Glenn departed from Bayek, intending to personally fetch the golden-haired young lady first— and, incidentally, to eradicate the Punk family.

  The great stag charged down the royal highway at its utmost speed, carrying only Glenn on its back since no carriage frame had been installed. They paused nowhere along the way.

  Whenever the stag tired, Glenn simply transformed and carried it for a stretch. Their combined pace was nothing short of a tempest— and faintly comical.

  By the very next day, they had already reached the designated rendezvous point.

  The moment Perlnas saw Glenn, she dashed toward him and wrapped him in an enthusiastic embrace.

  “All right, all right. You reek,” Glenn said bluntly, shattering the emotional moment without hesitation.

  “Isn’t it because I followed your instructions these past few days!?” the golden-haired lady snapped, shoving him away and stomping hard on the top of his foot.

  But such pain was nothing to Glenn, and he simply allowed her to vent.

  “How can you be so insufferable!” Perlnas growled, seeing him smile at her despite being stomped on.

  “Is this how you treat your savior and strategist?” Glenn replied with exaggerated wounded pride.

  Perlnas could only mutter, embarrassed, “Thank you…”

  “That’s better. Much cuter like this.” Glenn reached out and patted her slightly dirty hair.

  Her face flushed even deeper, yet she didn’t pull away.

  “All right. I’m heading out to deal with the vermin of House Punk. You, on the other hand, should use those coins on you to enjoy yourself—take a proper hot bath and get something good to eat.”

  As he spoke, Glenn prepared to mount the stag and head toward the capital city of Batesey.

  “Wait—can you do it alone? Wouldn’t it be better to bring help?” Perlnas called out anxiously.

  “Don’t underestimate me. Have you forgotten how I saved you from the fire and the flood? Just wait for tomorrow’s newspaper. It’ll be quite the spectacle.”

  With that, Glenn rode the stag toward the distant horizon.

  This time, he intended to use assassination— to ensure news of the Punk family’s annihilation would surface days later, buying him enough time to vanish without a trace. Even a mage capable of scrying events long past wouldn’t be able to locate his true body.

  Though his strength was more than enough to ignore the capital’s guardian knights and special enforcement teams, there were no demons there to obscure his presence.

  If they brought in a mage skilled in tracking and divination, he would be exposed— and peace would become a luxury he could never afford again.

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  Perlnas stared at his fading silhouette for a long time, her heart churning with complicated emotions.

  …

  Batesey Capital. Inside the Central Police Bureau.

  Unaware of the catastrophe about to befall him, Count Punk was still attempting to defend himself before the Chief Justice.

  For days, rumors of the count’s eldest son kidnapping the viscount’s niece had spread wildly, throwing the Punk family into utter chaos.

  Now yet another strange incident surfaced— Homitt was dead.

  This only fanned the flames between the two noble families, becoming gossip that no outsider could resist discussing.

  “I told you—I know nothing about this! I only just returned from the capital! You should know that! With that damn elven delegation, how would I have time for such nonsense!? And my foolish eldest son must have been used by someone! He’s old enough—why would he abduct a minor girl!?”

  Listening to the shameless excuses spilling endlessly from Count Punk’s mouth, the Chief Justice and the senior officers remained expressionless.

  Who knew what they were thinking in their hearts.

  “All right, my esteemed Count. Everyone in the capital knows what your children are like. Fortunately for you, we haven’t found evidence yet. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here now. We only summoned you today to offer your family a chance at dignity—don’t wait until we produce irrefutable proof before you confess. That would only disgrace your ancestors.”

  The Chief Justice was a stern, sharp-tongued man, never one to soften his words.

  If not for the crown backing him, you would never dare speak to me like this… Count Punk seethed inwardly, though his smile remained fixed.

  “Of course I understand. But I believe that even if my son’s character is questionable, he would never go so far…”

  …

  When the count finally exited the Central Bureau, his attendants quickly surrounded him.

  While pondering how to suppress the matter, he made his way toward his private carriage.

  When nobles struck at nobles, the laws that shielded nobility became meaningless. And that was exactly what vexed the count the most.

  “Count Punk.”

  Before he could board, a familiar female voice called out.

  He turned and saw Lady Aniya.

  His expression darkened. It was she who had thrown him into this humiliating mess. He already hated her and her daughter to the bone.

  He never considered who was truly at fault— only who had dared trouble him.

  “Lady Aniya, what do you want?” he asked coldly, no longer bothering with courtesy.

  Dressed in a pale yellow gown and an elegant soft hat, accompanied by her maids, Lady Aniya stood beside her carriage.

  Clearly, she too had come to the Bureau and happened to cross paths with him.

  “I wish you a pleasant evening, Count,” she said pleasantly— yet her eyes were filled with the delight of someone watching an unfolding tragedy.

  “Madwoman…” Count Punk muttered under his breath before climbing into his carriage.

  But on the road back, her expression and tone gnawed at him, stirring unease— as if something terrible had already set its sights on him.

  Is she planning something? Her? Ridiculous theatrics…

  Lost in his spiraling guesses, he finally arrived at the gates of his estate.

  Before he could step down, the dark mage assigned to protect him suddenly spoke with grave tension:

  “Wait, my lord. There is death within the estate.”

  Count Punk froze, dread gripping him. Softly, he asked, “Do you know what happened?”

  “…Many people inside are dead,” the mage answered.

  “What!?” The count’s pupils constricted violently, heartbeat surging. “There are more than ten Tier-3 dark mages and over twenty Tier-2 knights in the estate! Who could possibly break in and kill them!?”

  After a tense pause, the mage added, fear creeping into his voice:

  “I do not know who entered, but I advise we leave immediately— for our safety.”

  “Then leave at once!” Count Punk trembled uncontrollably inside the carriage. He recalled Lady Aniya’s words at the Bureau’s steps and suddenly understood— “That woman must have known something!”

  The carriage had only just begun to turn when it jolted violently. A voice, like a demon whispering from the abyss, echoed:

  “Since you’re here… why not sit a while before leaving?”

  Two pitch-black hands seized the carriage— dragging it, along with every servant, into the depths of the estate.

  …