I Became a Childhood Friend With the Villainous Saintess

Chapter 86: The Guardian (5)

The baron launched a large-scale investigation at the site of the attack.

Not only Sirien but also the priests of church accompanied him as they meticulously examined the area.

It was an investigation made just in case—though, as expected, there were no significant findings.

There was not a single trace of magic left behind, only the rotting corpses of monsters that were swiftly disposed of.

It was proof that Count Eloran wasn’t foolish enough to leave clear evidence behind.

That didn’t mean they were just going to sit back and do nothing.

After all, this was Edelmarion—the very heart of the empire.

There was no concrete proof that the baron had been targeted by demons, but the fact that people had died from a monster attack required no additional evidence.

And then, Russell came to see me.

There was a faint scent of blood clinging to him, though it was unclear where he had been.

The metallic tang of blood was particularly strong.

It didn’t seem like he had killed anyone directly, but it was likely that he had been near old blood.

Of course, that was just an assumption.

“Sir Razen, do you have a moment? There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes. Do you need a private place?”

“I’d prefer somewhere with fewer people.”

We moved to a quieter location and selected an empty room.

Even as he entered, Russell remained vigilant, carefully scanning the surroundings.

Once inside, he spoke in a hushed tone, his expression dark.

“Do you remember that dwarf we met last time? The one with the foul mouth?”

“Yes, of course. It wasn’t that long ago.”

“I went back to see him after hearing your conversation. After all, we were attacked at the very location he directed us to.”

I recalled the tavern Russell had taken me to a few days ago.

The dwarf who had cursed at him relentlessly—his words were filled with profanity, yet his eyes had been brimming with concern.

Their relationship had seemed particularly close. In a way, Russell had lost a friend.

The fact that they were attacked at the meeting spot meant one of two things:

Either that dwarf had betrayed Russell, or he had also been caught in the trap.

No matter how I looked at it, my gut leaned toward the latter—and Russell seemed to think the same.

“The entire branch was ‘cleaned out.’ I found him dead—with his tongue sticking out. I don’t know if anyone survived, but if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be on our side.”

“His tongue was sticking out?”

“Ah, it’s the Code of Silence. It’s a method used primarily to punish informants. Normally, the tongue is cut out, but if the offense is severe, they slit the throat and pull the tongue through the wound. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Ah, I had heard of that before. It had even appeared in the original novel once or twice.

It was described as a mix of Sicilian Mafia tactics and South American cartel executions.

I recalled a scene where Dersian had been furious, calling it a desecration of the dead.

Swallowing what seemed like either boiling rage or sorrow, Russell continued speaking.

“But that friend… he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t someone who would just sit there helplessly. He may not have been able to resist much during the attack, but I believe he anticipated his own death.”

Now that I thought about it, the dwarf had never even asked for our names.

There weren’t many people who could endure torture for long.

The dwarf likely didn’t overestimate his own mental fortitude, and the best way to prevent information from being leaked was to simply not know it.

Even at the end of our conversation, he had warned us not to leave with him, telling us to wait at least thirty minutes before heading out.

It was clear he didn’t want it to seem like we had any connection to him.

Russell handed me a bundle of papers.

“I found this in a place only I would know. It’s my friend’s final keepsake. Please, take it.”

“Do you seek revenge?”

“Yes. We were friends for over twenty years. I failed to protect our bond, so at the very least, I will claim its blood price.”

I accepted Russell’s gift.

****

The County of Eloran was home to the largest and most extravagant castle in the North.

It was the undeniable dominion of the North.

While the influence of House Eloran could not quite rival Eilencia of the West or Harmenia of the South, at least in terms of size and grandeur, their castle was second to none.

And it wasn’t just their castle that refused to fall behind.

Since the empire’s founding, House Eloran had relentlessly sought to catch up to the empire’s great pillars of power.

While the previous Count had shown little ambition, the current generation was different.

He evaluated himself as a man of both talent and ability.

Opportunities were seized by those prepared, and great achievements were made by the ambitious.

