A knock sounded at the door.
Blake pushed it open and stepped into the room. The first thing he saw was the boy's tense, anxious face. The child was sitting on a chair, fidgeting with a toy in his hands. When he looked up and saw Blake, a flicker of fear crossed his eyes—but he quickly bit his lip and tried to put on a calm expression, meeting Blake's gaze head-on.
"Honored sir—what brings you here?"
"I have good news for you," Blake replied, walking over to stand beside the boy. He dipped into a slight bow and held out his right hand. "We've reached an agreement with your family. It's time to send you home… Master Zach."
"I can go home?!"
At those words, the boy could no longer contain his excitement. He jumped to his feet, his eyes widening in disbelief, and waved his small hands in joy. "Is it true? Can I really go home now?!"
"Indeed," Blake raised an eyebrow, then withdrew his hand and straightened up. "Please make your preparations at once. We depart immediately."
"I will! Honored sir—I'll get ready right away!" The boy nodded vigorously, then glanced around the room in confusion, as if searching for someone. "Honored sir… I don't see my attendants. Where have they—"
"They've gone ahead to make arrangements for your return," Blake cut him off smoothly. "We'll be responsible for escorting you safely the rest of the way."
"I see…" The boy's face fell slightly at the news. He let out a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, then nodded again. "I understand, honored sir. I'll prepare at once."
"Good. I suggest you hurry—after all, time is precious," Blake said, his tone carrying a faint, unspoken warning. He turned and walked toward the door, pausing only to deliver that final, loaded line before stepping out.
As Blake closed the door behind him, he found Ophelia standing nearby, her face etched with tension and unease.
"My lord—are you certain you want to do this?"
"Life is cruel," Blake shrugged indifferently at her uncertain question. "Though… not always. To be frank, this is nothing more than a game—a game I happen to enjoy very much. It's as simple as that."
"But…" Ophelia's lips parted, and she glanced hesitantly at the closed door. "He's just a child."
She lowered her voice, as if pleading with him—or perhaps trying to convince herself.
"Theoretically, yes," Blake held up a finger and shook his head slowly. "But to us, he's nothing more than a commodity. You of all people should understand this—his continued existence holds no value for us. On the contrary, his death will bring us great profit. Otherwise, do you think we'd have gone to all this trouble, traveled all this way, just to protect a potential threat? Don't forget—you agreed to this plan yourself. Have you suddenly had a change of heart?"
Ophelia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was true—she had not hesitated for a moment when they first devised the plan. For the sake of Blake's domain, sacrificing a boy who had nothing to do with them was a sound, logical decision. But now, as the moment of truth drew near, doubt gnawed at her for the first time. True, the boy was far from innocent—but he was still a child. Blake held his life in his hands; the child stood no chance against his lord. Did she really have the heart to watch him die? To stand by and let it happen, just as she had with the attendants?
Ophelia felt a cold dread wash over her. For the first time, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.
"I have had a change of heart," she admitted quietly.
"That's exactly why you ended up dying alone in that dry well," Blake's mocking words cut through her like a knife.
Ophelia's eyes widened in terror. She stared at him, her body trembling with uncontrollable fear. "You know about that…?"
"I don't know anything," Blake waved a hand, cutting her off before she could finish. "But anyone with half a brain could guess your story from your personality and the state you're in now. It doesn't matter, though—it's not my concern, and it shouldn't be yours either. Before you rush to stop me, have you forgotten who you are? Former Princess Ophelia?"
At that question, Ophelia's body shook violently. She bowed her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
"I haven't forgotten. I am your… adjutant, my lord."
"And what is the duty of an adjutant?"
"To carry out the orders of her superior… and to assist him in all things."
"Good," Blake's playful smile vanished, replaced by a cold, stern expression. "Then I order you, in your capacity as my adjutant, to fulfill your duty. Do you have anything else to say, Lady Ophelia?"
