By dusk the next day, Dara had once again slipped into the inn where Blake was staying. Unlike his previous visit, however, he was not here to assassinate the young master of House Zachary.
"This is my master's reply, Mr. Felix," Dara said, his voice low as he emerged from the shadows. He bowed respectfully, holding the letter out to Blake with both hands. All traces of his earlier arrogance were gone now. After facing Blake in direct combat, he had been forced to acknowledge the bitter truth—against this young nobleman, he stood no chance at all.
*Is he really just a High Swordsman?*
Dara stole a glance at Blake, who was reading the letter with rapt attention. He unconsciously touched the faint scar on the back of his hand. To be honest, he had fought against several High Swordsmen before. Except for his first mission, those duels had been deliberate challenges he had issued to hone his own skills. True, High Swordsmen were formidable opponents—on the battlefield, they could hold their own against a hundred men. But in those previous fights, Dara had never felt so utterly outmatched. Battling those other High Swordsmen had been difficult, yes, but manageable. His fight against Blake, however, had been a completely different story. In front of this seemingly twenty-year-old noble, he had felt less like a master assassin and more like a bumbling novice taking his first steps in combat. High Swordsmen were strong, he knew that—but he had long since mastered their typical fighting styles, and at the very least, he had always been able to put up a decent resistance. Yet none of his skills or tricks had worked against Blake. The fight had felt as if it had ended the moment it began, leaving him with no room to maneuver, no chance to strike back.
*Is this kind of power really within the realm of a High Swordsman?*
Dara wondered silently, but he had no way to prove his suspicions. His own strength was simply too limited to fully comprehend the capabilities of someone at Blake's level. So he could only harbor his doubts, unable to confirm or deny anything.
While Dara watched him intently, Blake was fully absorbed in the contents of the letter. It was clear that the letter's author understood Blake's intentions perfectly, as well as his current position. The wording was careful and deferential, subtly proposing an alliance and expressing a desire for a face-to-face meeting—with the time, place, and terms to be set entirely at Blake's discretion. It was a bold move, to say the least; not many people would dare to give another person that much control. What was more, despite clearly knowing how precarious his situation was, the writer's tone was surprisingly calm and unhurried—a stark contrast to the flustered urgency of the elderly loyalist who had visited earlier.
*Was it confidence in his own strength? Or a firm grasp of the overall situation? Or perhaps he truly believed he could offer terms that would make Blake's heart race?*
*A very interesting fellow indeed.*
"I've finished reading," Blake said, folding the letter and handing it to Ophelia, who stood quietly at his side.
"I can feel your master's sincerity... If he wishes to meet with me face-to-face, then tell him to come here tomorrow night at this same hour. He may bring as many men as he likes—it makes no difference to me."
Blake paused, his lips curving into a meaningful smile.
"Of course, while I couldn't care less how many men he brings—they pose no threat to me—I will show some consideration for the safety of my potential client."
Dara felt a faint flush creep up his cheeks at those words. To be honest, he had been genuinely worried on the way here that Blake might demand his master come alone as a test of his sincerity. For the inn was a very different place now compared to before. That very morning, House Zachary had dispatched their soldiers to evict every guest except Blake—even the innkeeper had not been spared. What was more, they had driven away all the residents living in the surrounding area, forcibly cordoning off the entire block as a restricted zone.
Officially, this was all done to protect the young master's safety. But everyone knew there was more to it than that. After all, House Zachary was not yet fully split apart; many people's loyalties were still unclear. Yet all factions had sent their men to "protect" the inn, each side clearly fearing that the others might make a move first. The loyalists were worried the opposition might sneak in and kidnap the young master from under their noses. The opposition, meanwhile, were terrified that the loyalists might reach an agreement with Blake and take the young master back to the family estate. Thus, a tense standoff had formed in secret between the two sides.
Of course, neither side dared to resort to force against Blake. For one thing, the terrifying power of a High Swordsman was not something their private soldiers could hope to match. For another, doing so would turn their secret conflict into an open war. Whichever side made a move to seize the young master, the other would do everything in their power to stop them. That would spell the end of the last shreds of peace within House Zachary, plunging the entire family into an all-out war with no quarter given.
In such a precarious situation, if his master came alone, disaster would be all but inevitable. Although the family had tried to avoid large-scale clashes, secret assassinations and skirmishes were impossible to prevent. Fortunately, Blake had no intention of making such a demand—or perhaps, as he had said, no matter how many men his master brought, it would be Blake who held the upper hand.