Unlike his father, he had ambition—and with it, the duty to elevate his house’s status.

At the highest point of the County, inside a chamber adorned with dazzling jewels, a sultry voice rang out.

“I have completed your orders, my lord. The detestable traitors have all been killed.”

“Is that so? You’ve done well, my love.”

“Oh my, such naughty hands. It’s still too early in the evening. You must treat me as a mere maid for now.”

“But there’s no one around. Come here. My arms feel empty.”

“Oooh, if it’s my lord’s command…”

The woman who melted into his embrace had long, flowing black hair.

Her skin was like white jade, and her slightly downturned eyes exuded an alluring charm.

The old-fashioned retainers despised his maid, Licia.

A woman of unknown origins—such a suspicious figure had no place by the head of the household.

That wretched woman seeks to manipulate the Count for her own gain.

The Count must cast out that vile temptress.

All of it was slander.

Once those jealous old fools were removed, his path became clear.

“Hmm~. Why is my lord so upset today? Shouldn’t you be pleased with my good news?”

“That wretched Esquente is still alive. He’s been running wild all over the capital. It’s starting to concern me. And soon, even the investigators from the Grand Temple will be heading for the Northern Front.”

****

The Count Hated Baron Esquente.

That detestable half-breed. A clown pretending to be nobility despite his filthy commoner’s blood.

Ever since that damned lowborn started rising to power, the North had stopped recognizing House Eloran as its sole ruler.

But why? What was he lacking?

His bloodline was far superior. He commanded an army that Esquente couldn’t even dream of.

It was Eloran that truly protected the North—not Esquente.

The northern garrisons were mere hunting dogs, not true guardians.

And yet, the people of the North followed Baron Esquente first.

Even after all these years, Eloran was still unable to stand on equal footing with Eilencia of the West and Harmenia of the South.

The Count needed a decisive move.

He had never needed to step forward before—but now was the time to prove that Eloran was the true guardian of the North.

That the House of Eloran was, without a doubt, on par with the empire’s great pillars.

“Ah, my lord, you always have so much on your mind,” Licia murmured softly. “But everything will be fine, won’t it? Perhaps it’s best to leave these complicated thoughts for tomorrow.”

“But… there is still official business to handle.”

“If you play with me for a little while, I’ll help you. A great man like you shouldn’t waste his precious time buried in paperwork, should he?”

Her voice was a gentle whisper.

“Besides, you have to leave for the capital tomorrow because of Baron Esquente, don’t you? You’ll be leaving me behind… I’ll be ever so lonely without you. Won’t you spend some time with me?”

The Count hesitated. Was this truly okay?

But then Licia leaned in and ran her tongue over his hand, slow and deliberate.

Her soft, warm muscle left a trail of saliva on his skin.

“My lord, you must look further ahead.” She gazed up at him, voice honeyed with temptation.

“Picture it—the whole world praising your name and House Eloran. No, perhaps… you may even be granted a dukedom. Then, would I be calling you the Duke of Eloran?”

Their eyes met.

The Count loved Licia’s eyes. That bewitching shade of wine-red.

Whenever their gazes locked, he felt as if he were being drawn in, unable to resist.

“You are a true visionary, my lord,” she purred.

“You never cast me aside, even after learning that I am a demon. How broad and magnanimous your heart must be. One day, you will be the bridge that unites our two races, your name forever etched in history.”

A wet, obscene sound filled the room—once, then twice, then again.

Blatant seduction.

The Count was still young, and he was not a man who suppressed his desires.

Before he even realized it, his hands were already reaching for Licia.

“I can’t wait for that day to come,” she whispered.

“The day when those fools who failed to recognize your greatness kneel before you and sing your praises. Don’t you think so, my lord?”

“…Yes. I do.”

“That makes me so happy to hear.”

A playful, melodious laugh escaped Licia’s lips.

The Count laughed with her.

Their laughter soon melted into something more indulgent.

Heat spread through the Count’s chambers.

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