Kiole sat in the lobby café of his lodging, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The Emperor had arranged for him to stay in a hotel located in Sector 5—a place commonly used by mid-level regional officials or rural nobles visiting the capital.

Because of its nature, the hotel rarely hosted long-term guests. Its modestly upscale facilities made it ideal for someone trying to remain unnoticed while collecting information. Yet Kiole wasn’t perceptive enough to realize that. To him, the place was simply smaller and shabbier than his own room, even if he combined the entire floor.

He trembled, afraid someone might recognize his face.

“The letter I sent to the Cavalry... It must’ve arrived by now. It has to have arrived.”

He had sent a letter to Yuder Aile the day before yesterday. It definitely wasn’t because he was afraid of getting kicked out again if he visited in person. Absolutely not.

A lot had happened to Kiole la Diarca in just a few days.

The Emperor had sent him a discreet invitation to observe both the Room of Truth and the trial of the Crown Prince’s former attendant. There, he had seen the face of his eldest brother—the one who had tried to kill him. Kiole hadn’t been particularly shocked when his brother ignored him as if he didn’t exist. But seeing him casually discard the rampaging Crown Prince? That had been a shock. An even bigger one came when the Emperor referred to his brother as “Little Duke.”

What the hell is going on? While he sat there in stunned confusion, nobles who recognized him gathered and started shouting.

“Lord Diarca. Could it be true that you’ve turned your back on the family? No, right? Surely this is all part of the Duke’s plan?”

“Why did Little Duke Kironne act like that? Don’t tell me you two have joined hands to sincerely support His Majesty?”

“Could you tell us the Duke’s current condition?”

“Where exactly does House Diarca stand?”

He wanted to shout, How the hell should I know? He hadn’t gone anywhere near the estate since nearly being killed by his brother’s assassins. He didn’t know a thing about the Duke’s intentions, the family’s stance, or even whether his father was awake or not.

Unexpectedly, the one who rescued Kiole from this situation was none other than Revlin, the Third Prince of House Apeto. Though he was considered a heretic for formally joining the Cavalry, he was still the only healthy direct descendant of Apeto. The moment the delicate, porcelain-like boy stared silently at them, the nameless nobles backed away like the receding tide.

Kiole had tried to avoid him too—but the boy had spoken first, unexpectedly.

“You resemble my eldest brother quite a lot, Lord Diarca the First.”

“What?”

“Don’t speak aloud. I’m using my ability.”

With his lips unmoving, the boy’s voice entered Kiole’s mind. He smiled faintly.

“Your brother and mine... they’re exactly alike. Willing to do anything for power. Watching him made me think a lot. Outsiders probably think your brother bowed his head to the Emperor today, but... well. You and I know better, don’t we?”

Know what? Kiole thought blankly, but Revlin only shrugged coolly.

“I’m heading back to the estate soon. I wonder what path you’ll choose. Funny, our situations right now are quite similar.”

“......”

“Hm. You won’t even give me a hint, huh. Fine. Like my brother Elre says—if I wait and watch, I’ll find out.”

What situations? Who’s Elre? Kiole hadn’t even asked before the boy turned and left.

Only much later did Kiole begin to understand what Revlin had meant.

That Kironne’s submissive act before the Emperor today hadn’t been sincere. Revlin seemed certain of that—because he and Kiole were in similar positions. That “similar” meant...

—Young master. I’m relieved to see you’re safe. The estate is in chaos. The Duke still hasn’t woken, and though the head butler and those loyal to him are trying to expel the First Son from the estate, things aren’t going well. The butler and his aides are convinced the First Son sent the assassins. They’ve already made a covert request for aid from the Private Military Management Office—it’s confirmed.

There had been one person who greatly helped Kiole confirm whether Kironne really had sent assassins after him. A soldier from House Diarca’s private army—he had been the last person Kiole had encountered before the attack, when visiting the Private Military Management Office’s prison.

That man had been jailed for protesting the mistreatment of Awakener soldiers, and Kiole had gotten him released. When Kiole later became the official “investigator of the attempted Empress murder” under the Emperor’s order and contacted him, the man had immediately agreed to cooperate.

If not for him, Kiole wouldn’t have been able to so confidently verify ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) what his brother had done.

But now, what?

Not only had his brother sent assassins—he had allegedly harmed their father too?

Everyone thought so, but there was no proof. The Duke hadn’t woken up. That was the only reason they hadn’t acted yet.

If you had any brain at all, it was obvious who harmed the Duke. But Kiole... didn’t. So it hit him like a hammer.

Only now did he truly understand what Revlin had been implying.

After the Crown Prince’s failed assassination, the Duke of Apeto suddenly disappeared, said to be gravely ill. At first, people thought he was faking illness to dodge responsibility. But even after months passed without a trace of him, his eldest son Eishes began behaving like he’d already inherited the title. Slowly, people realized the truth.

The Duke hadn’t hidden. He’d been backstabbed while everyone assumed he was safe. And the one who did it... could only be the First Son, now playing the Duke in his place. Apeto’s bloodline made it all too clear.

Though Apeto had produced many high-ranking priests and even Popes, it also birthed many who were violent and greedy. So greedy that titles were rarely passed peacefully, even between parent and child. Even someone like Kiole, who normally paid no attention, remembered that much.

Kiole recalled a conversation from a meal after the Apeto Duke vanished—when the Duke of Diarca had said:

“By now, he’s probably barely breathing in some corner. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already dog food. That barbaric house likes to flaunt its piety, but in truth, they’re less than beasts.”

Everyone assumed the Apeto Duke was already dead—or worse—and yet behaved as though it were natural.

Revlin knew that.

More than knew—he’d directly compared his situation with Kiole’s.

If he said he was going back to the estate... did that mean he intended to fight Eishes, the First Son, outside the Cavalry?

Kiole didn’t know. His head spun.

Only one question burned in his mind.

Why?

Why would Kironne try to kill Kiole? Why the Duke?

What could he possibly gain?

Everyone believed Kironne was the successor. Kiole did too. The Crown Prince was intelligent. Kironne’s position was solid. Their father was in good health. All Kiole had to do was swing his sword and ignore the rest. So why?

With the letter from the soldier in front of him, Kiole clutched his head.

And in that blank space, someone’s voice rose in his mind.

“Do you really think Kironne la Diarca would gain nothing by killing you...?”

Yuder Aile’s voice—cold enough to burn—echoed vividly.

“Sometimes, the result is the clearest proof. If they tried to kill you, it means there’s something they could only gain by seeing you dead.”

That’s right. That man had said it too.

If I were you, I’d start by figuring out what your brother hoped to gain by killing you.

But even now, at this point—Kiole had no guesses. Not a clue.

As his head throbbed in pain, Yuder Aile’s voice flared once more like a spark:

Then go ask.

“Ask who?”

Kiole looked back down at the letter from the soldier. According to it, the person leading the resistance against Kironne was none other than the Duke’s oldest retainer—the head butler.

And Kiole knew the head butler’s daily schedule very well.

Every day, he went to Karl Lorwik Street in the 4th Wall to purchase special incense for the Duke. It was only one district away—very close.