When Morgana raised her head again after exchanging superficial greetings, the figure of Balin, who had been there just moments ago, was nowhere to be seen.
Where did he go?
Startled, Morgana glanced around, searching for him. Less than three seconds had passed since she last looked away.
How could he have disappeared in that short time?
To make matters worse, nobles from the provinces were still trickling into the banquet hall, arriving late as usual.
Finding a man she had only just met today in the Great Hall, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people, was no easy task.
With guests carrying everything from dresses to fans and goblets, it was hard to even recognize the clothing of those behind her.
And of course, his hair was that common straw color…!
Morgana narrowed her eyes, scanning the dazzling crowd with renewed focus.
💫
Lately, the world had turned gray for Count Ruddle.
Beautiful flowers left him numb, and sweet melodies no longer reached his ears.
All he felt was a sudden, suffocating wave of sorrow.
Even eating felt like swallowing sand.
Just as the pain of his son’s death had begun to dull, he lost Isolde too—rendering all of life meaningless.
“My lord, are you all right?”
Tristan’s voice pulled him from his daze as he stared blankly at his wineglass in a secluded corner of the banquet hall.
Count Ruddle downed the wine in one gulp and extended the empty glass toward him.
“You must be grieving too. I’m sorry to drag you along to this banquet.”
“It’s fine. I came because I wanted to.”
Though Tristan said that, the count knew how he had spent the past few nights—clutching Isolde’s coffin, weeping until dawn.
He had always been a knight devoted to the young lady.
Despite his common birth, his skill was exceptional, and unlike those stuffy nobles, he had an earnest simplicity that made him one of the count’s most cherished retainers.
“Go fetch me another glass of wine, will you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tristan, holding an empty glass, silently searched for a servant carrying a tray before disappearing into the crowd.
Meanwhile, Count Ruddle stared at the young noblewomen of Isolde’s age with bloodshot eyes.
“Had I known this would happen, I would never have agreed to marry her off.”
Even if Avalon were to fall, I wanted my daughter to live.
This was before Morgana obtained the sword—a marriage arrangement made with the intention of ensuring her safety in the event of war.
Had I known it would come to this, I would have chosen to stay together, whether in life or death.
Overwhelmed with regret, Count Ruddle clutched his chest.
This banquet was crucial for Avalon’s future.
As the head of House Ruddle, he could not afford to ruin it.
Just as he steadied his ragged breath and swallowed the lump in his throat—
A familiar pair of shoes came into view.
“I heard the unfortunate news, Count Ruddle.”
When he looked up, a blond man in Brittonic knight’s attire offered him a bitter smile.
“Ah… You must be from the envoy. My apologies for causing concern.”
“Not at all. I heard Lady Isolde’s funeral has yet to be held.”
Who could have relayed such detailed information?
He knew the incident at the temple had become a hot topic in Avalon’s social circles.
The thought of his daughter finding no peace even in death made Count Ruddle’s heart ache anew.
“I should lay her to rest… but every time I see her, it feels as though she might open her eyes again. I simply cannot bring myself to bury her.”
What if she were merely asleep?
He checked several times a day to see if she was still breathing. Isolde looked exactly as she had in life.
The Britain knight whispered in response, “Could it be that only her breath has ceased, while her form remains unchanged?”
“How did you know?”
Has news of Isolde’s condition already spread as far as Britain?
The man whispered discreetly to the startled Count of Ruddle.
“I am a knight of the House of Gihawk, betrothed to Lady Isolde. The young lord was deeply distressed by the lack of contact from your lordship.”
“Ah, I see. How unfortunate. I was so preoccupied that I failed to inform you of the broken engagement.”
“Not at all. I was hoping to discuss the matter in more detail…”
Flustered by the man’s sudden appearance, the Count of Ruddle fumbled for words.
In response, the man gestured smoothly toward the door leading out of the banquet hall.
“Shall we speak privately in the waiting room?”
“Yes, of course.”
Leaving the noisy banquet hall behind, the two entered a small waiting chamber.
It was a space primarily used by attendants before formal events.
Now, with the banquet in full swing, all the servants were attending to their masters, leaving the room empty.
The Count of Ruddle awkwardly cleared his throat.
