Chapter 16

Hunting dogs bayed throughout the staging area.

Grooms scurried with frantic precision, double-checking tack and lashing quivers, waterskins, and assorted gear to the saddles.

As the pale, spectral mist that had clung to the forest canopy finally retreated, dewdrops clinging to the blades of grass erupted in a kaleidoscope of light under the warming sun. It was, by all accounts, perfect weather for a royal hunting tournament.

Horn calls punctuated the morning, likely from musicians running through their scales. Meanwhile, nobles and knights congregated near the forest entrance, nursing cups of wine and trading pleasantries while awaiting the official commencement. Once the king appeared in his full regalia and signaled the start, this woodland sanctuary would transform into a frantic, blood-soaked playground for the rest of the day.

“I hope they don’t push too deep,” a guard remarked, adjusting his belt. “It will be a monumental headache if someone wanders into the mountains and vanishes.”

“Hardly likely,” his companion scoffed. “Everyone knows the mountains are crawling with tigers; they’ll stay within the perimeter. Besides, more than half of these pampered fools will be perfectly satisfied after bagging two or three foxes and calling it a day.”

Squad Leader Simon scanned the grounds. The preparations were finally nearing completion. The annual tournament served as a vital social theater for the royalty and high-ranking nobility, and the royal guards acted as stagehands—grooming the site, managing the logistical chaos, and scrubbing away the remnants of the day so their superiors could indulge in their sport without a hint of inconvenience. While the guards technically participated in the hunt themselves, their true function remained subservient to the highborn.

During that brief, agonizing lull between the final preparations and the opening ceremony, Brick—who had been laboring since the first light of dawn—seized the moment to inhale a sandwich and grouse about the upcoming day.

“I’m just worried some idiot will get reckless trying to distinguish himself for no good reason.”

“If someone is desperate enough to risk their neck for a scrap of merit, they probably aren’t anyone of significant standing, so we can sleep a little easier, can’t we?”

“True enough. …Why? What is wrong with you? I’m out of sandwiches.”

Brick had managed only a few bites when he felt the prickle of an icy stare against his skin. He pivoted, flinching as he met Isaac’s gaze. Isaac, who had been working alongside him since the early hours, was locked in a fixed, intense glare.

“I could give you a cookie—”

“If someone distinguishes himself at the hunting tournament, could he gain entry to His Majesty’s treasure vault? How much merit would that require?”

Isaac’s sudden, sharp inquiry silenced both Simon and Brick. Brick froze, his mouth half-open, crumbs dusting his chin as he searched for an answer.

“Merit? You?” Simon demanded, eyes widening. “What has possessed the man who used to preach the virtues of quiet poverty?”

“You were awfully quiet and buried in thought earlier,” Simon added. “Is that what you were obsessing over?”

The two men stared at Isaac as if he had just proposed something truly deranged. Isaac merely clamped his jaw shut and averted his gaze, an aura of detached impermanence clinging to him.

At the distant corner of the field, where hunting dogs and horses waited, a small group of cats frolicked. One darted through the tall grass in pursuit of a butterfly, while two others tormented a tethered dog. Isaac watched the black felines with a look of profound gloom.

“What are cats doing roaming around here?” Brick muttered, his natural empathy for animals flaring. “Once the hunt starts, they might get trampled by the horses. It’s too dangerous.”

Isaac shot him a sidelong glance through narrowed lids but remained silent. He knew better. The idea of these particular beasts being trampled by anything was laughable. Despite his meticulous efforts to secure them before sleeping, the trio had somehow bypassed his locks and spent the dawn hours playing near his pillow. He had apprehended them, trussed them tightly with rope, shoved them into his wardrobe, and bolted the door—yet here they were, strutting about as if they held the deed to the forest itself.

“So, how much merit does it take to at least catch a glimpse of the treasure vault?” Isaac pressed, his voice taut.

“Hard to say,” Simon replied, scratching his head. “Still, a mere tournament victory wouldn’t be nearly enough. There haven’t been many chances for genuine glory lately… Ah, wait. A major event did happen recently. The Roverni incident!”

Simon snapped his fingers, and Brick lunged, clamping a hand over his companion’s knuckles.

“Now, now,” Brick hissed. “Don’t call it the Roverni incident. Call it the murder of Sir Leon.”

“Right, right. The murder of Sir Leon,” Simon corrected, his eyes flicking toward the black ribbon tied to the spearhead of a grand ducal knight marching in the distance.

The incident had been a catastrophe; Sir Leon, the grand duke’s second son, had been discovered dead in a back alley of the capital, plunging both the royal palace and the city into a state of panic. Sir Leon had been closely aligned with the Roverni faction, often seen in their company. Given the circumstances—he had been found alongside Roverni’s own younger brother, bearing the same telltale marks of the mysterious assassin who had been systematically dismantling the faction—it appeared the young man had simply been caught in the crossfire.

