A cold spell also struck Loganfield, the capital of Medea, but because it is located in the relatively warm south, it only resulted in sleet, closer to rain than snow.
Molly, who had been out and about, returned to the Chevant mansion and walked briskly through the garden, which was muddy with fallen leaves and rainwater.
She quickened her pace and headed straight to the study where Noah was.
She entered the study and told Noah, who was sitting at his desk, that a woman's body had surfaced under the Rembrandt Bridge over the river.
“The body was identified as Elsa Taylor, the Duke’s nanny. The cause of death was a gunshot wound.”
Molly's eyes were filled with suspicion as she delivered the news of Elsa's death with a serious expression.
“Please tell me in advance. I have a headache just thinking about how to fix it.”
Noah tilted his head expressionlessly and rested his chin on his hand.
“I didn’t do it. It was intentional.”
He sent her to die.
Noah's low voice trailed off ominously, and Molly's eyes narrowed sharply.
“So you left her to suffer retaliation.”
Since Princess Erita would not have left Elsa alone after she left the palace, he must have shown mercy and released her as bait.
“Wouldn’t that help her more than sending her to jail?”
“Are you looking for the young lady?”
Noah smiled faintly at Molly's question and shook his head.
"No."
“Then for what reason...”
"It's too annoying to leave it alone any longer. I already know who took Diana."
“Who is it?”
Noah didn't answer Molly's question immediately, but turned his head. A strange thought crossed his otherwise calm, refined face.
He had previously been offered the return of his title and fortune if he returned to Frogen. When he didn't respond, he must have conspired with Erita to summon him and persuade him to take Diana.
Noah, who was leaning leisurely against the back of the chair, looked up at the empty space in the ceiling with his clouded eyes.
It was because he remembered the illegitimate son of Emperor Mayer III, a Belford native whom he cherished. The one who sent the letter requesting his return was the illegitimate son who revered his father, the Emperor, and followed him with all his heart.
"My unusual friend. Are you going to throw away the opportunity to stand on the stage of a brutal play created in the name of war? It must be fun."
Here's part of what he sent: a world in turmoil where the more people you kill, the more respect and praise you receive.
A perfect stage for natural-born killers, they become dancers, dancing dazzlingly and receiving applause. Among them, he receives the most cheers and praise. Without war, he would be nothing more than a street clown.
Only then did Noah open his mouth and mutter the name of the illegitimate child as if repeating it.
"Mastiff."
Molly, who was usually unfazed by the name 'Mastiff', turned pale.
“Why Mastiff...”
Molly muttered, her lips quivering with displeasure. Just thinking about it made her taste bloody.
Although he was not able to receive the imperial surname due to being born of a government official, he was an illegitimate child who received the Emperor's favor and was granted the surname and title of 'Argentino' from one of the conquered cities.
Molly, who is from the Frogen Army, is also well aware of his notoriety.
With dazzling golden hair, captivating turquoise eyes, and refined features, he has a good appearance that is enough to garner favor just by looking at him.
His handsome appearance, gentlemanly speech, and respectable demeanor were all mere facades concealing a diabolical intent. The thought of Mastiff's face, its expression of interest as he tortured his captives, sent chills down her spine.
He inherited the Meyer Brain's lust for power, his madness, and his government's abnormal tendency to harass and torture his maids.
He is the worst human being of all time, reveling in brutal torture, murder, and slaughter, regardless of his opponent, and delighting in witnessing the death and suffering of others. Even the bold women who approached him, seeking to tame him, believing it to be a fatal and dangerous allure, were killed without incident.
Molly tried to compose herself and asked.
“Then, now Miss Diana is with that guy...”
“He won’t kill Diana.”
Noah sat on the teak chair and tapped the armrest with his fingers.
"He needs to take Diana hostage and meet me secretly. That's what I need most right now."
Noah's slender fingers, gaping at his words, pointed straight at his head.
Noah happened to see it when he went to play in his lab when he was young.
At the time, Dr. Ruegen proudly explained to young Noah that this would greatly contribute to the advancement of human civilization. However, he later realized the danger and burned the data.
The current Dr. Ruegen has a brain problem and his memory is inconsistent, so that man is the only one who remembers the research data.
Mastiff seems to have noticed that he knows about the research material.
Molly could only clench her fists at the fact that Diana had been captured by a man who only knew how to kill because of his dangerous research.
“...Even though Medea is mobilizing the police force to search for her, I don’t know what will happen if we delay any longer.”