"I have nothing to say. I will make the preparations at once," Ophelia replied, her voice hollow. She felt as if all the strength had been drained from her body. She turned and walked away, her steps slow and heavy.
"What a high-maintenance princess," Blake muttered, watching her retreating figure. A faint, amused smirk tugged at his lips. "Though… that's precisely what makes this so interesting. Now then—the game continues. We're only just getting started."
When the two carriages pulled out of the inn and headed toward the Zach Clan estate, word spread like wildfire among the nobles of Roya City. They were caught completely off guard by this sudden development. They had all assumed Blake would linger in the city for a while longer—and the longer he stayed, the more time they would have to prepare. After all, Roya City was their territory; they held all the cards. But now, the young High-Ranked Swordsman had clearly made up his mind. He had reached an agreement—but with whom? And on what terms?
The nobles buzzed with speculation, but no one could find an answer. In recent days, envoys from both the Reformist and Traditionalist factions had flocked to the inn to negotiate with Blake. But he had shown no interest in striking a deal with either side. He had not favored one faction over the other; he had not given any indication of his true intentions. Every envoy had left the inn empty-handed, their hopes dashed. As a result, most of the nobles had assumed Blake was simply biding his time, waiting to drive up the price for his cooperation. But now, before they could even finish their preparations, he was already on the move?
No—that was not the real issue. They did not care whether Blake left the city or not. The real question was… was Master Zach on board one of those carriages?!
If he was, should they make a move?
But even if they did—what were their chances of success?
For a moment, every power in Roya City, great and small, held its breath. The struggle for the Zach Clan leadership had divided the city; alliances had shifted, loyalties had been bought and sold. No one could be sure who was friend and who was foe. What if they launched an attack, only to be betrayed from behind?
The carriages encountered no obstacles on the road. In fact, the moment they left the inn, the Traditionalists—having received advance intelligence—had already sealed off all the nearby streets, posting guards to keep out any unwanted onlookers. This sent a clear, dangerous signal to the Reformists: their worst fears were likely about to come true.
With no delays, the carriages soon arrived at the imposing gates of the Zach Clan estate. The guards stationed there had clearly been given their orders in advance—they did not hesitate for a moment, swinging the gates open wide to let the carriages pass. The vehicles rolled into the courtyard and came to a stop in front of a middle-aged man standing at attention, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Welcome, Lord Blake," the man said, stepping forward to open the carriage door. He bowed his head respectfully, his voice steady. "We have been waiting for you."
Blake stepped down from the carriage, his eyes lingering on the middle-aged man with a faint, meaningful smile. He said nothing, however, turning instead to walk toward the second carriage. He opened the door and held out his hand.
"Come along, Master Zach. We're home."
At the sound of the boy's name, the middle-aged man's jaw tightened. He wanted more than anything to look up and confirm that the child emerging from the carriage was indeed their young master—but as a servant, he dared not defy protocol. He clenched his fists tightly, fighting to contain his excitement, and stepped back a few paces.
Moments later, a small figure jumped down from the carriage.
It was Master Zach! The young master had returned!
The man's heart swelled with joy and relief. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat—he was too overcome with emotion to say anything. This was the moment they had all been waiting for, the moment they had fought and schemed for! With the young master back, the succession to the clan leadership was all but guaranteed. Their dreams were finally coming true!
Still, he remembered his duty. He stepped forward, dropping to one knee in a deep bow before the boy.
"Welcome home! Master Zach!!"
"Mm," the boy replied, his voice surprisingly flat.
To the man's astonishment, Zach did not show any of the excitement he had expected. Instead of rushing forward to greet his loyal servant, he simply nodded, then stepped down from the carriage and stood quietly beside Blake.
What's wrong with the young master? the man wondered, a flicker of confusion crossing his mind. But now was not the time to ask questions. He quickly suppressed his doubts, rose to his feet, and turned to lead them toward the inner courtyard.