MFTR 69

Chapter 69 

At that moment, Jeon suddenly let out a hollow laugh and scrubbed his face with his hands.

He hadn’t realized it would be this agonizing.

Regret overflowed so fiercely that if he could, he would turn back time.

I should’ve said something when I saw her struggling instead of pretending not to notice.

I should’ve told her it didn’t bother me when our eyes met—that it was okay.

I should’ve told her to take my hand when I sensed she wanted to leave.

But worst of all—the most unbearable thing—was that even while drowning in these regrets, he still lacked the courage to storm out and go after her right now.

A wave of self-loathing and worthlessness hit so hard that laughter no longer came.

Knock, knock, knock.

From beyond the door came Braman’s stiff voice.

“Commander, your father—the Marquis of Millard—has arrived.”

Jeon’s brow furrowed.

Where should he even start correcting that sentence?

From the title Commander to the word father, none of it sat well with him.

From now on, it would be better to say simply: The Marquis of Millard is here. In fact, better yet, don’t even announce that man’s visits at all.

Even with his mind in disarray, Jeon resolved to issue that order later as he rose slowly and opened the door.

And when he saw the man standing there—a man whose features so closely mirrored his own—Jeon let out another bitter laugh.

“Sir, did you really let an outsider into the knights’ building without permission?”

“N-No, sir!”

Braman, who had been standing a step to the side, flinched and hurried to explain.

“The Marquis of Millard is here to deliver a royal command. I escorted him to you for that reason.”

“A royal command…?”

At those words, a strange glint flickered in Jeon’s amber eyes, which until now had been dulled and sunken.

When Jeon turned his head, the marquis was staring at him sharply.

The two men—so alike in appearance—glared at each other with a deadly tension, while Braman, caught awkwardly in between, felt his knees go weak and quickly stammered:

“Then, Commander, I’ll take my leave now.”

Normally, as vice-commander, it would be proper for Braman to stay for the discussion. But given the mood, it was obvious the marquis wasn’t here merely to relay the king’s words.

Apparently, Jeon thought the same, because he nodded.

“Understood. We’ll revisit the matter of how you address me later.”

Address…? He meant calling him commander?

Braman never imagined Jeon still clung to hope—so he left in confusion, bowing stiffly.

When the door shut, only Jeon and the marquis remained, and a cold silence fell between them.

“Come in, then.”

Jeon stepped aside with a face that all but said: If it weren’t for this royal command, I’d throw you out.

The marquis gave a dry, humorless laugh but entered without protest.

Only then did Jeon notice something in his father’s hands—wrapped in layers of silk.

Even so, Jeon knew instinctively what it was.

A strip no wider than three fingers, yet long enough to reach one’s waist when gripped—it could only be one thing…

Just then, the marquis suddenly yanked open the curtains.

Jeon winced as midday sunlight flooded in, but the older man ignored him, scanning the room as he spoke.

“If not for delivering a royal command, I’d never have set foot in a place like this.”

“You say that as if you’ve always wanted to.”

Jeon’s mouth twisted in derision.

“Or is it that now there’s someone you no longer need to see—so you’ve decided to play the father at last?”

The marquis’s face hardened like stone.

“You—”

“Spare me the scolding. Just state your business. What order has been given to me?”

Jeon’s eyes darted back to the object in the marquis’s hand.

“Does bringing that sword have something to do with the king’s command?”

The marquis didn’t miss the flicker of tension—or the faint hope—in his son’s gaze. He exhaled a short sigh.

“First, the council’s decision. The alliance marriage between Princess Anette and the Duke of Harzent…”

“…”

“…will proceed as planned.”

Jeon, who had held his breath, let out a hollow voice.

“As… planned?”

“Yes. The Alcan Empire presented a prenuptial contract. According to it, breaking the betrothal would require a penalty fee—one hundred times the dowry.”

Jeon blinked slowly, his lips forming the words:

“One hundred… times…”

The marquis clicked his tongue. He could see his son calculating even now.

“Do you even know how vast the dowry from Alcan was?”