*Was this blind arrogance... or the unshakable confidence of true strength?*
"I will relay your message to my master," Dara said, pushing the thoughts aside. Such matters were far beyond his station to contemplate, anyway. The fact that Blake had not demanded his master come alone meant his safety was assured—and that was enough to ease Dara's worries. With that, he bowed deeply and vanished back into the shadows without another word.
"Well?" Blake asked, turning to Ophelia only after Dara was gone. She was already scanning the letter carefully. Before they had even arrived in Roya, she had used her sharp wit and silver tongue to extract a great deal of information about the inner workings of House Zachary from the young master's attendants. The attendants, completely oblivious to her true motives, had answered every question she asked, telling her everything they knew. Of course, their limited political acumen meant the inside information they possessed was fairly superficial. But luckily, Kaster had also been gathering intelligence for them along the way. While his reports were not comprehensive, they had at least provided them with a basic understanding of the situation.
"He certainly seems sincere enough... but this is all we can glean from the letter," Ophelia said, folding the letter and tucking it into her bodice. She frowned slightly, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.
"Though, if I remember correctly, this Mr. Keller Zach is the young master's cousin. He is the son of the old patriarch's sister and a cadet branch noble. And according to those attendants, he is one of the leading voices within the family advocating for the protection of the young master and the restoration of the direct bloodline's rule."
"He is also the strongest contender for the patriarch's seat among the cadet branches," Blake said, lifting an eyebrow and cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"After all, clansmen who are too distantly related to the direct bloodline have little hope of ascending to power, no matter how hard they try."
Ophelia nodded in agreement, not the least bit surprised by Blake's observation.
This was not unusual. According to noble tradition, the direct bloodline held absolute priority in the line of succession. But this priority could shift under certain circumstances. If there were both male and female heirs in the direct bloodline, the male would inherit first. If there were no males, a female heir would be recognized. But if there were no direct heirs left at all—no males, no females—then the family would have to turn to members of the cadet branches who were closely related to the direct bloodline. Take Keller, for example: his mother had been a member of the direct Zach bloodline, but after marrying into a cadet branch, her connection to the main family had weakened. Of course, as the old patriarch's sister, her status as a direct descendant was still acknowledged. But her children were a different matter. Though they shared the Zach blood, they could not be considered part of the direct line.
In this regard, Keller's situation was somewhat similar to Ophelia's own. Strictly speaking, both of them were descendants of the direct bloodline—but under normal circumstances, their claims to inheritance would never be recognized. Ophelia had only been accepted by the royal family because she had displayed the distinctive traits of royal blood. Keller, however, had not been so lucky. For his claim to the Zach patriarch's seat to be considered, he would have to wait for a crisis—an unavoidable situation where there were no direct heirs left to take the throne. Only then would his name even be put forward as a candidate. After all, this was House Zachary; even without a direct heir, the family would never allow a clansman with only a tenuous connection to the direct bloodline to seize power. The old patriarch had only one sister, who had given birth to only one child. That meant if the young master were to die—if the direct Zach bloodline were to become completely extinct—the only viable candidate both factions could agree on would be Keller.
In such a scenario, Keller would gain the support of both sides. To the loyalists, he was the son of the old patriarch's sister—his blood, though impure, was still acceptable. To the opposition, he was a member of a cadet branch—someone they could easily manipulate to secure their own interests. If the young master were to remain alive, the standoff between the two factions would drag on indefinitely. After all, he was the direct heir; no matter what he did, his bloodline could never be ignored. But Keller's position was ambiguous. If he were to ascend to the patriarch's seat, it would at least bring a temporary end to the conflict.
The fact that Keller had chosen to align himself publicly with the loyalist faction showed just how clever he was. He knew full well that his position was sensitive—as the strongest cadet branch contender, openly joining the opposition would make him a target of suspicion and hostility from all sides. But by championing the cause of the direct bloodline, he could at least claim the moral high ground, even if not everyone trusted him. And in this way, if the young master were to die, he could step into the breach as the reluctant savior forced to take power to preserve House Zachary.
Blake had never met Keller in person, but from the letter alone, he could tell that the man was a consummate politician—smooth, calculating, and utterly ruthless. If their upcoming meeting confirmed that his potential client was indeed this kind of man, Blake would feel far more confident negotiating with him. After all, a man who could navigate the treacherous waters between the loyalists and the opposition with such ease was someone who could be trusted to deliver on his promises—and to pay handsomely for Blake's services.
"Have they grown suspicious yet?" Blake asked, shifting the subject.
