Even though he'd set enough "contingencies" to ensure his own safety, Honest still felt deeply frustrated. All his carefully arranged backups had been rendered useless, wasted entirely because his initial strike had completely missed the mark. And the biggest miscalculation of all had been underestimating Lancer.
A sneak attack by a Teigu user hadn't managed to kill him. According to the original plan, even if they couldn't take out Lancer immediately, they could at least stall him and have him conveniently appear in the camp at the right moment—where General Budo would finish him off personally!
If Lancer died, perfect—the infiltrator would simply be executed by Budo afterward. If he proved harder to kill, they'd just need to tie him up until Budo handled it personally.
Of course, choosing Lancer wasn't due to personal grudges—it was because he was simply the perfect scapegoat.
A man without roots or connections in the Capital was the easiest to frame. No one else would be as believable a traitor. Even if the Emperor survived the attempt, Budo would inevitably tighten his iron grip over the military. His stubborn principle—"the army must never meddle in imperial politics"—would be enforced with renewed ruthlessness, turning the army fully into the Imperial family's puppet. From then on, Honest only needed to control the next Emperor, indirectly gaining authority over Budo and the entire Imperial Army.
But the very first step of this scheme had already gone catastrophically wrong. Not only had Lancer's strength allowed him to counterattack and tie up the assassins sent after him, but even the supposedly incurable poison had inexplicably been delayed in its effects.
Honest had thrown substantial resources into this plot.
His loyal death-squads, four recruited and manipulated Teigu users, and several Shingu wielders had all been committed.
Losing his own pawns hurt badly enough, but the failed mission had created additional complications—like Dr. Stylish and Bill—now unstable factors, and both tricky to handle.
Dr. Stylish, standing nervously before him, was a Teigu user but hardly a fighter. Honest could snap his neck without effort—but Bill was different. The leader of the Imperial Assassination Unit was a dangerous man to threaten.
Honest was certain Bill had instantly distanced himself the moment he realized the plot had failed. Moreover, the fact that Lancer had even protected Bill's subordinate was deeply suspicious. Thinking about it now, Honest realized it was probably a move to silence potential leaks. Even worse, Honest couldn't openly challenge Bill at the moment.
Any future meetings between them would be fraught with suspicion and caution.
"That bastard…"
Dr. Stylish, despite the forced smile on his face, shivered involuntarily at the sight of Honest's cold, empty grin. Honest wasn't smiling out of amusement—there wasn't an ounce of warmth behind his expression. Dr. Stylish bitterly regretted coming here today.
"Relax, Dr. Stylish. Everything's under control…"
Though he repeated these empty reassurances, Dr. Stylish collapsed gloomily onto the couch. Right now, he truly regretted his decisions.
He'd been obsessed with obtaining the perfect laboratory and fresh experimental subjects. Now, that obsession seemed absurdly stupid, dragging him into Honest's poisonous schemes.
...
More than two months since leaving the Capital, the Emperor finally returned. Crowds lined the streets once more to cheer, the scene seemingly unchanged. Yet this time, the nobles stood pale-faced with anxiety. The smiling Emperor inside the carriage appeared more devil than king.
He was praised as the "Wise King," but people often overlooked the ruthlessness hidden behind the word "king." A truly capable ruler could never afford to be soft-hearted.
Nobody knew exactly who had been so audacious as to attack the Emperor. But one year ago, after a similar incident, a governor and several high-ranking nobles had been swiftly "disposed of" by this smiling monarch.
The nobles didn't care who orchestrated the assassination attempt this time; they cared only whether the Emperor might seize the opportunity to eliminate them or their families.
Many even privately speculated maliciously that the Emperor might've staged the attack himself. But when their gazes fell upon General Budo, stern-faced atop his warhorse beside the imperial carriage, they quickly lowered their heads.
If anyone still harbored doubts before, seeing General Budo's grim, vigilant expression convinced them the rumors must be true—the Emperor truly had nearly died.
If earlier some had thought, "someone's probably going to pay for this," now they felt certain, "someone's definitely going to suffer."
Even if the true mastermind wasn't found, the Emperor would surely use this chance to remove a few eyesores…
Yet as everyone's attention fixed upon General Budo and the Emperor, none noticed how the returning entourage had grown smaller compared to when it set out.
...
When Leone first became a "slave," her life had been filled with anxiety. Yet after spending time in Lancer's household, she found herself thinking—perhaps things weren't actually that bad?
She didn't need to fear mysteriously disappearing if she ever messed up.
She didn't have to cut her hair short and disguise herself as a boy just to survive.
She no longer worried about tomorrow's food.
And most importantly, although nominally a "slave," she was really more like a maid. With Tiger handling all the cooking duties, her only chores were tidying rooms and doing Lancer's laundry. Sometimes, seeing Tiger curled comfortably in Lancer's arms, Leone felt an odd twinge in her chest.
She supposed it was jealousy—but Tiger's cooking truly was delicious!
It left her with complicated feelings.
Since Lancer had left on his recent trip, her days had grown unbearably dull. Apart from routine cleaning, she hardly knew how else to occupy herself.
I wonder when Sir's coming back…
Leone absently swung a bag of kitchen waste that had piled up for days, wandering out through the back gate.
"Ah! Sorry! Sorry!"
Distracted by thoughts of Lancer, Leone had accidentally bumped into someone rounding the street corner. Instantly realizing her mistake, she immediately apologized.
Normally, that should've been enough—but not this time.
"Hey! You think a slave can just walk away like that?"
A white-haired man arrogantly grabbed Leone's wrist, causing the garbage bag to drop to the ground. The pungent stench made him wrinkle his nose, but upon seeing Leone clearly, a lecherous smirk curled at his lips.
"I figured you'd be trash from the looks of you…but your face isn't half bad…"
Seeing the predatory gleam in his eyes, Leone felt a sickening chill run down her spine…
---
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