novelraw Chapter 118 : Chapter 118
Chapter 118 : Chapter 118
Chapter 118. The Uninvited Guest (2)
Mammon Leonard—a knight of the House of Leonard and a member of the Royal Guard—sat in the parlor of the baron’s estate, blankly staring up at the ceiling.
His eyes were hollow and clouded.
His heart was empty.
“…Father, am I doing the right thing?”
Mammon had always heard the same thing from his father, the Marquess of Leonard.
───Act with dignity and honor, no matter the situation. A knight of House Leonard must never carry shame.
Mammon had etched those words deep into his heart.
That teaching had become his conviction.
He had lived his life staying true to that belief.
But lately, things have changed.
He’d committed more than a few shameful acts.
Because of the king’s orders.
Recently, the king’s personality had changed drastically.
The monarch who had shown zero interest in politics had suddenly begun acting like a seasoned schemer.
He wove intrigues and plots among the nobles.
As a knight of the Royal Guard, Mammon had no choice but to participate in those schemes.
To obey royal command, he had to abandon his conviction.
Today was no different.
Mammon, the knight, had laid a trap like a hunter.
He himself had crafted the shackles meant to bind the Watcher of the Abyss.
The prey had nowhere to run.
Mammon would tighten the noose around his target’s throat—without even drawing his sword.
This kind of behavior didn’t suit a knight bearing the Leonard name at all.
Mammon let out a quiet breath.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
The parlor door opened.
Yohan entered, dressed in formal attire.
“Sir Mammon, sorry to keep you waiting.”
Mammon, who had been sitting in a daze, immediately composed his expression.
He couldn’t let Yohan see him conflicted.
His voice came out stiff and cold.
“I’m not the one waiting. His Majesty is. Let’s be off.”
He gave Yohan a once-over.
Their eyes met directly.
Mammon was struck by a strange feeling.
Something about Yohan felt different.
To be precise, the weight he had once carried was now completely gone.
Just a short while ago, Mammon had felt a certain degree of respect for Yohan.
Every time their eyes met, an unknown sense of reverence had welled up in him.
Though young, Yohan had exuded a presence befitting the head of a noble house—befitting the Watcher of the Abyss.
But now?
The boy in front of him was just an ordinary kid.
Though he wore a serious expression, there was no depth in his eyes.
It was as if he were a completely different person in the same body.
Mammon instinctively sensed it.
Yohan spoke in a calm voice.
“I understand. I cannot risk offending His Majesty any further. Let’s depart.”
He stepped out of the parlor.
Mammon watched his retreating figure and muttered quietly,
“…As expected, he’s using Verdan.”
That Yohan was a fake.
Mammon was sure of it.
***
Mapheltan, hidden within the authority of Chimya, observed everything from the shadows.
He had overheard the conversation between the fake Yohan and Mammon and had even caught the subtle shifts in Mammon’s expression.
Mammon knew the Yohan in front of him was Verdan.
Mapheltan clicked his tongue in the darkness.
‘So it was a trap after all.’
The overall situation was becoming clear.
The king had deliberately handed Verdan over to Yohan—and had maneuvered things so that Yohan would be forced to use him.
But why?
Mapheltan could only guess.
The king was trying to bind the Watcher of the Abyss with shackles.
Once the deception was discovered—that Yohan had dared to send a fake to meet the king—the royal family would use it as leverage to pressure House Miyatro.
They probably wouldn’t punish him outright.
Instead, they’d shackle him politically.
The king had revealed his political ambitions, and the Watcher of the Abyss was the most valuable card on the board.
One question remained.
How could the king be so certain Yohan would use Verdan?
Actually—that was the wrong question.
The king wasn’t “certain” at all.
He was just testing Yohan.
The king had laid a trap, and planted suspicion in Yohan’s mind.
And once Yohan took the bait and used Verdan to respond to the night-time summons, the king would use that as justification to place him under his thumb.
If, on the other hand, Yohan had seen through the scheme and gone to the palace himself, the king likely intended to sway or recruit him to the royalist side.
In short—the king would gain, whether the trap was sprung or not.
But for Yohan, there was only one choice.
He transformed into a demon at night.
There was no option but to use Verdan.
Regardless of the king’s plan, Yohan had to fall into the trap.
Mapheltan clicked his tongue again.
‘…What a damn mess.’
If that fake Yohan entered the palace now, House Miyatro would fall into the king’s grasp.
They couldn’t let that happen.
Lying low and waiting for a better moment wasn’t an option.
Mapheltan had always lived under pressure—racing against time.
He didn’t have the luxury to waste days on politics.
He needed a solution immediately.
His mind raced.
And then, one face came to mind.
Ilea.
A past conversation with her echoed in his head.
───“It’s a spell developed using Belzarak’s hallucination magic. Pretty convincing, right?”