"That child has started to harbor some doubts," Ophelia replied with a sigh. "But he is still just a child... perhaps he has never experienced failure before, so he remains far too confident in his own abilities."
She paused, her expression darkening slightly.
"As for the others, they haven't noticed anything yet. But I suspect that boy may try to use them to test us."
"It must have been exhausting dealing with those brainless fools," Blake said, clapping Ophelia sympathetically on the shoulder. Idiots were always easy to deceive, but once they set their minds to something, convincing them otherwise was a herculean task. Dealing with people like that was often more draining than outwitting the most cunning of schemers. Blake had no desire to waste his time on them, so he had dumped the job on Ophelia. And judging by the faint tiredness in her eyes, even the once-celebrated prodigy princess of the realm was struggling to cope with their stupidity. Her usually bright and beautiful face looked a little pale and drawn.
"Once this is all over, I'm definitely going to ask you for a vacation, my lord," Ophelia said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Her tone was half-joking, half-serious.
"Honestly, I'd rather go back to Twilight Castle and tackle those mountains of paperwork than deal with them for one more day."
"I'll approve it without hesitation," Blake said, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. He fell silent for a moment, as if something had just occurred to him.
"Wait a minute, Ophelia—has that boy been acting inappropriately around you?"
"Hmm?" Ophelia blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. She thought for a moment, and a look of distaste flashed across her face.
"To be honest, his gaze... it's not the look of a child. Especially when he looks at me... I find it deeply unsettling. He's still too young to do anything, of course, but I can't shake the feeling that..."
"I understand," Blake cut her off with a nod. He gave her a reassuring smile.
"You may go and rest now, Miss Ophelia. I think I've come up with a much better plan."
Ophelia tilted her head in confusion for a moment, then a faint blush spread across her cheeks as realization dawned. She nodded silently and turned to leave the room. A short while later, there was a soft knock on the door, and Kaster entered, his face a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"My apologies for disturbing your rest, Lord Blake," Kaster said, bowing respectfully. "Miss Ophelia said you wished to speak with me?"
*Truly, she is every inch the princess,* Blake thought approvingly, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He snapped his fingers and gestured for Kaster to take a seat.
"I do have a task for you—something that requires your particular set of skills."
"Please, my lord—command me!" Kaster said, straightening up eagerly. He had been working tirelessly to earn Blake's trust ever since joining his service, but Blake had never assigned him any truly important missions. The prospect of finally being given a chance to prove himself made his heart race. If he succeeded, he would draw closer to the young lord, and their relationship would grow even stronger.
"We will spare no effort to carry out your orders!"
"You must have been working very hard these past few days," Blake said, much to Kaster's surprise. Instead of getting straight to the point, he had asked an unrelated question.
"It is no trouble at all, my lord!" Kaster replied quickly. "It is our honor to serve you."
"It *must* have been hard," Blake insisted, ignoring his protest.
"Well... if I'm being honest, it has been a little exhausting," Kaster admitted reluctantly, finally catching on that Blake was trying to lead him to a particular answer. He had no choice but to concede.
"I am your master, after all," Blake said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy pouch of gold coins, tossing it onto the table in front of Kaster.
"These are tense times, I know—but even the hardest warriors need to relax now and then, don't they? No drinking, of course—that would be unwise. But there's no harm in a little company. Take this money and find some pretty women to help the men unwind. What do you think? A decent reward for all their hard work, wouldn't you say?"
"My lord?" Kaster stared at the pouch of gold in stunned silence. Prostitutes were a common sight in taverns and inns across the continent, catering to the needs of soldiers and travelers alike. Kaster and his men had certainly indulged in their services before. But under the current circumstances, the thought of doing so now was unthinkable. Putting aside the question of how Blake would react to such debauchery, there was also Ophelia to consider. How could they possibly cavort with women right under the nose of such a beautiful and refined lady? If word got out, they would be the laughingstock of every soldier in Roya.
"You needn't worry about Ophelia," Blake said, as if reading his mind. "She understands the needs of men. She won't object."
He leaned back in his chair, his smile turning into a sly smirk.
"I have one condition, though. When you're finding these women, make sure you check their backgrounds thoroughly. I don't want any trouble. And... find me the most beautiful one of the lot. I have a special use for her."
"*You* have a use for her, my lord?" Kaster's eyes widened in disbelief. Those tavern women? No matter how pretty they were, they couldn't hold a candle to Ophelia. Why would his lord want one of them when he already had the company of a former princess?
Kaster was more confused than ever. He had absolutely no idea what Blake was planning.