Chapter 6

He woke to the sharp, insistent trill of the telephone. Though he felt as if he’d drifted into a profound slumber, the noise snapped his senses into immediate, crystalline focus.

“Yes, Lino Cliff speaking.”

— We will arrive in twenty minutes.

“Understood.”

Lino hung up and rubbed his gritty eyes before peeling back the window curtain. He was genuinely curious to see Ebek, the capital of the Zetina Kingdom that Rodic had boasted about so relentlessly.

The first things to greet his vision were motorcycles. The roads were meticulously maintained, yet it was no exaggeration to say that eighty percent of the vehicles navigating them were motorbikes. While cars appeared occasionally, they were almost exclusively compact models.

Gradually, the limousine’s pace slowed. They weren’t stopping for signals, yet the momentum was flagging. Was there an accident ahead? Lino drew the curtain fully to investigate.

Being midsummer, the locals’ attire was light. Its proximity to the north meant the weather remained relatively mild even in July, yet compared to the Hestin Kingdom, the people looked practically bared. In Hestin, people religiously favored long sleeves even in the sweltering heat. Aside from that, the landscape mirrored his homeland; once the chill returned, these very motorcyclists would undoubtedly be cocooned in layers of winter gear.

It doesn’t look like an accident.

Lino caught the gazes of the motorcyclists as they passed, and the pedestrians on the sidewalks were no different. Every pair of eyes seemed glued to the vehicle. He assumed it was simply the sheer rarity of such a limousine in the Zetina Kingdom drawing their stares.

The limousine finally surged forward again as it veered off the main thoroughfare. They entered a passage that was too wide to be called an alley, yet so secluded that no other vehicle but theirs occupied the stretch.

Lino had expected to be hosted at the Royal Palace, given the “distinguished guest” status, but the limousine pulled up before a breathtakingly lavish three-story mansion. He had considered the Haklan estate to be quite grand, but it felt utterly trivial compared to this masterpiece. If the exterior was this imposing, he could only wonder what lay within.

Click.

The rear door opened. Lino had expected the driver to perform the task, but instead, a footman in a brilliant uniform stood there, holding the door with an almost stifling level of formality. Momentarily flustered by the man’s sudden appearance, Lino quickly smoothed his features and stepped out of the luxury vehicle.

The footman bowed deeply, offering a perfectly measured greeting.

“Welcome to the Grondil Estate, Lord Lino Cliff. Please, allow me to escort you.”

The Grondil Estate…? Lino racked his brain, digging through the mental archives of noble houses he’d painstakingly memorized. To avoid Baron Haklan’s scrutiny, he’d had to study every influential family. The Baron was a man of vast, if not deep, connections across various universities, and since ninety percent of students were royalty or aristocracy, Lino had prioritized staying updated.

Dammit, I let myself go during my time with the order. I should have been relentlessly gathering intelligence.

He had planned to refresh his knowledge just before his five-year term ended. He’d allowed the monotonous, repetitive life of the mountains to lull him into a dangerous complacency. Had he known he’d be drafted as a distinguished guest escort, he would have spent his nights scouring for any new noble acquaintances of Baron Haklan.

Stepping through the entrance, he was greeted by a gargantuan hall. The space was an absolute canvas of white—from the ceiling to the walls and floor—and the light pouring from the massive central window was so intense it was nearly blinding. A grand staircase divided into two sweeping wings, branching out from the center like the delicate wings of a fairy.

Wow… what on earth is this?

Bewitched by the majesty of the hall, Lino stood frozen, momentarily forgetting to follow the footman. The man, sensing Lino’s awe, quietly retreated outside, leaving Lino to be greeted by the estate’s butler.

“I shall take over your escort from here, Lord Lino.”

“…Pardon? Oh, yes.”

Lino tore his gaze from the hall and followed the silver-haired butler up to the second floor. The upper level maintained the white theme but was accented with a fresh, airy Robin’s egg blue along the frames and windows. Even as he followed the man, Lino remained entirely distracted by the decor. He had recognized the distinguished guest’s wealth from the limousine, but the mansion was on an entirely different scale. He completely forgot he was supposed to be identifying which country the “Grondil” family hailed from until the butler halted before a pair of parlor doors.

