The knight’s full plate armor was studded with magic stones, and at the center of his breastplate was a golden circle—the symbol of Lu Solar. It wasn’t hard to guess he was one of the paladins, said to serve the Western Duke.

"Looks like word reached the duke that I’ve been traveling with you," Thesaya said, her gaze still fixed on the approaching carriage and paladin. "Still, I didn’t expect them to come to us first. Not like meeting us here would change much."

"They must have another reason."

Ian nodded slightly. His gaze moved past the knight to the blond youth beside him, likely a squire doubling as the coachman, then to the carriage itself. It was large and solid, rivaling even the princess’s carriage.

Thesaya glanced at him. "Got any guesses?"

Ian shrugged. "A few. But I’ll know for sure once we hear them out."

Thesaya narrowed her eyes. "Should we just slip away? We can just make them waste time. They might not even recognize us."

Ian shook his head faintly. "No. If they’ve come this far, avoiding them won’t change anything. Might just make things more troublesome."

Besides, unless they were here to test his reputation firsthand, there was little chance of things turning bloody.

"Fine. If that’s what you think." Clicking her tongue, Thesaya shrugged and pulled back her hood, revealing her silver hair fully.

She had clearly decided not to hide her identity. Ian also kept walking, eyes fixed on the paladin.

The paladin turned toward them. His gaze lingered on Thesaya, then shifted to Ian walking beside her.

Ian didn’t avoid it. If anything, he tilted his chin slightly and smiled faintly.

Definitely not friendly.

He read the man’s eyes instinctively through the narrow slit of the visor. A moment later, the paladin stepped into the middle of the road and turned fully to face them.

From behind the visor, the man deeply and steadily said, "Pardon me for a moment."

As Ian and Thesaya stopped, the knight placed a gauntleted fist against his breastplate.

"I am an apostle of Lu Solar, a follower of Tir En, and a knight in service to His Grace, the rightful ruler of the West, Duke Vinyard Beshur. My name is Cesare Borgon. I will need to confirm your identities."

His tone was polite but unyielding.

Thesaya, who had been about to step forward, paused when Ian raised an arm slightly to stop her.

As she clicked her tongue, Ian said, "I’d rather not cause a scene in the middle of the street. I’m probably the one you’ve been waiting for."

After a brief silence, Cesare replied, "His Grace requests an audience."

The usual formalities were omitted—whether to avoid drawing attention, or because he refused to address Ian as Agent of the Saint, it was hard to say.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Ian tilted his head toward the carriage. "Shall I get in?"

"Please wait a moment," Cesare muttered and turned toward the carriage.

The blond squire knocked once on the door, then stepped aside.

Creak—

The door didn’t stay closed for long. After a few seconds, it opened, and a middle-aged man stepped out, dressed in a blue formal uniform marked with a golden circle on the chest. He had a brown beard and matching hair.

As the squire held the door open behind him, the man stopped before Ian and bent one knee in the imperial fashion. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Vinyard Beshur, Agent of the Saint and Elder."

As expected, he was the new Duke of the West.

He hadn’t merely sent a request for an audience. He had come personally and waited. With the gazes of nearby passersby quietly gathering, Ian bent his knee in return alongside Thesaya.

"Ian Hope. The pleasure is mine, Duke. It seems you already knew I came to visit."

The duke straightened as he answered, "Yes. I received word from the church in Drenorov. I hesitated, as it seemed you wished to conduct your affairs quietly... but in the end, I took the liberty of seeking you out."

Unexpectedly, he revealed his source of information, and his tone remained respectful.

Ian found it odd. This didn’t feel like someone hiding hostility, unlike Cesare.

Still, he showed none of it.

"You must have had your reasons," said Ian.

"This is not a conversation suited for the open street." The duke glanced briefly at Thesaya beside him. "If it would not trouble you, may I request a private audience?"

Ian exchanged a look with Thesaya, whose eyes twitched slightly. He then said, "If you don’t mind speaking inside that carriage."

As she clicked her tongue again, the duke nodded. "Of course. I’m glad I had Borta wine prepared."

Ian smiled faintly. "Impressive foresight."

Thesaya turned away at that.