At her question, Noah's clouded eyes narrowed. It was a subtle expression, impossible to fathom.
“My Princess is strong. Enough to rule me.”
Molly looked at him with anxious eyes. In her eyes, Diana was just an ordinary girl. What makes that man so calm and composed in everything?
Well, he's a man whose emotions don't fluctuate, so you can't tell if he's angry or happy.
After Molly left the room, Noah sat on the bed, carefully holding the letter he had received from the maid.
“...And, I want to see you.”
Diana's crooked handwriting.
Noah sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the last part of the letter, reading it over and over again.
He sat motionless for a long time, holding the letter to his cheek with an expressionless face.
It seemed as if he was desperately trying to find the faint warmth lingering in the letter. The blue eyes hidden beneath his drooping eyelids slowly opened.
There was a longing in it, like a terrible thirst.
"It's snowing here, spring flowers. In your language, that's called spring feathers, right?"
“I found it.”
The soft voice faded away like a sigh and dispersed.
Vincent, who had returned from a business trip to the Cynthia Empire, stood with a serious expression, looking at Noah, who was sitting at his desk in the study. He, too, had already heard the news of Diana's disappearance.
“Then I’ll be off.”
Vincent asked as he saw Noah get up from his seat, take out the cardigan that was hanging on the hanger, and put it on.
“Was there a clue in the letter? Where is it?”
“Diana is in the northern autonomous nation of Estria.”
“There’s no way she could send a letter informing you of her location...”
“I know when I see it.”
“Are you sure it was written by Miss Diana?”
"Yeah. Diana's handwriting isn't common. It's bad."
Seeing that the man who seemed to always applaud her for her excellence in everything she did was acknowledging her, it seemed like her handwriting really was bad. Vincent glanced at the letter on the desk, startled, and a horrified expression appeared on his face.
It's as if a child, just learning to read and write for the first time, scribbled haphazardly in a notebook. He knows she's quite good at drawing, but he can't understand how her handwriting has deteriorated to such a degree.
“You saw that, you know where it is?”
“Yeah. Probably towards the Great Forest.”
A woman who writes like a piece of shit, and a man who understands her perfectly. Are they a match made in heaven? It's been that way before, and it's always been that way.
After Noah left the room, Vincent was left alone and stared blankly out the window, muttering.
“It’s love.”
Then, Vincent's brown eyes turned gloomy as he saw the tall tower of documents he had left behind, asking him to take care of the rest, and his shoulders trembled with a start.
“Why am I sacrificing myself for their love?”
The room I was held in was furnished with luxurious carpets and furniture, but it seemed to have been empty for a long time.
The crimson curtains were worn and weathered, and a white dust had gathered on the ebony chest of drawers. While I was trapped here, I felt helpless and helpless, like someone adrift on a vast ocean.
In fact, I couldn't. They wouldn't release the handcuffs on my wrists. I just sat on the bed until the sunlight streaming through the window grew colder and darker.
There was a knock at the door, and Mastiff entered carrying a tray of food. He neatly placed the food and cutlery on the table and then unlocked the handcuffs.
The only time I was allowed to remove my handcuffs was when I was bathing or eating. Mastiff, wearing a black polo coat and draped over a chair, sat across from me, keeping watch.
His turquoise eyes gazed down indifferently at the raw scratches on my wrists from the handcuffs, and he muttered.
“I thought it would be difficult.”
"Yes?"
“Because for a noblewoman, you never complain.”
“Will complaining make a difference?”
At my indifferent tone, Mastiff stroked his straight chin as if thinking about something.
"You're different from the women I've met before. Is it because you're not afraid, or are you just pretending to be indifferent?"
“The woman you met... is that your lover?”
“We have never met as lovers.”
Despite his clean-cut appearance, he was a virgin. I nodded and gulped down the bread. Mastiff sitting across from me, his chin resting on his hand, smiled as I held the bread knife in one hand.
That smile feels somehow familiar. When categorized by "type," I think it's a smile that resembles someone else's.
“I’m not interested in dating.”
"I see."
What can I do? I was dismissing this as the typical excuse for solos, and just responding with a half-hearted, indifferent expression. Then, something cold and sharp slid across the back of my hand, which was carelessly placed on the table.
"Oh."
I lifted my hand and looked at the back of it. There was a straight, straight wound, dripping blood. This crazy bastard cut the back of my hand with a knife.
“This is what interests me.”