Ilea had developed a spell to cover up the disappearance of the Third Prince, Gawain.
The spell perfectly imitated another’s form.
It was similar to Verdan’s power—but there was one crucial difference.
Ilea’s spell couldn’t be forcibly dispelled by others.
Where Verdan’s mimicry could be broken by peeling off his face, Ilea’s illusion could only be undone by the caster’s will.
Mapheltan needed Ilea’s magic now.
He had to bring her to the capital.
If he flew at full speed, he could reach the Count’s territory within the hour.
Mapheltan grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something hastily.
Then, from within the darkness, he handed the note to the fake Yohan.
───Buy time. As much as possible.
The fake Yohan gave a small nod to the air.
He was already one of Mapheltan’s servants.
Mapheltan immediately left the estate.
Hiding himself in Chimya, he surged through the capital sky.
The divine barrier surrounding the capital tried to resist him, but it was no real obstacle.
Mapheltan was no longer a fledgling demon.
He had two horns—a true Gakgwi, and the Twelfth Apostle of the End.
A weakened barrier like this was nothing.
He tore through it and vanished into the dark.
***
Staviana Direct Territory, the Lord’s Castle. The Count sipped black tea after dinner.
A subtle but rich aroma filled the dining hall.
Seated across from him, Ilea breathed in the scent and said,
“The fragrance is lovely, Father.”
She had officially become the Count’s adopted daughter.
Ilea de Staviana. Now, she was the daughter of one of the kingdom’s most powerful men.
The Count replied,
“The taste is another matter. On your first try, it’ll probably seem bitter. A sharpness hidden behind a sweet aroma. Perhaps… It's like first love.”
He loved metaphors and topics related to romance.
He and Ilea had spoken frequently over the past week—and most of their conversations circled around love.
Ilea didn’t dislike the topic. In fact, she found it intriguing.
It was like trying to give shape to something abstract and unknown.
In some ways, it felt similar to learning magic.
She took a sip of tea.
“…It is bitter. Very bitter. Not at all like the sweet aroma.”
The Count chuckled softly.
“Much like your relationship with Lord Yohan, wouldn’t you say? The closer you get, the more the fragrance fades—and only the sharpness remains.”
Ilea slowly nodded.
Every time she opened up, Yohan let her down.
The sweetness vanished, replaced by bitterness.
She often found herself sulking.
She sighed and said,
“You’re right. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The Count gave her a warm smile.
“Even that bitterness is part of the charm. If you savor it slowly, the sweetness will eventually return. Love is the same. Even the bitterness is part of the process of understanding it. Don’t give up—keep knocking on your beloved’s heart. But don’t rush. Both tea and love require patience.”
Ilea stared at the teacup, then took another sip.
Still bitter.
“It’s hard. I don’t quite understand it yet.”
The Count smiled gently, deepening his wrinkles.
“Of course you don’t. It takes time and effort.”
Ilea mulled over his words.
In summary—they were simple.
Take your time.
That didn’t quite fit her temperament.
She always worked to seize what she wanted as quickly as possible.
Still, she decided to keep his advice in mind.
The Count was one of the smartest people she knew—and if there was anything he had truly studied all his life, it was love.
She smiled softly.
“I’ll remember your words and do my best.”
The Count nodded.
“First, master this tea. The tea ceremony is the foundation of social etiquette.”
Ilea was studying noble manners.
She had already mastered most of them.
She picked things up quickly.
Even if placed among noble ladies now, she wouldn’t seem out of place at all.
All that was left was refining her palate.
She lifted her cup.
“I’ll keep trying.”
As soon as she brought it to her lips, her brow furrowed slightly.
But not because of the taste.
Her magical sense had picked up something.
The Count chuckled.
“Still bitter, huh? Let’s stop here tonight.”
Ilea smiled with her eyes.
“Seems like we have a guest.”
The Count looked puzzled.
“A guest? At this hour?”
Before he could finish his sentence, a black blur zipped past his eyes.
Crash!
The sound of shattering glass rang out a moment later.
A gust of wind swept through.
The Count’s white hair flared wildly.
The tableware was completely shattered.
Expressionless, the Count stared straight ahead.
Ilea had vanished.
In her place, a single note lay on the table.
The Count read it.
───I’m borrowing Ilea for a bit.
He looked toward the opposite window.
The glass was completely destroyed.
“…Hmm.”
At that moment, a large force of guards rushed into the dining hall.
“My Lord! Are you all right?!”
“Are you hurt?!”
“What happened?!”
The room erupted in chaos.
The Count replied, face still blank.
“Just a guest, passing through. No need for such fuss—everyone return to your posts.”
Cold night wind blew through the shattered window.
The Count brought the teacup calmly to his lips, gazing into the darkness.
The guards glanced at each other in confusion.