"I’ll finish what I was doing, Agent of the Saint," she added quietly, clearly meaning she would continue preparations to leave—and, if necessary, be ready to slip away.

Ian nodded slightly and stepped toward the carriage. The duke inclined his head slightly to Thesaya and stepped aside to clear the way.

"My apologies." Ian passed him without hesitation and climbed inside.

The interior was just as spacious and luxurious as it looked from the outside. Soft light from engraved spell circuits shimmered faintly along the ceiling.

"Wait outside, Sir."

"But, Your Grace—"

Behind him, the voices of the duke and Cesare followed. Settling into one of the cushioned seats, Ian glanced back through the open door.

"I believe I was the one who requested a private audience first. Wait here."

"Understood." The duke finally turned.

As he passed the squire, Ian didn’t miss the faint twitch at the corner of one of his eyes. It was yet another detail that stirred a strange sense of unease.

That one’s clearly a pure devotee.

Ian flicked a glance at Cesare, who was standing behind him. The knight was looking back, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

Thud.

The carriage door shut as the duke stepped inside. In an instant, the surroundings fell silent. The spell circuit on the carriage had blocked out all external sound.

"Thank you for accommodating my sudden request, Agent of the Saint."

Seated across from Ian, the duke offered a pewter goblet. In his other hand, he already held a bottle of wine.

"No need for thanks. You came in person—it’s only proper." Ian accepted the goblet, watching the duke pour.

To Ian, the smile spreading across the man’s lips looked closer to a bitter one.

"I’ve heard that you’ve ascended as the Archduke of the North and even reached the rank of a demigod. My sincere congratulations," said the duke, pouring wine into his own goblet.

Ian simply lifted his glass slightly in acknowledgment before bringing it to his lips. Setting the bottle aside, the duke glanced at him and continued, "Which is why I never expected you to visit Racliffe. From Drenorov, I assumed you would return North—"

"I’m aware you come from refined central nobility, Duke," Ian casually interjected as he lowered his cup. Meeting the duke’s briefly startled eyes, he smiled faintly. "But I’m from the frontier. You’ve praised me enough. Let’s move on to the point."

"Understood," the duke answered quietly and took a drink, his hand trembling faintly as he did. "The suspicion that the great Platinum Dragon brought down the Black Wall has been confirmed, Agent of the Saint."

He set his cup down on the armrest. His face had stiffened, matching the weight of his words.

"However, since you have not responded to the Great Church’s summons, they have yet to determine whether it was something long prepared or an impulsive act caused by your disappearance."

Ian simply nodded and took another sip.

So they’re still circling that.

"Furthermore, you are suspected of having already met His Highness beyond the Black Wall and of having allied yourself with him."

Ian’s eyes shifted toward the duke.

After a brief pause, the duke continued carefully, "So for the time being, if you would remain in Racliffe—"

"That’s not a suspicion. It’s a fact," Ian cut him off again, lowering his goblet. "I have already met His Highness Hyked beyond the Black Wall. I’ve joined forces with him, and together, we defeated an archdemon."

Meeting his gaze, Ian went on, "And as for the Platinum Dragon—its destruction of the Black Wall was because of me. It acted only out of a pure and noble desire to save its sole agent. So yes, I bear responsibility for the wall’s fall as well."

The words came without hesitation. A low, stunned breath escaped the duke.

Shock and disbelief filled his widened eyes, as though he couldn’t trust what he’d just heard.

Ian tilted his glass slightly. "Report it exactly as I’ve said. And tell them I’ll await their judgment."

"No... that’s—" The duke faltered, lips parting uselessly.

Ian simply drank in silence.

"Y-You shouldn’t make such a decision so rashly, Agent of the Saint!" the duke finally said, drawing in a sharp breath.

His eyes now held not just shock, but concern—almost desperation. "If I report this as you’ve said, you’ll be branded a heretic and a traitor!"

It wasn’t the reaction of a messenger for the Grand Church or the Round Table. If anything, it sounded genuine.

So that’s what’s been off about him.

The duke bore no hostility at all. If anything, he likely hadn’t even come here of his own will.

"I’m curious to see if that’s truly how it plays out."

However, it changed nothing.

Draining his glass, Ian met the duke’s eyes with a faint smile. "Write your report as soon as you return, Duke."