Mastiff's eyes widened with anticipation as he held the knife. He grinned nastily, waiting for my reaction, as if he expected me to burst into tears.
I'm talking about the women who died by my hand. It seems to be written on his face. I glared at him, clutching the back of my aching hand.
“Is it something like this?”
“It’s a shame I can’t kill you. I bet you’d look beautiful as you die.”
He stroked my chin with the back of his knife-holding hand, his eyes filled with rapture. These were the eyes of a man in his trance. They showed the typical traits of a psychopathic killer.
The creepy feeling gave me goosebumps, but I tried to maintain my composure because seeing my terrified face would intrigue him, and I thought he would torment me more.
The brutal killer asks affectionately.
“Can you not feel pain?”
“No, it really hurts. Should I give you some advice?”
“Are you dull?”
Mastiff smiled pleasantly. He reached out and gently stroked the back of my bleeding hand, continuing to speak.
"I'm interested in death and suffering. The world is so boring. I want to understand the meaning of death. Conversely, I want to understand the purpose of existence. Why are people so desperate when they could die so easily? I know it might sound a bit difficult for you."
I frowned at his peculiar thinking. He's a profound murderer. The more you try to please him or make him fear you, the more he'll feel superior and desire to dominate, and the more he'll try to control you.
I refuse to torture myself to the point of not dying to solve the mystery of life and death.
I decided to change my plans. If I act stupid, I'll get caught. I dabbed the back of my bleeding hand with a napkin and began to complain in a pitiful tone.
"What's so enjoyable about picking on vulnerable opponents and easily killing and tormenting them? Anyone can do that, right? Even beasts can do that."
He's likely growing bored with the countless deaths he's had in the midst of war. I kept provoking him.
"I don't know what's really funny. I thought you were a more impressive person, but I'm disappointed."
“So, what is the fun you are talking about?”
Mastiff smiled leisurely and tilted his head at the continued babbling. I picked up the fork next to the bowl and stabbed him hard in the back of his hand.
The man's eyes widened at my unexpected action, revealing his turquoise irises. I responded with a nonchalant expression.
“This is what fun is.”
Mastiff looked down at the back of his hand with a blank expression.
“No one has ever done this to me.”
He stared at me with a cold gaze, his hand mercilessly pierced by a fork. His piercing eyes stared intently at me, as if he were about to strangle me at any moment.
Molly, who had been out and about, returned to the Chevant mansion and walked briskly through the garden, which was muddy with fallen leaves and rainwater.
She quickened her pace and headed straight to the study where Noah was.
She entered the study and told Noah, who was sitting at his desk, that a woman's body had surfaced under the Rembrandt Bridge over the river.
“The body was identified as Elsa Taylor, the Duke’s nanny. The cause of death was a gunshot wound.”
Molly's eyes were filled with suspicion as she delivered the news of Elsa's death with a serious expression.
“Please tell me in advance. I have a headache just thinking about how to fix it.”
Noah tilted his head expressionlessly and rested his chin on his hand.
“I didn’t do it. It was intentional.”
He sent her to die.
Noah's low voice trailed off ominously, and Molly's eyes narrowed sharply.
“So you left her to suffer retaliation.”
Since Princess Erita would not have left Elsa alone after she left the palace, he must have shown mercy and released her as bait.
“Wouldn’t that help her more than sending her to jail?”
“Are you looking for the young lady?”
Noah smiled faintly at Molly's question and shook his head.
"No."
“Then for what reason...”
"It's too annoying to leave it alone any longer. I already know who took Diana."
“Who is it?”
Noah didn't answer Molly's question immediately, but turned his head. A strange thought crossed his otherwise calm, refined face.
He had previously been offered the return of his title and fortune if he returned to Frogen. When he didn't respond, he must have conspired with Erita to summon him and persuade him to take Diana.
Noah, who was leaning leisurely against the back of the chair, looked up at the empty space in the ceiling with his clouded eyes.
It was because he remembered the illegitimate son of Emperor Mayer III, a Belford native whom he cherished. The one who sent the letter requesting his return was the illegitimate son who revered his father, the Emperor, and followed him with all his heart.
"My unusual friend. Are you going to throw away the opportunity to stand on the stage of a brutal play created in the name of war? It must be fun."
Here's part of what he sent: a world in turmoil where the more people you kill, the more respect and praise you receive.
A perfect stage for natural-born killers, they become dancers, dancing dazzlingly and receiving applause. Among them, he receives the most cheers and praise. Without war, he would be nothing more than a street clown.