“His Highness is expecting you.”

The butler pushed open the pristine white doors and gestured for Lino to enter. The title “His Highness” snapped Lino back to reality. It was a term he’d never actually heard addressed to a living person. The highest rank he’d ever interacted with was a Baron. To Lino, “His Highness” felt like a title from a distant, ancient myth—a status so astronomical it should have absolutely zero relevance to his life. Had the butler said “The Duke,” Lino would have immediately braced himself, recognizing a rank vastly superior to a Baron. But “His Highness” was simply beyond his comprehension.

I must be losing my mind. How can I be this distracted in a place like this? Snap out of it, you idiot.

Lino clenched his fists, his short-trimmed nails digging into his palms. The sharp, stinging pain finally jolted his senses awake. His throat felt parched, forcing him to swallow hard.

The heavy parlor doors swung wide. The butler entered first, reaching back to usher Lino inside.

Oh?

Bracing himself for the Duke’s presence, Lino was surprised to find several robust men standing with their backs to him. He immediately noted their thick necks, broad shoulders, and bulging trapezius muscles, topped with short-cropped hair. They were clearly the other knights who had arrived earlier.

He stepped inside with cautious but long strides, realizing the room was far more crowded than it had appeared through the doorway. Calling it a parlor was an understatement; the space was vast enough to be utilized as a training hall, which explained why so many men could occupy it without feeling cramped.

Over here.

The butler mouthed the instruction, pointing toward an empty spot at the very end of the line. Once Lino was in position, the butler moved to the front of the formation.

Phew, thank God. 

Lino sighed inwardly, relieved that the massive men in front of him provided a perfect screen. He desperately wanted to release a long, audible breath of relief but bit his lip and held it back. The room was unnervingly silent despite the crowd. Not a single breath could be heard. Lino felt his tension gradually drain away, confident he could remain invisible among these giants just as he’d hoped.

His relief, however, was tragically short-lived. A man’s voice, cold and judging, cut through the silence.

“They’re built like mountains, yet…”

Lino knew he shouldn’t move, but his hand flew up to press firmly against his left ear. He wanted to shove his finger deep into the canal and scrub, but he managed to restrain himself. Instead, he simply twisted his ear with the heel of his palm. The dull, grinding pain against his skull did nothing to alleviate the bizarre, oily sensation clinging to his eardrum.

What was that? It was a human voice, but…

The man’s voice was exceptionally deep. Had it been merely low, Lino wouldn’t have forgotten his manners to touch his ear. The sound was like a heavy weight scraping against a damp stone wall at the bottom of a vertical cave. Or perhaps it was the sound of a blunt blade ruthlessly shredding layers of stacked silk. It was not a sound meant to pass through human vocal cords; it was something raw… something feral.

The voice clung to his eardrum, refusing to let go, an alien sound perfectly designed to incite primal terror. Lino dropped his hand and rubbed his arm, his skin crawling with goosebumps. He clenched his jaw, the vibration of his teeth grinding together finally drowning out the screeching sensation in his ear.

After a few frantic rubs, Lino straightened his shoulders and resumed a proper posture, acting as if nothing had happened. It was then he realized the other knights were gasping in agony. They weren’t just groaning; some were violently shaking their heads or digging their fingers into their ears. A few had even collapsed to their knees, their legs unable to support them.

“To think they can’t even withstand this much.”

The man spoke again after a brief pause, clearly dissatisfied with the ragged formation. At his words, the knights who had been struggling finally gave in, their knees hitting the floor with heavy thuds.

“Wait…?”

Oh, fuck.

Lino, who had been so relieved to be hidden by the massive knights, cursed inwardly. Every single man screening him had collapsed, leaving only Lino and one other knight standing.

Dammit, what the hell is happening?

The man’s second utterance had broken the others like brittle reeds, yet for Lino, the fear had paradoxically neutralized, allowing him to remain upright. The sound of a beast growling against a rough surface still scratched at his eardrum, but the pain had vanished, leaving only a faint, lingering shiver.