“I shall write a letter to the head of your house now—could you deliver it for me?”
“Certainly.”
As soon as the man gave his consent, the Count retrieved paper provided in the waiting room.
Scratch, scratch—he began writing an apology and the tragic news concerning Isolde.
Meanwhile, the man standing behind him idly toyed with the remaining sheets of paper.
After a moment of fidgeting, he casually held a few pages over the decorative candle nearby.
Whoosh—flames erupted, sending dark smoke billowing upward.
Distracted by his writing, the Count of Ruddle sniffed the air and asked, “Do you smell something burning?”
When he looked up, thick black smoke swirled in the air. So much had been burned that the chandelier was partially obscured, casting shadows across the room.
“Shadows have fallen, Count of Ruddle.”
At the man’s amused voice, the Count spun around—only to see him fiddling with a dagger at his waist.
Startled, the Count of Ruddle stumbled back and demanded, “What—what is the meaning of this? What is that dagger for?”
“Worry not, Counf of Ruddle.”
“How dare you! Even as an envoy of Britain, you wouldn’t—!”
The moment Count Ruddle flared in anger, the man rubbed his face with his hand.
After scrubbing it several times, Count Ruddle gasped in shock at the face now revealed.
“B-Balin? How in the world…?”
“Ha, thanks to you standing right there during the hunt, I had to suffer in the dungeon before getting out.”
“How dare you pin your crimes on someone else!”
Count Ruddle’s hands trembled violently in the presence of his son’s killer.
But Balin simply smirked and raised his dagger.
“Now, now, Count. The living ought to stay alive, right? So, your daughter’s dead anyway!”
Before the words even finished, Baln drove his dagger straight into Count Ruddle’s shadow.
The severed shadow instantly turned into black smoke and was absorbed into the dagger with a hiss.
At the same time, Count Rud collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His state was identical to Lady Isolde’s—breath gone, yet his appearance unchanged from when he was alive.
Balin nudged him lightly with his foot and muttered,
“Should’ve known your limits.”
💫
“Kyaaah!”
Amid the bustling Great Hall during the banquet, a maid’s scream pierced through the music.
Morgana, who had been mingling and exchanging greetings, turned her head toward the hall’s entrance at the sound.
The doors burst open, and a pale-faced maid stumbled in, half-crawling in panic.
“C-C-Count Ruddle! Count Ruddle—!”
Behind her, guards rushed in urgently and finished the sentence.
“Count Ruddle has passed away.”
Instinctively, Morgana realized it was the doing of the knight who had been lurking near the count. Her fists clenched imperceptibly.
No wonder he disappeared from the hall!
The banquet hall erupted into murmurs.
Suddenly, someone draped an arm over Morgana’s shoulder. She looked up to see Kellive’s profile beside her.
“From this moment, not a single ant leaves the palace.”
The hall, which had been in chaos just moments before, fell silent at his command.
Startled, Morgana squirmed in his arms and whispered, “Kellive, I know who the culprit is. I can tell just by looking.”
“You mean the Britain knight.”
At his immediate answer, Morgana’s eyes widened.
“How did you know?”
“You asked about them earlier, so I paid close attention.”
It seemed he had picked up on her hint during that brief exchange.
But the suspects were the Britain delegation.
If they accused the wrong person, it could easily escalate into a full-scale war between nations.
As calmly and kindly as ever, Kellive gave orders to the guards.
“Escort them to the scene.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
As he followed the guards, Kellive cautiously asked Morgana again,
“Should I go check first and explain the details to you later? It might be hard for you to see.”
“It’s fine. I’ll come with you.”
It was clear that the knight’s target had been Count Ruddle from the start.
Something had felt off from the moment he started lingering around him. Confident in her judgment, Morgana followed the guards to the waiting room.
Count Ruddle lay collapsed on the floor, looking eerily pristine.
Just like Lady Isolde, he seemed as though he were merely asleep.
Noticing this as well, Kellive’s golden eyes briefly scanned the surroundings.
The waiting room reeked of something burning.
As Morgana surveyed the area, her eyes suddenly narrowed.
‘Huh? Count Ruddle’s… shadow is missing?’
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