Only then did Noah open his mouth and mutter the name of the illegitimate child as if repeating it.
"Mastiff."
Molly, who was usually unfazed by the name 'Mastiff', turned pale.
“Why Mastiff...”
Molly muttered, her lips quivering with displeasure. Just thinking about it made her taste bloody.
Although he was not able to receive the imperial surname due to being born of a government official, he was an illegitimate child who received the Emperor's favor and was granted the surname and title of 'Argentino' from one of the conquered cities.
Molly, who is from the Frogen Army, is also well aware of his notoriety.
With dazzling golden hair, captivating turquoise eyes, and refined features, he has a good appearance that is enough to garner favor just by looking at him.
His handsome appearance, gentlemanly speech, and respectable demeanor were all mere facades concealing a diabolical intent. The thought of Mastiff's face, its expression of interest as he tortured his captives, sent chills down her spine.
He inherited the Meyer Brain's lust for power, his madness, and his government's abnormal tendency to harass and torture his maids.
He is the worst human being of all time, reveling in brutal torture, murder, and slaughter, regardless of his opponent, and delighting in witnessing the death and suffering of others. Even the bold women who approached him, seeking to tame him, believing it to be a fatal and dangerous allure, were killed without incident.
Molly tried to compose herself and asked.
“Then, now Miss Diana is with that guy...”
“He won’t kill Diana.”
Noah sat on the teak chair and tapped the armrest with his fingers.
"He needs to take Diana hostage and meet me secretly. That's what I need most right now."
Noah's slender fingers, gaping at his words, pointed straight at his head.
Noah happened to see it when he went to play in his lab when he was young.
At the time, Dr. Ruegen proudly explained to young Noah that this would greatly contribute to the advancement of human civilization. However, he later realized the danger and burned the data.
The current Dr. Ruegen has a brain problem and his memory is inconsistent, so that man is the only one who remembers the research data.
Mastiff seems to have noticed that he knows about the research material.
Molly could only clench her fists at the fact that Diana had been captured by a man who only knew how to kill because of his dangerous research.
“...Even though Medea is mobilizing the police force to search for her, I don’t know what will happen if we delay any longer.”
At her question, Noah's clouded eyes narrowed. It was a subtle expression, impossible to fathom.
“My Princess is strong. Enough to rule me.”
Molly looked at him with anxious eyes. In her eyes, Diana was just an ordinary girl. What makes that man so calm and composed in everything?
Well, he's a man whose emotions don't fluctuate, so you can't tell if he's angry or happy.
After Molly left the room, Noah sat on the bed, carefully holding the letter he had received from the maid.
“...And, I want to see you.”
Diana's crooked handwriting.
Noah sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the last part of the letter, reading it over and over again.
He sat motionless for a long time, holding the letter to his cheek with an expressionless face.
It seemed as if he was desperately trying to find the faint warmth lingering in the letter. The blue eyes hidden beneath his drooping eyelids slowly opened.
There was a longing in it, like a terrible thirst.
"It's snowing here, spring flowers. In your language, that's called spring feathers, right?"
“I found it.”
The soft voice faded away like a sigh and dispersed.
***
Vincent, who had returned from a business trip to the Cynthia Empire, stood with a serious expression, looking at Noah, who was sitting at his desk in the study. He, too, had already heard the news of Diana's disappearance.
“Then I’ll be off.”
Vincent asked as he saw Noah get up from his seat, take out the cardigan that was hanging on the hanger, and put it on.
“Was there a clue in the letter? Where is it?”
“Diana is in the northern autonomous nation of Estria.”
“There’s no way she could send a letter informing you of her location...”
“I know when I see it.”
“Are you sure it was written by Miss Diana?”
"Yeah. Diana's handwriting isn't common. It's bad."
Seeing that the man who seemed to always applaud her for her excellence in everything she did was acknowledging her, it seemed like her handwriting really was bad. Vincent glanced at the letter on the desk, startled, and a horrified expression appeared on his face.
It's as if a child, just learning to read and write for the first time, scribbled haphazardly in a notebook. He knows she's quite good at drawing, but he can't understand how her handwriting has deteriorated to such a degree.
“You saw that, you know where it is?”
“Yeah. Probably towards the Great Forest.”
A woman who writes like a piece of shit, and a man who understands her perfectly. Are they a match made in heaven? It's been that way before, and it's always been that way.
After Noah left the room, Vincent was left alone and stared blankly out the window, muttering.