Lino surveyed the ruined parlor with wide, bewildered eyes until he spotted the man who had been hidden by the knights’ bulk. Reclined lazily on a long recamier sofa, the man didn’t spare so much as a glance toward Lino, despite the faint, startled noise the knight had made. Lounging there, he looked like a massive apex predator that had just woken from a deep slumber, still draped in a heavy, lethal lethargy. He looked down at the knights scattered across the floor with profound disdain and clicked his tongue.

It was a short, sharp ts-. Yet, Lino realized instantly that this man was the owner of that haunting, alien voice. The lethargic aura surrounding him transformed in a heartbeat, becoming as sharp and piercing as the tip of a spear.

“Enoch.”

“You called, Your Highness?”

The silver-haired butler answered. He had moved to the front specifically to stand by the man’s side. And since the butler addressed him as “Your Highness,” this man was undeniably Duke Grondil.

“Send everyone back except those two.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lino expected the butler to leave the room and summon help; the fallen knights looked far too incapacitated to leave on their own. Instead, Enoch approached a knight splayed at his feet and hoisted him up by the scruff of his neck. He performed the feat with such effortless grace that the knight looked like a stuffed doll rather than a fully grown man in armor. Despite his slender build, the butler’s strength was supernatural. He grabbed another and stacked him on top of the first like a pancake.

Is that even possible?

Ignoring Lino’s horrified stare, Enoch exited the room dragging one knight with his free hand while balancing three in his arms and two on his shoulders. After several such trips, only four remained: the Duke, Lino, the one other knight who had stood his ground, and the returning butler.

“My apologies, Your Highness. Despite a thorough document screening, I did not expect them to be this pathetic.”

The butler bowed deeply in apology. Lino found the phrase “did not expect them to be this pathetic” rather grating. He couldn’t begin to fathom what the man meant. Granted, collapsing and whimpering because of a few muttered words was hardly a reliable display of knightly prowess, but Lino himself had nearly been a disgrace as well.

Does that mean the Duke was testing the knights with something invisible? 

His voice was the most obvious candidate, but there was no known way to make men collapse in terror through sound alone—not outside the exaggerated legends of ancient heroes.

“At least there was some harvest this time.”

The Duke shifted his weight, sitting up from his languid reclined position. He straightened his spine and crossed his long legs, his previous air of idle boredom replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He beckoned Lino and the other survivor with a casual flick of his finger.

His fingers were pale and smooth, looking as though they’d been carved from ivory. Normally, such a description would be reserved for a woman’s hand, but the prominent knuckles and thick, long fingers were undeniably masculine, resembling a masterpiece of ivory art.

“You called, Your Highness?”

While Lino was still mesmerized by the Duke’s beckoning finger, the other knight stepped forward. He possessed a voice as soft and sweet as cotton candy. Snapping back to his senses, Lino followed, stopping a full step behind the other man. Now that his massive shields had been cleared away, he had no choice but to use distance to maintain some semblance of safety. The knight in front of him was slighter than Lino, making the maneuver entirely useless, yet it was Lino’s desperate attempt to stay as far from the Duke as possible.

Fortunately, the Duke’s interest was focused on the knight directly in front of him. Lino used the opportunity to stealthily slide another half-step back, his boots moving silently across the thick carpet.

The Duke extended his hand without a word. Enoch immediately retrieved a set of documents from a nearby tea table and handed them over. Lino couldn’t see the text, but he could guess the contents; there were exactly two files. They were undoubtedly the personal records of the two survivors who had withstood the Duke’s bizarre audit. Lino swallowed hard. Nearly everything in his file—aside from his physical measurements—was a total fabrication.

He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to keep his jaw steady. If he maintained a rigid, focused expression, perhaps his inner turmoil wouldn’t show.

The Duke flipped through the pages with his long fingers. Beneath his sweeping lashes, his blue-gray eyes appeared and vanished as he read. Occasionally, he would look up to scrutinize the knight in front of him, likely matching the data to the person.

Lino tried to look elsewhere. His plan to remain an invisible entity had already gone up in smoke, but he absolutely refused to do anything that might draw further attention. He decided to inspect the parlor. Though no expert in architecture, he’d been impressed by the hall, the corridor, and this massive room that could double as a training ground. It was elegant, serene, and pristine. Yet, Lino couldn’t truly appreciate the aesthetics; his every nerve was tuned to the man on the sofa.

