**Chapter- 8**
—
“I won, Godfather. So please keep your promise.”
Hollan snapped out of his daze.
He saw Arthur standing there, blood dripping from his body.
Startled, Hollan rushed over and asked urgently,
“You’re… hurt. Does it not hurt?”
Arthur blinked.
Then he looked down at his pierced right shoulder and nodded.
“Uh… it does hurt. I think Mother’s going to be really mad when she sees this…”
As Arthur trailed off, Hollan’s expression twisted bizarrely.
*“He should be screaming in pain, yet he’s worried about getting scolded by Yonel?”*
It was a completely irrational reaction.
Which only solidified Hollan’s growing suspicion.
He had sensed it from their first meeting, albeit vaguely—there was something deeply off about this child’s psyche compared to ordinary people.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Arthur’s open wound was still bleeding heavily.
Shaking off his thoughts, Hollan pulled out a handkerchief.
“Come here. Let me at least take a look at your wound.”
As he said this, Hollan began to stop the bleeding.
He pressed down hard on the wound, through which the bone was clearly visible—but Arthur’s expression didn’t change.
That expression made Hollan’s eyes narrow again in subtle astonishment.
His shoulders trembled as he examined the injury more closely.
*“…Was it a glancing blow?”*
Muttering to himself, he inspected it again.
It wasn’t a mistake.
The wooden sword had pierced the flesh with uncanny precision.
It had avoided the cartilage and bone entirely—cutting only through the soft tissue.
Shocked, Hollan muttered,
*“What are the odds…? A wound like this, cutting flesh without damaging the bone—what are the chances?”*
A wound that seemed too deliberate to be coincidence.
But could a fifteen-year-old boy really inflict such a wound on purpose?
While Hollan was caught in these thoughts, his eye twitching unconsciously, Arthur spoke again.
“Um… Godfather? You have to keep your promise.”
“…What promise?”
“My secret. Since I won the duel, you have to keep it.”
Hollan’s twitching eyes calmed.
Arthur, who had shown not a trace of hesitation in his duel with Elin, now looked anxious as he faced Hollan.
The contrast was so absurd that Hollan muttered,
“…This is insane.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Anyway… fine. I’ll keep your secret. I won’t tell your mother anything about today.”
Arthur beamed.
“Thank you, Godfather!”
“There’s no need to thank me… On that note—what do you want?”
Arthur tilted his head.
“What do I want? What do you mean?”
“I told you before, didn’t I? If you won the duel, I’d grant you one wish—within reason. Did you forget?”
Arthur blinked and replied,
“Ah… no. I didn’t forget.”
He totally forgot.
Hollan muttered internally, growing strangely accustomed to the boy’s way of speaking.
He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or irritated, when Arthur spoke up again.
“What counts as ‘within reason’?”
“As Commander of the Northern Imperial Army, as a Marquess of the Leverkusen family, and as a Swordmaster—anything within the bounds of what that name can provide.”
“Whoa… that’s amazing.”
“It’s a rare opportunity.”
Arthur nodded.
“May I ask one last thing?”
“As many as you like.”
“Are you really my godfather?”
“…? What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. Are you truly my godfather?”
At the question, Hollan felt as if his heart dropped.
“….”
He couldn’t answer.
He avoided Arthur’s gaze.
But Arthur didn’t look away. In the end, Hollan gave in and replied.
“I’m not worthy.”
“I see.”
“But I’m still more than capable of granting your wish.”
“Really? But… how can I trust a godfather who admits he’s not worthy? I’m about to ask for something very important.”
Hollan lifted his head again.
Then, in a firm tone, he answered,
“Would a knight’s oath suffice?”
“…Sorry?”
“Only His Majesty the Emperor can break my oath. I’ll swear upon it. Will that earn your trust?”
Arthur let out a soft gasp.
*A knight’s oath… it’s been so long since I’ve heard that.*
It was a phrase knights once used when making promises—and long ago, breaking such an oath could result in death.
Though that level of severity no longer applied, the man before him was a Swordmaster.
The goal and benchmark of all knights. His oath carried a different kind of weight.
After a moment’s thought, Arthur nodded.
Given the situation, it was the most trustworthy assurance he could hope for.
“Understood, Godfather. Then… may I tell you my wish now?”
Hollan folded his arms.
Arthur took that as silent permission and began to explain.
As Hollan listened intently, his eyes suddenly widened in shock.
“What? You want me to punish the traitors within your house?”
—
—
Yonel gently caressed a photograph of her husband, deep in thought.
Ten long years she had spent as the reluctant head of a ducal house.
*“They were unhappy years… nearly hellish.”*
She had no love for power.
Not even for money.
In that sense, being the head of the empire’s only ducal house was utterly meaningless to her.
But she couldn’t walk away.
It was her beloved husband’s dying wish.
And for Arthur and Irene—his children—she had to carry on.
