Hours earlier, in the Criswell’s mansion, the sun had just peaked on the horizon, enveloping the whole land and its surroundings with its first rays of sun.

“Your Grace, a package was delivered during your rest. Would you like me to bring it to you?” One of the butlers at the residence asked, his figure bowing down to almost half his size.

“Bring it.”

At his words, the butler opened the door and allowed a man inside, his brand new suit and young age being characteristic of the most recent hires within the estate. In his hands was a dark wooden box, completely sealed and locked from the outside with a tight chunk of fabric. The moment it opened, a strange, putrid smell encircled the space with its presence, consuming any scents coming from the freshly picked flowers.

“What is that horrid smell?” The Duke rapidly took out his handkerchief and covered his airways, hoping to prevent such foulness to spread.

“I don’t know, Your Grace.” The butler stated rather awkwardly, his hands pulling a weirdly shaped ball made of several colored layers of cloth from inside. With his heart beating rather harshly and his stomach twisting from within, courtesy of the horrid fragrance spreading onto his nostrils, his fingers began removing the layers, one by one.

“This is...!” Chunks of blood fell on the young boy’s sleek shoes, straight from the lowest part of the fabrics.

“Stop!” Alvin yelled, causing both of them to freeze in their tracks, fearful their souls to be taken away by that man’s authority. “Send word for Ryley... now!”

The butler placed the item inside the box once again and rapidly left with his coworker. Even if they weren’t aware of it themselves, the Duke had a very strong guess as to what was the thing in front of him, as to what caused blood to pour to such an extent, as to what caused such stench to mercilessly consume a room.

Several minutes passed until a knock was heard on the door which was opened mere moments later. “I heard you called for me.”

A man in his early thirties stood by the door. On his left eye a large, vertical scar tainted his pale skin, its size so huge it consumed part of the already thin lips on his body. Strands of platinum hair fell from the brown wig covering his scalp, in a pitiful attempt to hide such monstrosity from the sight of the weak-hearted - those who knew not of the harsh realities of battle. Yet, it was impossible to shield the incredible golden eyes that could rival the sun’s brightness.

“Uncover it.”

Ryley grabbed the ball and rapidly undid the rest of the cloths, revealing what everyone in the room was already expecting: a human head. But contrary to what was presumed, it was not of any man, no. Gilbert Averton’s remnants had already begun to decompose, as his eyes had already turned grey, his lips completely dried, and his skin void of moisture. Like a dull soul, his expression as pale as a ghost, yelling in his last dying breaths - probably praying to escape the claws of the sinful deeds haunting his mind.

“Disgusting...” Alvin’s eyes were tainted by such sight he couldn’t bear to give it another look.

The platinum-haired man's expression was, contrary to the nobleman’s, covered with indifference as he knew corpses were but vessels without a soul. His eyes carefully observed the cold head, feeling the mushiness of the skin sink from his touch. The shape of an “N” had been carved into the assassin’s forehead, without any hesitation or care - as if such simple act had been done by the same person, too many times to count. On the base of the corpse, where the neck and the rest of the body should’ve been, was a sleek cut, done in one single motion.

“This is the work of an assassin.” Ryley stated, knowing full well most wouldn’t be able to mutter such courage. “He was tortured before death as well... they wanted something from him.”

Quietly, the Duke sat back on his chair, feeling the breeze coming from the open window behind him. He couldn’t bear another second of such foul smell.

Seeing the quietness of the man before him, Ryley grinned. “This man... you hired him, did you not? How much did he know?”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Enough.” Was all Alvin could say as his mind tried to come up with any justification as to how such could’ve come to be. “Do you know who the murderer is?”

“I’d label this as The Nomads doing.”

Whoever had done this was used to murder, to the sensation of cutting human flesh, lacking the remorse mankind was often so proud of. Grabbing the head by its scalp, forced the skillfulness of the beheading to shine, as there were no loose skins dangling, something that happened in most cases.

“The Nomads? Ryley, you understand the weight of your words, don’t you?”

“Yes. This was undoubtedly made by them. I’d bet my life on it.”

The Duke knew Ophelia couldn’t be behind such atrocious actions. Her frail constitution wouldn’t allow her to do this, to a grown man who was almost twice her size, to a man who was a professional in his field, a man far stronger than most of the commoners who entitled themselves as warriors. Maybe, she had hired an assassin just to screw his plans, yet how could someone like her achieve such a feat?

That girl couldn’t even murder a mouse... she can’t have been involved in this.

If Ryley’s words were true that meant Ophelia was now under The Nomads protection. Even if he sent dozens of men to murder her, they would all be disposed of and, if the warnings weren’t enough, they could try to go after his own neck. But how could they have known of his plans? Alvin was always stupidly careful to shred the information to pieces, providing only the necessary shards to specific people - yet somehow everything was out in the open.

“Shit!” He yelled loudly. “How am I supposed to get rid of that brat now!?”

“You should’ve just sent someone better for the job.” Ryley placed the head on the wooden box once again, his ego rising with the inflow of air into his lungs. The Duke had been foolish, sending those types of men to do the job of a well-trained assassin, something only a tribe in this continent had earned.

“Thread lightly, acacian*, you don’t wish my mood to worsen.”

Ryley smirked, satisfied with forcing Alvin’s emotions out of their shell. It was far too easy to provoke a man of his status, someone who only saw his own being through any possible angle. “Just lay low for the time being. The Nomads will forget about this soon enough.”

It seemed like the Duke’s plans were slowly being trampled with, one by one. His youngest daughter should’ve been an easy target yet she appeared to be far smarter than he’d originally thought or maybe she had simply been blessed by good luck - the dotted child of fate. He’d already spent a fortune on the silence of the nobles, and God only knew how much the spy had been receiving.

As long as I receive my share. The man thought, glaring down at the preoccupied noble.

“I’m not paying you to give me shitty solutions, Ryley.” He growled before taking another glimpse at the wooden box. “Get rid of it.”

“As you wish.”

With Ryley gone, Alvin got up and approached the windows, hoping to remove the imprinted memory of that horrid smell from his mind. Yet, every time he took a breath, such seemed to follow him, filling his lungs and thoughts to the brim. The sound of soft giggles flew into his ears, causing his gaze to find its source.

Amanda was having tea outside. Her body sat on a beautiful wooden chair that had been kissed by snow, causing the dark crimson hair to contrast its lightness, as it shun against the ruthless rays of the sun. In her plump lips, a naive smile spread itself, as if no wicked thoughts had ever passed her mind.

Maybe I could use her...? But their relationship had become far too strained, leaving no pieces of compassion between siblings. And I’m sure they know about it too...

Hiding things from the crown was rather simple as everything that was necessary was either a full clean up with those involved or a hefty donation to the Evan’s duchy - something he couldn’t bring his pride to do. But how could he hide these types of problems if one doesn’t know where the enemy lies?

“Alfred!” The Duke yelled, causing his butler to rapidly appear.

“You called, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Fire all servants that were hired this week. and don’t hire anyone else for the time being.”

Alvin knew there was no way to approach his second daughter without causing a fuss, at least not currently so he had no choice but to focus on protecting himself and dispose of any loose ends. The spy in the Wharton’s mansion was still sending reports at regular intervals so a thin thread of hope remained.

Suddenly, a thought came to his mind. Wait... but how long have they kept tabs on me? Could they have known for longer but kept quiet about it?

“No... make it the last month.”

“But, Your Grace, that’s almost one-fourth of our...” Feeling the Duke’s gaze, the butler rapidly swallowed up his words. He was not in a place to make judgments. “As you wish.”

*Acacian: People who were born within the Acacia Mountains.