Ron walked deeper into the alley until he reached a quiet, shadowed corner.
Footsteps soon followed. A sharp, mocking voice echoed behind him:
"He even walked himself into a deserted spot. Saves us the trouble of hiding the body."
Their intentions were unmistakable.
Ron frowned at the three burly men—the same ones who had been drinking in the tavern earlier. So they had been watching him from the moment he entered.
He said nothing, simply staring at them with a cold, unreadable expression.
"Kid," one of them barked, "what's in the bag? Hand it over."
The other two looked at the bag with greedy, feverish eyes.
Ron ignored their demand.
He spread his arms slightly, as if confused.
"Judging from my attire, it's obvious I'm a noble, right? In the Royal Capital of all places—are you truly bold enough to harm me?"
The three exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
"So what if you're a noble? If you die here and no one sees it, who'll know it was us?"
"This young master might have noble blood, but not a noble brain."
"Yeah, unbelievable someone this stupid can be a noble!"
Their mockery continued, but Ron wasn't angry—only amused.
They despised nobles, yet they themselves wanted nothing more than to become nobles. The irony was laughable.
"It seems you've truly decided to kill me," Ron said, lifting his chin slightly. He wasn't speaking to them—more as a lament.
For all its prosperity and beauty, even the Royal Capital had its filth.
"Enough talking! Kill him!"
All three drew daggers and short blades, approaching with practiced coordination. This wasn't their first time doing something like this.
Ron remained calm.
"One last question," he said mildly. "After you kill me, how do you plan to dispose of my body?"
The men froze for a moment—then snickered.
"Heh, you're a funny kid. Since you're not afraid of dying, I'll tell you."
The leader licked the edge of his dagger and sneered.
"If it were anyone else, we wouldn't bother. The guards handle it. But you're a noble. So after we kill you, we'll strip your clothes—"
"Oh, I understand!" Ron cut in brightly.
"Noble clothing is valuable. You can sell it for gold, and without it, the guards won't recognize my status, giving you more time."
"Uh…"
The dagger-wielding man choked mid-sentence.
His companion whispered, sounding genuinely confused, "Brother… is he smart or stupid?"
"How should I know?!"
The leader cursed, then glared at Ron.
"Whatever the case, you're dead today!"
The three rushed at him.
Ron lifted a single hand.
In the next instant, the alley was swallowed in darkness and silence.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three soft impacts sounded in succession.
Light returned.
The three corpses lay on the ground.
Ron picked up his cloth bag and walked past them calmly.
They would remain here forever.
They had answered his question—and he had obliged their chosen fate.
He even considered himself quite reasonable.
He did ask for their thoughts, after all.
Leaving the alley, Ron hailed a carriage and departed Lanke Street without looking back.
The incident was only a minor inconvenience to him, not worth dwelling on.
Still, it served as a reminder:
Where there is light, there will always be shadow.
Even in the Carlo Kingdom's most prosperous capital, ugliness lurked beneath the surface.
Not to mention Arnold Territory…
Perhaps a dedicated institution should be established to handle such matters in the future.
—
When Ron returned to the inn, everyone else had already gathered. Marvin rushed toward him, practically radiating excitement.
"My Lord! The palace's official approval has arrived! It should be your invitation into the palace for your investiture!"
Ron accepted the beautifully rolled document. Palace letters were always sealed with wax and tied with silk ribbon—every aspect exuding luxury.
He broke the seal, scanned the contents, and then tucked it away.
"It's as Marvin said. Tomorrow, I will enter the palace for the ceremony."
Cheers erupted around him; everyone was filled with excitement and pride.
Ron smiled faintly. He had expected the ceremony to take a few more days. Did the King's schedule suddenly free up?
—
Arnold Territory — Baron's Manor
Several days after Ron's departure, a silver-haired girl arrived at the manor.
Seventeen or eighteen years old, beautiful, tall, elegant—every detail flawless.
Yet her expression was icy.
She approached a girl around her age.
"Are you Irene?" she asked coolly.
Irene, who had been experimenting with a new pudding flavor, nearly jumped out of her skin. She blinked rapidly at the striking silver-haired beauty.
"Y-yes… I'm Irene."
The silver-haired girl's lips curled into an aloof smile.
"Good. I'll remember you. My name is Rosalind. Make sure you remember it."
Then she swept away, leaving Irene standing there in utter confusion.
The next day, Irene saw her again—this time at the new maid introduction ceremony.
In the manor's main hall, Diana stood in front of the assembled maids, introducing the girl beside her.
"This is our new maid, Rosalind. She will be taking over Joyce's previous duties. Please treat her kindly, and ensure there are no mistakes in your work."
Diana's tone was firm and dignified.
As Head Maid, she was fully aware that Rosalind was Mr. Egbert's granddaughter.
But she didn't mention it.
A maid's job didn't change just because of her background.
"Alright, everyone may return to your duties."
The introduction was brief. Rosalind met the staff, then the crowd dispersed.
Rosalind glanced at Diana.
From their short interaction, she had already sensed the woman's strict, highly efficient style.
She felt no fear—only fighting spirit.
She was here to prove herself to her grandfather and father.
"Irene, stay for a moment."
Diana's voice halted Irene, who was preparing to leave.
"Yes, Head Maid? Is there something you need me to do?"
Irene straightened nervously. It wasn't the task she feared—but the stern Head Maid herself.
Whether it was the former or current Head Maid, they both intimidated her.
Unlike Sister Joyce, who had seemed cold but was actually warm… even telling stories to her and Mellitoria at night.
While Irene was lost in thought, Diana continued:
"The tailor shop has delivered a batch of clothes to the wardrobe. Take them to Miss Mellitoria."
She added, "The weather is getting warmer. Her old clothes are no longer suitable."
Irene's mouth fell open.
She hadn't expected the Head Maid to be so thoughtful.
She hurried to obey.
Rosalind, overhearing the conversation, blinked.
Mellitoria? When did the Baron's Manor have someone by that name?
Diana then turned to her.
"You will come with me. As a newcomer, you won't receive heavy tasks yet. I will personally teach you the rules and necessary precautions. Watch carefully and learn."
Diana walked ahead—each step orderly, back straight, posture flawless, hands folded gracefully.
She radiated elegance and discipline.
Rosalind tried to imitate her.
But compared to Diana's perfect steps, she looked… like a soldier marching out of sync.
Diana stopped and turned.
"It seems," she said calmly, "that we must begin by teaching you how to walk."
Rosalind stared at Diana's long, perfectly balanced strides and answered through gritted teeth:
"Thank you for your guidance, Head Maid."
Grandfather, Father…
I won't give up!
_____________________
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