The grand duke’s rage at the loss of his son was legendary, fueling a massive bounty, while the king himself had issued a public proclamation promising a king’s ransom to whoever apprehended the criminal who dared murder royalty.

“Sir Leon, wasn’t he that insufferable bastard? That spoiled wastrel who lacked a single shred of decorum no matter how hard you looked? I would wager more than a few common folk would throw a festival over his demise.”

“He was still royalty. The King’s nephew. Whoever secures the culprit is guaranteed a handsome reward or an official appointment, and if they impress him, they might even gain an audience with the royal treasure vault.”

“But Roverni has been frantic trying to eliminate this shadow for ages, and he has yet to find a single trace. Do you honestly think they will be caught so easily?”

“That is true, but aside from that, I cannot fathom any other deed that might earn enough merit to merit entry into the vault.”

“…Does that treasure vault actually contain anything of value?”

Not just some decrepit tinderbox meant for locking away three rude cats? Isaac muttered skeptically, though the thought slipped out before he could restrain it.

“Oh. There is someone who has been inside the treasure vault passing by right now. Deputy Captain!”

Brick spotted Brown walking in the distance and shouted for his attention. Brown, who had been patrolling to ensure no tasks remained unfinished, strode over.

“Why are you loitering? Are the preparations complete?”

“You would know if you had bothered to look around. We have labored nonstop since dawn, so what could we possibly have missed? We even prepared refreshments for the highborn who plan to skip the hunt and sneak back for tea. More importantly, you have been inside, have you not? The King’s treasure vault.”

An ordinary guard would never dare address the deputy captain of the royal guard so casually, but Brick was Brown’s own younger brother. Furthermore, Brown was the one who had dragged Brick from his bed before dawn to labor, despite the fact that Brick, while a perfectionist, was at heart too indolent to enjoy hard labor. The deputy captain, usually as unreachable as the sky, merely raised a single eyebrow at the impudent question from his subordinate and answered without complaint.

“The King’s treasure vault? I have. Was that truly seven years ago…?”

At the time, Brown had dismantled a clandestine treason plot by Lord Hilsen and returned to the castle in triumph. Along with Abe, the current captain of the royal guard, he had been lavishly praised and rewarded.

“But why ask so abruptly?”

“What was it like?” Brick ignored the question and pressed his own.

Brown offered no protest, letting his gaze drift into the void. “It was magnificent. Gold, silver, jewels, and every manner of strange and marvelous treasure. Beans that grow into vines reaching the sky, golden hair from a giant said to reside where the sun rises, a carriage forged from jewels that turns into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight—the list goes on. That vast chamber was so saturated with wealth there was nowhere to place a boot. There were so many curiosities one could not even identify them all. When you are ordered to choose, your head truly spins.”

As Brown’s eyes narrowed in rapturous memory, Isaac abruptly intervened. “What did you choose, Deputy Captain?”

“A gold pig.”

“…”

Isaac was struck mute by an answer so aggressively mundane. Brown, noticing his confusion, offered serious counsel.

“Do not choose anything too substantial. The King’s eyes grow cold if he senses greed. You must learn to read the room. Captain Abe failed to gauge the atmosphere and selected a golden calf, which earned him a demotion to the provinces until his return last year,” Brown muttered.

Isaac, still speechless, sighed. “So one must defeat a provincial lord plotting treason just to be deemed worthy of entry?”

“Well… treason is not exactly a common occurrence. Nor should it be. I recall hearing that seventeen years ago, someone who liquidated a secret gathering of ten witches entered the vault and emerged clutching a golden jar.”

“…That does not sound like an effortless mission, either.”

“Naturally. Why else would a treasure vault be a vault? Ah, right. The Roverni incident occurred recently, did it not? That could be a possibility.”

If even Brown acknowledged the weight of the situation, it was undoubtedly a grave matter. Beside him, Brick corrected him with a drawn-out, “Now, now. It is the murder of Sir Leooon.” Though the public referred to it as the murder of Sir Leon, anyone with real intelligence understood it was merely an extension of the shadowy conflict between the assassin and Roverni’s faction.

“But would that be simple? Anyone capable of causing such chaos is no ordinary person. I would wager they are at least as dangerous as Roverni in his prime. But why the sudden interest? Do you desire a treasure as well? What is it that you want?” Brown studied Isaac with a curious expression.

Isaac mumbled, “No, just curious,” and managed to brush it aside.

Setting everything else aside, if the King grew icy over a mere coin or lump of gold, then selecting a truly rare treasure might lead to imprisonment rather than demotion. Even if Isaac somehow completed an impossible mission and managed to enter the vault, perhaps choosing the extraordinary tinderbox would be an exercise in futility. Perhaps he should abandon that cursed object and seek another path entirely.

Isaac was mired in these thoughts when—

SCRATCH