Yet the noble society, rife with schemes and betrayal, was anything but easy.
As the years passed, the ducal house’s prestige fell further, now likened to a sun on the verge of setting.
*“…For Arthur and Irene’s future, I can’t let the ducal house fall any further. If I’m to pass this on to them someday…”*
So Yonel tried her best to become a proper noble.
It wasn’t an easy path—but she never gave up.
She endured insults with a smile.
And today—
She finally saw a glimpse of reward for her efforts.
The long-standing ducal tradition—the hunting festival—had ended in resounding success.
*“Not just the opening shot… even the rest went smoothly. No accidents at all.”*
Yonel let out a small, satisfied smile.
Tonight’s banquet wouldn’t suddenly change the nobility’s perception of her—but it had at least shown that the ducal house was still alive and well.
*“One step at a time… I’ll keep changing things like this.”*
As she murmured to herself and laid her exhausted body on the bed, the next day arrived—and with it, a shocking visitor.
Hollan Leverkusen appeared in her office.
“W-What? What are you saying?”
Yonel trembled as she questioned him.
“Are you saying… all these people are spies or traitors?”
Hollan nodded gravely.
“Not all, perhaps… but some of them have suspicious origins. It’s well worth a deeper investigation.”
Yonel turned her gaze downward.
There lay a document Hollan had handed her.
It listed names of those long considered loyal to the ducal house, along with their places of birth, previous affiliations, and various background information.
As she scanned the document, Yonel muttered under her breath,
“People from Dormund… so many of them in my household…”
“Every house has its spies,” Hollan said in a heavy voice. “But this time, the numbers are unusually high.”
Then he offered a suggestion.
“Don’t move to purge them all at once. Remove them one by one, over time. We have enough evidence and context—just don’t give them a chance to escape.”
“….”
“I know it’s hard, but this is a path you must take, Yonel. If you wish to protect the house Leo Bayern left behind.”
At her husband’s name, Yonel’s eyes turned red.
If not for Hollan’s presence, she might have burst into tears on the spot.
She knew this reaction was disgraceful.
Having so many spies meant her authority as head of the house had hit rock bottom.
*“But… if only I had learned this one day later…”*
Just last night—
She had resolved to take charge again, to lead the ducal house forward.
And now, to be hit with this the very next day—it was too much.
As she stood in stunned silence, Hollan suddenly declared,
“If you’re willing, I’d like to walk that difficult path with you.”
“…!”
“Yonel—Forgive me. I’ve been too neglectful. Caught up in the endless conflicts of the northern frontier… I failed to watch over my old friend’s house.”
At his words, Yonel opened her mouth.
Her eyes, now bright red, made no effort to hide her tears.
“Is that… truly how you feel, Brother?”
“Would I lie at a moment like this? I can’t offer full support right now—but at the very least, I’ll help you root out the rats hiding within your house.”
“…But if you do…”
Yonel hesitated.
“Wouldn’t that break the Leverkusen family’s tradition? I’ve always heard that the guardians of the North—your family—never interfere in politics.”
At this, Hollan’s eyes grew heavy.
A memory flashed through his mind.
The Imperial Academy.
Its gardens, where his best friend and Yonel Bayern—his girlfriend at the time—once walked.
Recalling that distant memory, Hollan murmured,
*“She’s right. Moving now would mean breaking my family’s long-standing tradition.”*
But he couldn’t just watch his dearest friend’s house fall apart like this.
That’s why he had accepted Arthur’s request and come here today.
He had already been close to uncovering the spies within the house—the only thing left was the exact number and list.
And Arthur had handed that missing piece directly to him.
*“The names of the spies I couldn’t find… he gave them to me.”*
There was no reason to hesitate.
He now had both the identities and the evidence.
So he had come here—his resolve, unwavering.
However—
*“Arthur… how does that child know all this? And what exactly is his swordsmanship?”*
With that uneasy thought, Hollan lowered his gaze.
But he quickly gathered himself, pushing the name *Arthur Bayern* to the back of his mind.
For now, persuading Yonel was more important.
Only then could he eventually uncover Arthur Bayern’s secrets.
After organizing his thoughts, Hollan slowly began to speak.
“Tradition matters. But loyalty and promises matter more. I made a vow to Leo Bayern—to be godfather to Arthur and Irene.”
Hollan smiled gently.
“But those children didn’t even know I was their godfather. So, belatedly, I’d like to try fulfilling that role. So I don’t get scolded when I see my friend again someday.”
At this, Yonel finally broke down in tears.
Hollan silently handed her a handkerchief.
“Th-thank you… Brother Hollan…”
“There’s no need for thanks… But Yonel, I do have one small favor to ask.”
Yonel wiped her tears and replied,
“Anything. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”
Hollan’s eyes gleamed.
“Then I won’t hold back.”
In a solemn voice, he made his proposal.
“Arthur Bayern. I’d like to take him in and raise him myself. What do you think?”
