The Duke didn't speak.
Merchant Win stayed on his knees, eyes filled with fear and desperation, his mouth continuing to move as he begged over and over again.
"Please, Duke… please have mercy. I will serve you. I will give up everything, my guild, my gold just don't end me here, not like this. You are a man of reason, aren't you? Please—please!"
The Duke said nothing.
He stood slowly from his chair. Merchant Win's eyes lit up, just for a moment, thinking maybe… maybe he had gotten through.
He reached forward, crawling closer like a broken man, and when he reached the Duke's feet, He gripped the Duke's robe and kissed his hand again and again.
"Thank you… thank you, I knew it… you're a just man—"
Then the Duke finally spoke.
"Stand up."
Win looked up, confused—then smiled, thinking it was a second chance, thinking he would be spared. He stumbled to his feet, wiping tears from his face, straightening his posture with shaky hands.
But the Duke turned slightly and stretched his arm back, and one of the knights standing silently behind him quickly stepped forward and unsheathed the sword from his waist,. The Duke turned back to Win and without a word drove the blade clean through his stomach.
"Ugh—!" the merchant gasped, eyes wide in shock, the pain hitting all at once.
His hands flew up, one gripping the Duke's shoulder as if to steady himself, as if holding on would change his fate.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
Around them, maids and butlers nearby flinched, some looking away, others holding their breath. They had seen this before more than once but every time the Duke did it with such silence, such complete lack of hesitation, it always sent a chill through them.
"D-Duke…" Win croaked, still holding on.
The Duke stepped back, pulling the sword free. The merchant dropped to his knees, One last breath.
Then the Duke raised the sword again. And with a single, practiced motion—he brought it down.
The head fell.
A small spray of blood from the merchant's final moment had splattered across his coat and onto Clint. A single streak ran down Clint's black fur, right across his face.
He blinked once.
Then slowly, he raised a paw and wiped the warm blood away,. "…Gross," he muttered,
And the body slumped over, lifeless.
The Duke calmly turned, handed the bloodied sword back to the knight, who bowed.
And Clint, still silent on his shoulder, blinked once. "So this is how things are done here."
But as the Duke turned to leave, his cold eyes shifted slightly and fell on the small black bunny still perched on his shoulder.
Clint had a streak of red across his face and a bit on his chest, the merchant's blood against his fur.
The Duke frowned.
Without a word, he reached up and gently lifted Clint from his shoulder. His hands were steady, holding the bunny carefully, and he turned, walking away from the stone path and into a more quiet area of the estate—toward a small pond surrounded by smooth stones and flowering trees.
Clint blinked.
"…What's he doing now?" he thought, unsure.
Then the Duke crouched down beside the water and held Clint just above the surface, checking the stains in his fur.
A few maids, who had been nearby, suddenly noticed and stepped forward, alarmed.
"Y-Your Grace!" one of them said quickly, bowing, "Please, allow us to handle the small creature we will wash him properly. You need not trouble yourself."
"Indeed, Your Grace," another added, lowering her head, "Please step back. The water may ruin your clothes."
The Duke simply turned his head.
One look.
The maids immediately stopped, their eyes widening, and without another word, they bowed deeply, their backs to him.
"We apologize," they said in unison, "Forgive our intrusion."
Then they stepped back, standing silent with heads lowered.
The Duke turned back to the pond and dipped his hand in slowly, letting the water run over Clint's fur. He cupped the water and gently ran it over Clint's head, rinsing away the red line, wiping it with soft fingers that moved with quiet patience.
Clint stayed still in his hand, the warmth of the water soaking through his fur.
He stared up at the man silently.
"…You stab a guy in the chest without blinking," Clint thought, "and now here you are… gently washing a bunny like you're bathing a child."
He narrowed his eyes a little.
"…For a merciless duke," he muttered in his thoughts, "you've got a weird side of gentleness I didn't expect."
After the bath, the Duke returned to his chamber, and with the same calm expression, he laid on the bed, shifting slightly until he got comfortable, then gently moved the small bunny beside his head, placing him on the large soft pillow.
Clint was curled up like he was asleep.
The room was quiet, the night wind slipping in through the half-open window, and soon the Duke's eyes closed and his breathing slowed—deep, even, asleep.
Clint waited with both eyes shut, body still, ears barely twitching as he listened.
One minute. Two.
He opened one eye.
The Duke hadn't moved. His back was turned.
Good.
Clint slowly stood on the pillow, looking around cautiously. He hopped down carefully from the bed, landing softly on the carpet, staying low as he crept across the large room toward the open window, the long curtains fluttering gently under the moonlight.
The distance feeling long with his tiny body. He paused beneath the windowsill, looked up, and frowned slightly.
"Alright… now how the hell am I gonna climb this?"
He jumped.
Missed.
Jumped again—his paw slipped.
"Tch!"
He narrowed his eyes, crouched low, then gave it all he had—a high bunny jump.
This time, he reached the edge.
Then he climbed down and spotted a narrow stone path that traced the side of the outer wall. It was barely wide enough for even a small animal like him, it blended into the wall so perfectly, no one would notice unless they were looking for it.
Clint narrowed his eyes.
"Alright… small path. That's my best shot."