“But still…”

“Even if the Millard family is the richest in Heyworth, not even we could cover it. The royal family didn’t hesitate for a second—they gave up the idea outright.”

Jeon’s face darkened.

He had suspected something when no immediate orders came. But to think they’d given up so long ago…

“Then what was the point of the council—”

“Because those who remain still have to live on.”

Jeon’s face froze, ice-cold.

“Hearing that from you is laughable. No—I suppose I already knew what kind of man you are. After Mother died…”

He bit his lip hard, cutting himself off before words of bitter blame spilled out.

What good would it do to say it?

To say that when the former queen passed, this man hadn’t shed a single tear—hadn’t looked even remotely grieved—while raging at the death of another woman.

It wouldn’t change a thing.

And he didn’t want an apology anyway.

Realizing how far his anger had carried him, Jeon forced himself to breathe deeply.

But even though he swallowed the words, the marquis’s eyes twisted with pain, as if he already knew what his son had almost said.

Still, he mastered his expression and spoke with cold formality.

“The royal family will formally request the Harzent ducal house, through the Alcan imperial court, to send knights for the beast subjugations. And you—the new commander of the royal knights—are to secure their consent.”

“…What?”

Jeon, barely calm again, stared in disbelief.

This was even more outrageous than Anette’s betrothal proceeding.

“You can’t be serious. With what right could they—”

He couldn’t finish.

The marquis gave a bitter smile.

“The queen’s allies all said the same thing: as the duke’s father-in-law, he has every reason to comply.”

The marquis recalled the scene briefly—a scene so shameless it made him scoff even now.

Discarded the moment she lost her usefulness, and now they came crawling back the instant they needed her—no, not crawling.

They intended to demand help, utterly convinced they’d get it.

“Does no one care what she thinks? Surely His Majesty—”

Jeon’s voice rose, harsh with fury, then cut off as he clenched his fists. He couldn’t bring himself to say father.

Not for either of them—not for the marquis, and certainly not for the king.

The king was far worse. At least the marquis, however neglectful, hadn’t locked him up for years, beaten him down, and driven him into the jaws of death.

“He’s never been one to think of anyone else. His sickness of seeing everything his way runs deep.”

The marquis’s voice dripped with sarcasm—shockingly irreverent words for a minister to speak of his sovereign.

Jeon fell silent, eyes lowered, then asked quietly:

“Then why did you bring that?”

The marquis glanced at the sword in his hand.

“Because it’s the one thing Alcan demanded—saying they needed nothing else for the dowry.”

For an instant, Jeon had hoped it meant restoring Anette to her post as commander—that they were returning the sword for her. But the hope died with a bitter laugh.

The marquis studied his son’s gaunt face, now sharp with weight loss, and suddenly asked out of nowhere:

“Have you been eating?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

Jeon’s tone was glacial. The marquis gave a dry chuckle and fell silent.

For a moment, the room brimmed with taut silence—until the marquis broke it again.

“You won’t want to admit it, but you’re just like me.”

Jeon wanted to deny it outright, but even he had to admit they shared a resemblance—so he only scowled in silence.

“I don’t mean your looks. I mean the stupidity. The cowardice.”

The marquis’s mouth curled with bitter irony.

“I warned you from the start—told you to leave her side.”

“…”

“I even told you: if you hated the family duties, then transfer to the Royal Guard. And do you remember what I said years later?”

“…If you couldn’t give her up… you said to run away with her.”

“That’s right. I told you: if I couldn’t change my fate, then you should change yours.”

The marquis fixed his gaze on Jeon—unyielding, relentless.

Jeon’s face was rigid, his amber eyes cold and empty, yet deep within, a harsh light burned.

Grinding his teeth, he asked:

“You said you needed an heir. If you could tell me so easily to leave, why marry my mother at all? Why chain her to you?”

A shadow of something like an old wound crossed the marquis’s face. He exhaled a frail sigh and murmured, as though confessing:

“I regret it.”

“…You call that a—”

“I’m the one who recommended you to go to the Alcan Empire.”

Jeon froze, stunned by the revelation.

The marquis met his son’s gaze squarely.

“Don’t regret like I did.”