This is bad…

It wasn’t just Lino’s problem; the knight in front of him was equally distracted, though for entirely different reasons. While Lino was on high alert, this man was openly, shamelessly feasting on the Duke’s beauty.

The Duke reached the last page and looked up at the knight. The lips that had been firmly set during his reading parted slightly, and that same hauntingly low voice spilled out.

“Yuneria Ganel Disson.”

Yuneria? Yuneria… Yuneria.

Lino replayed the name in his mind, searching his memory. While he dug through his mental archive of the aristocracy, the knight—Yuneria—stood frozen, staring blankly at the Duke’s lips, having forgotten to even answer.

“Sir Disson?”

When his name was called a second time, the knight finally snapped out of it and stammered a reply.

“Y-Yeth…!”

Whether from nerves or sheer shock, the answer sounded like a squeaky rubber toy being squeezed. Specifically, it reminded Lino of a long-necked rubber chicken from the orphanage that had its neck snapped in half during a tug-of-war.

“Pfft—”

Ah, shit. I’m dead.

Lino hadn’t lived an exceptionally long life, but in his twenty-three years, he concluded this was the moment he was most truly fucked. He didn’t even have time to think about not laughing. Who could have expected such a high, distorted, and bizarre squeak to come from a human throat? Especially when answering a Duke.

The laugh was a total, uncontrollable reflex. He wanted to claim it was an act of God, but instead, he simply bit down on the inside of his lip with agonizing force. If he let his guard down for even a second, a full-blown roar of laughter would erupt. Had he not been reminded of that specific rubber chicken, he might have just thought the voice was strange and moved on. But the image of that decapitated toy was too much.

He bowed his head deeply, trying to ignore Yuneria’s murderous glare. Fortunately, the Duke seemed entirely uninterested in Lino. Or perhaps he was simply ignoring him. Even though the Duke was currently looking at Lino’s file, he hadn’t spared him a single glance.

Maybe I’m worrying for nothing.

Lino recalled Yuneria’s noble lineage, which helped halve his anxiety. The knight currently glaring at him was Yuneria Ganel Disson, the second son of Marquis Disson of the Zetina Kingdom. Rumor had it he’d inherited the legendary beauty of the Marchioness, who was so stunning in her youth she’d been courted by the Crown Prince of the Derma Empire.

Beauty is a talent in its own right, I suppose.

Recalling the profile he’d seen before his laughter flared, Lino concluded the rumors were true. He didn’t know what the Marchioness looked like, but Yuneria’s smooth, elegant bridge and perfectly balanced jawline were undeniably exceptional.

“Lino Cliff. Are you a commoner?”

The Duke’s voice reached Lino’s ears. Most nobles would immediately use informal, condescending speech with a commoner, regardless of age, but the Duke used formal, polite language. His voice was low and smooth. Lino fought the urge to scratch his itching eardrum and answered clearly.

“Yes, Your Highness. That is correct.”

He managed to answer without any embarrassing squeaks, thanks to the frantic swallowing he’d done to wet his parched throat.

Grondil ignored the glare on his cheek and flipped the page of the resume. Yuneria Ganel Disson, second son of a Marquis in the kingdom where I’m currently staying. Possesses a pretty face, but his personality seems anything but docile. Well, things are boring if they’re too submissive.

Grondil thought of the knight standing a step behind Yuneria. He hadn’t looked closely, but the man had the look of someone who adapted to the flow of the world. Put kindly, he looked easygoing and good-natured; put harshly, he looked like someone who would be swept away by any current, lacking any real spine.

In contrast, Yuneria seemed prickly enough to keep things interesting. Even now, the way he glared at the knight who’d laughed at his voice was like a rose baring its thorns. And then, as if it had never happened, he turned back to Grondil with flushed cheeks and eyes wide with bewitchment. If gazes possessed physical weight, Grondil’s face would have been covered in the impressions of the man’s stare.

How annoying.