“It’s love.”
Then, Vincent's brown eyes turned gloomy as he saw the tall tower of documents he had left behind, asking him to take care of the rest, and his shoulders trembled with a start.
“Why am I sacrificing myself for their love?”
***
The room I was held in was furnished with luxurious carpets and furniture, but it seemed to have been empty for a long time.
The crimson curtains were worn and weathered, and a white dust had gathered on the ebony chest of drawers. While I was trapped here, I felt helpless and helpless, like someone adrift on a vast ocean.
In fact, I couldn't. They wouldn't release the handcuffs on my wrists. I just sat on the bed until the sunlight streaming through the window grew colder and darker.
There was a knock at the door, and Mastiff entered carrying a tray of food. He neatly placed the food and cutlery on the table and then unlocked the handcuffs.
The only time I was allowed to remove my handcuffs was when I was bathing or eating. Mastiff, wearing a black polo coat and draped over a chair, sat across from me, keeping watch.
His turquoise eyes gazed down indifferently at the raw scratches on my wrists from the handcuffs, and he muttered.
“I thought it would be difficult.”
"Yes?"
“Because for a noblewoman, you never complain.”
“Will complaining make a difference?”
At my indifferent tone, Mastiff stroked his straight chin as if thinking about something.
"You're different from the women I've met before. Is it because you're not afraid, or are you just pretending to be indifferent?"
“The woman you met... is that your lover?”
“We have never met as lovers.”
Despite his clean-cut appearance, he was a virgin. I nodded and gulped down the bread. Mastiff sitting across from me, his chin resting on his hand, smiled as I held the bread knife in one hand.
That smile feels somehow familiar. When categorized by "type," I think it's a smile that resembles someone else's.
“I’m not interested in dating.”
"I see."
What can I do? I was dismissing this as the typical excuse for solos, and just responding with a half-hearted, indifferent expression. Then, something cold and sharp slid across the back of my hand, which was carelessly placed on the table.
"Oh."
I lifted my hand and looked at the back of it. There was a straight, straight wound, dripping blood. This crazy bastard cut the back of my hand with a knife.
“This is what interests me.”
Mastiff's eyes widened with anticipation as he held the knife. He grinned nastily, waiting for my reaction, as if he expected me to burst into tears.
I'm talking about the women who died by my hand. It seems to be written on his face. I glared at him, clutching the back of my aching hand.
“Is it something like this?”
“It’s a shame I can’t kill you. I bet you’d look beautiful as you die.”
He stroked my chin with the back of his knife-holding hand, his eyes filled with rapture. These were the eyes of a man in his trance. They showed the typical traits of a psychopathic killer.
The creepy feeling gave me goosebumps, but I tried to maintain my composure because seeing my terrified face would intrigue him, and I thought he would torment me more.
The brutal killer asks affectionately.
“Can you not feel pain?”
“No, it really hurts. Should I give you some advice?”
“Are you dull?”
Mastiff smiled pleasantly. He reached out and gently stroked the back of my bleeding hand, continuing to speak.
"I'm interested in death and suffering. The world is so boring. I want to understand the meaning of death. Conversely, I want to understand the purpose of existence. Why are people so desperate when they could die so easily? I know it might sound a bit difficult for you."
I frowned at his peculiar thinking. He's a profound murderer. The more you try to please him or make him fear you, the more he'll feel superior and desire to dominate, and the more he'll try to control you.
I refuse to torture myself to the point of not dying to solve the mystery of life and death.
I decided to change my plans. If I act stupid, I'll get caught. I dabbed the back of my bleeding hand with a napkin and began to complain in a pitiful tone.
"What's so enjoyable about picking on vulnerable opponents and easily killing and tormenting them? Anyone can do that, right? Even beasts can do that."
He's likely growing bored with the countless deaths he's had in the midst of war. I kept provoking him.
"I don't know what's really funny. I thought you were a more impressive person, but I'm disappointed."
“So, what is the fun you are talking about?”
Mastiff smiled leisurely and tilted his head at the continued babbling. I picked up the fork next to the bowl and stabbed him hard in the back of his hand.
The man's eyes widened at my unexpected action, revealing his turquoise irises. I responded with a nonchalant expression.
“This is what fun is.”
Mastiff looked down at the back of his hand with a blank expression.
“No one has ever done this to me.”
He stared at me with a cold gaze, his hand mercilessly pierced by a fork. His piercing eyes stared intently at me, as if he were about to strangle me at any moment.
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