prince for his son?”

The Count of Ravenwell insists on a match of high rank? That does not align with the man I know. Yet, if that is not his aim, why else would he toil so relentlessly and launch these business ventures?

Leon was privately baffled. Still, he found the pursuit of idle gossip petty and felt that intruding upon the private household affairs of another was deeply discourteous, so he kept his questions to himself. He assumed the truth would reveal itself in due course.

But the count’s time was running shorter than either had anticipated. Perhaps the long years spent in a foreign land had taken a toll, for his health began to decline rapidly. What had initially seemed a persistent winter cough soon bloomed into something far more severe.

By the arrival of spring, the count’s mine finally struck a decisive, rich vein after months of arduous struggle. Yet, even on that day of celebration, the count remained confined to his bed. Leon visited him, his heart heavy with concern.

“Count, you have become alarmingly gaunt of late. The mining operation has reached a stable rhythm now. Would it not be wise to return home and recover properly? You could always return once your strength is restored.”

Despite Leon’s urgent dissuasion, the count slowly shook his pale head.

“This is the most critical juncture. If I depart now, the efforts of the past year will surely wither. Besides, I am perfectly sound. I merely chose to sleep in today.”

“…Do your family members not long for your return? You have an eldest son and a daughter waiting, do you not?”

“That is true. Both are radiant, kind children. My eldest, in particular, possesses a sharp mind—he manages our estate with such capability that he frequently sends me investment funds. Ah, would you care to see a photograph?”

At the inquiry Leon had used as a probe, the count seized the opening with unexpected readiness. He produced two photographs from his breast pocket, their edges worn and frayed. One captured the count holding a small girl beside a young boy in spectacles; the other displayed a handsome, golden-haired man and a girl of about ten. Leon was struck dumb by the images.

What is this? None of the rumors mentioned that his eldest son possessed such beauty.

It appeared the gossips had overlooked the most salient detail. Even within the gilded halls of the palace, where the most exquisite people in the world congregated, Leon had never encountered such striking beauty. The childhood version of the boy, with his sulky expression and spectacles, was charming enough, but the adult image—dressed in crisp formal attire—overflowed with a delicate, ethereal elegance. He possessed a soft, high forehead, a finely sculpted nose, clear, crystalline eyes, and lips as bewitching as layered flower petals.

If his son were truly this magnificent, the count’s pride and his strenuous efforts toward a strategic marriage became suddenly, achingly logical. Yet, was that pride enough to justify the man wearing himself to the bone in this distant, foreign territory?

Leon felt a sudden, inexplicable wariness, unsettled by how thoroughly his attention had been ensnared by a mere photograph. Unable to draw his gaze away, he scrutinized the image with the intense, dubious focus of one studying a rose that promised thorns. He spoke words of concern, though they felt more like a flimsy excuse to shield his own confusion.

“I apologize if I overstep, but I understand the depth of your devotion to your family. I worry, however, that you are pushing yourself to the brink. In matters as significant as marriage, might it not be better to allow destiny to unfold at its own pace?”

To Leon, the remark was a veiled inquiry into why the count insisted on chasing a high-ranking household for his child. Little did he know, the count remained blissfully unaware of the rumors that had poisoned his reputation in the eyes of the public.

The count was in the middle of architecting an economic foundation designed to allow Elwin to live independently, free from the necessity of marriage. It was a strategy most would deem radical, as social custom dictated that women and omegas, upon reaching a certain age, were naturally intended to wed and anchor their lives to their spouses.

To the count, Leon’s inquiry felt like an indictment. It seemed to ask, Why toil to amass such wealth instead of simply marrying off your son like any other father?

Having anticipated this question, the count answered with unwavering composure, “Because I desire for my son to live exactly as he pleases. I imagine every parent harbors the same sentiment.”-

Yet, to Leon, that response sounded like a coded admission: My son is intent on marrying into a high-ranking noble family, and I am helpless to stop him. His premature conviction that the beauty captured in the photograph was merely a rose with thorns only tightened its hold upon his mind.

While Leon nurtured this misunderstanding regarding the count’s eldest son—a man he had never encountered—activity at the Ravenwell mine intensified. The promise of large-scale extraction and the resultant prosperity loomed near, yet the count’s vitality waned with alarming speed.

The mine managers, steeped in collective grief, struggled to mitigate the administrative chaos left in the wake of their leader’s decline. Dale, the household’s finance manager whom the count had brought from his homeland, worried incessantly about the two children left at the estate, desperate to return home yet chained by the immediate, crushing demands of the work.

“The count’s estate has no heir, which means the title must devolve to the branch family,” Dale lamented. “I know not what the baron’s family intends, but they have offered no reply to our telegrams. How bewildered the young master and young lady must be…”

“If you are so deeply troubled, shall I travel to the estate and assess the situation myself?” Leon offered.

“You, Mr. Leon? But…”

Leon brushed aside several polite refusals, his resolve hardening. He reminded Dale that his period of enforced exile was nearly complete, rendering his departure inconsequential. Dale hesitated, then finally bowed his head in surrender.

“Thank you, Mr. Leon. Shameless as it may be, I accept your aid. Shall I send word to the estate of your arrival?”

“No,” Leon replied. “As it happens, the autumn storms are disrupting the communications network. Furthermore, as I must tread like a shadow in my homeland, it is better that I arrive under a suitable pretext. This suits me well. I have long been curious about the Ravenwell estate.”

It would not hurt to ascertain exactly what sort of man he is.

Leon departed Savar on a whim, crossing the sea to rendezvous with Dwight’s party in a port city. The second son’s attitude seemed thoroughly duplicitous, and thanks to that, Leon secured his excuse to infiltrate the estate. When he finally arrived, the Omega young lord in question was…

Ha. That photographer was completely and utterly useless.

The moment the man with radiant golden hair and translucent skin pattered out to the entrance to greet him, Leon felt his breath vanish. The young man standing before him was exponentially more breathtaking than the photograph had suggested.

The gaze he fixed upon Leon as he tilted his head held a sharp, luminous intelligence that the camera had utterly failed to capture.

“It is an honor to meet you. As I was led to believe, my lord, you are remarkably beautiful.”-

Until the moment he reached out to seize the man’s white hand and press a kiss to it, Leon believed he was merely indulging in his typical, lighthearted banter. He had not realized, not even for a fleeting second, that he had been struck by love at first sight for that prim, slightly blank man.

***