Regardless, any knight capable of withstanding his empowered voice had to be kept close for observation. If he had to choose right now, the scales tipped toward Yuneria; the man’s innate divine power was quite substantial.

Grondil handed Yuneria’s unremarkable file to Enoch and began reading the second knight’s resume. His movements were laced with a clear sense of boredom. Lino Cliff’s profile was so painfully ordinary it was nearly tedious: abandoned at birth, raised in an orphanage, wandered aimlessly after being discharged, and finally joined the holy knights after “getting his act together.” It was the standard, impoverished life story of a commoner.

The photo attached to the file was a blurry, low-resolution mess, likely taken at an automated booth for a few pennies. With the yellowish background and his blonde hair, he looked like a jaundice patient who’d tried to force a smile but missed the timing, resulting in a disastrously awkward smirk.

I picked someone based on a photo like this…? Was I blackout drunk?

Grondil searched his memory, wondering if he’d been intoxicated. Thanks to his supernatural memory, he recalled exactly what he’d been wearing, where he’d been sitting, and what tea he’d been drinking when he made the selection. And he was a man who literally could not get drunk, no matter how much he consumed.

Well, it might be amusing to have one fool in the mix. Though he’ll probably collapse the moment I speak.

After a perfunctory scan of the file, Grondil looked up to inspect the physical reality of his whim. Unlike the blurry photo, the man was actually quite radiant—though he couldn’t see his face clearly since the knight was currently staring at his own boots.

Even so, he’s just another common blonde.

He could tell from the photo that the man was decent-looking; the only difference in person would likely be sharper features. Since they’d be living under the same roof, he could verify it later. Grondil handed the file to Enoch and stood up. His polished black boots pressed into the thick carpet.

He merely stepped off the sofa, yet Yuneria’s shoulders gave a violent flinch at the motion. Grondil thought the man looked like a terrified small animal… a squirrel. Granted, Yuneria was a knight and far too large to be a squirrel, but compared to the other knights who had been in the room, he was on the slighter side. Furthermore, Lino, standing behind him, was significantly larger, making the comparison natural.

But the primary factor was Grondil himself; his height far exceeded the average for an adult male. And it wasn’t just height; his build and weight were so massive and imposing that even a peak athlete would look small in comparison.

This one…

Grondil stared at the crown of Lino’s head. Unlike the quivering Yuneria, Lino appeared entirely unphased. He was staring at the floor so intently that Grondil wondered if a gold coin had fallen onto the carpet. His blonde hair, made unruly by his bowed head, hung forward in thick, wild strands.

His hair is… quite voluminous. Unlike his detailed assessment of Yuneria, Grondil concluded his thoughts on Lino by noting his hair density. It was their first meeting, but he saw no reason to pay any special attention to such an ordinary man.

“I’m going to rest. Bring my dinner to my room, and handle those two as you see fit.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Though his gait was leisurely, his long legs carried him out of the parlor in an instant. He felt a pair of gazes glued to his back, but he didn’t bother turning to see who they belonged to. The stare that had been hungrily devouring his face wasn’t likely to let go so easily.

It was deliberate. The gaze recognized that Grondil was aware of it and chose to sweep over his body with a lingering, possessive intensity. And within that gaze lay a profound self-confidence.

He inherited the beauty of his mother, the most famous beauty on the continent, so I suppose his arrogance is justified. Grondil found the man’s vanity and display to be quite amusing. While he didn’t “like” it, it promised to be a decent temporary diversion. And since he wasn’t looking for a permanent attachment, his personal feelings didn’t matter.

This search for a Letia would undoubtedly be another failure. Where was he supposed to find a Letia when the lineage had been severed for ages? 

Lineage? Grondil smirked.

It wasn’t even a lineage; they were just characters from a childish fairy tale.

Which explained why he’d found nothing, despite scouring the nations of the Terne Continent and arriving in this peanut-sized kingdom. Calling it a kingdom was generous; it was roughly the size of a provincial capital in the Empire, which at least meant the recruitment and selection process had been mercifully swift. Perhaps because the end of this tedious excursion was finally in sight, Grondil chose to generously overlook the way Lino was currently ignoring him.