The question was not meant to cast doubt on his identity, but rather to test his reaction.
To find out whether he really had amnesia or not.
But why was he checking one more time?
For now, I decided to play dumb.
There was an extremely slim possibility that the person standing before me might not actually be Shite.
If that were really the case, the moment he realized that I had noticed, he would probably eliminate me to destroy the evidence.
“Suspect you? Of course not. I was just joking. It’s just that you seemed different today.”
Shite stared at me silently for a while.
Just as his silence and persistent gaze were beginning to make me uncomfortable, he spoke again.
“In what way, specifically, am I different?”
Why was he asking that, too?
Was he trying to find out how much I knew about him?
Would he get rid of me if I knew too much?
Without letting my guard down, I told him only the most superficial details.
“Hmm. You used to trail off at the end of your sentences and stutter a little more. Your posture was different too. You used to hunch over with your whole body drawn inward.”
“Like this?”
Shite tucked his neck in and hunched his shoulders and back.
“Yes. A little more. Roll your shoulders farther inward, and bring your hands together in front of you… Yes, like that. Lower your head a little more, and cover half your face with your bangs.”
I reached out and brushed his bangs forward.
A hunched posture and a face half-hidden behind sparse strands of hair.
The fact that his eyes looked far too normal was the only flaw, but at last, he looked fairly close to the Shite I knew.
I nodded in satisfaction, and he looked into the mirror.
Shite studied his reflection for a long while before straightening his posture and sweeping his hair back.
In an instant, he had returned to that unfamiliar-looking face and smiled at me.
“Other than that, is there anything else you know about me?”
As expected, he was definitely trying to find out what I knew.
I deliberately drooped the corners of my eyes and put on an apologetic expression.
“Unfortunately, it would be faster for you to look through your diary or documents than to ask me. You and I are bound by a contract, and we weren’t particularly close.”
“……”
“Oh! Or should I call the butler? Wait a moment.”
Good. I could use this as an excuse to escape…!
I was about to do just that, but before I could even open the door, Shite approached and turned me around.
He bent down to meet my eyes and lowered his voice.
“Madam, I would prefer it if you didn’t tell anyone else that I have amnesia.”
“Not even the butler?”
“Not even him.”
“Why? He’s someone you brought with you when we got married.”
“I simply want this to remain a secret between the two of us.”
What was he plotting this time?
I narrowed my eyes and stared at Shite.
A secret between the two of us? Was he trying to establish some kind of bond with me? What on earth was he trying to get out of me?
The only thing I had was money.
Was he perhaps trying to build a bond with me so he could squeeze even more money out of me?
Or maybe he intended to use me.
I barely managed to force my narrowing eyes open again.
Either way, I had decided to play along for now.
“All right.”
When I nodded seriously, Shite lightly placed his hands on both of my shoulders.
Was he finally going to reveal his true colors?
I thought so, but—
“You may go now.”
He spun me around again.
“Huh?”
Wasn’t he trying to form some kind of bond with me?
Before I could voice my confusion, Shite opened the door himself and gently pushed me outside.
His voice came from behind me.
“Then, have a good night, Madam.”
“A good ‘night’?”
I turned around in disbelief.
Over his shoulder, bright sunlight was streaming through the large window.
At some point, the rain had stopped and dawn had broken.
As I stared at the door that had just closed with a thud, a new theory occurred to me.
“Is he just crazy?”
Inside the room after Amarintis had left.
Ulyssian was sitting alone in front of the desk with his legs crossed. The deeper he fell into thought, the more slowly the tip of his foot twitched.
Amarintis’s knowledge was disappointing, to say the least. Still, he had obtained the clues he needed to imitate Shite.
I suppose I’ll have to look for the rest of the information in the desk, just as she said.
Ulyssian opened a drawer.
Most of the documents inside were written in Ancient Language.
This is troublesome.
Only a very small number of people could fluently decipher Ancient Language.
And unfortunately, Ulyssian was not one of them.
Which meant there were no documents he could actually read.
Judging by the drawings, these seem to be research journals.
He set the documents aside and searched around the desk. Then he noticed an ornament with an unusually large number of scratches on it.
People with many secrets usually create a space of their own.
When he turned the ornament, both sides of the desk creaked and opened.
One side was packed with letters and documents, while the other was filled with notebooks containing various records.
All of the letters and documents were written in code, while the notebook contained a mixture of codes, Ancient Language, and Melbernian.
There were occasional drawings in the notebook, but they were equally difficult to understand.
He skimmed through the notebook once before reading the sections written in Melbernian.
December 30, 1804, 14:40. Lord Wellottle called me a gloomy man with a hunched back. Count Treas agreed, saying it was fortunate that I at least covered my face with my hair.
January 1, 1805, 06:01. A petite maid with brown hair and green eyes said to another maid, “Don’t you think the master is a little gloomy? I want to save enough money and leave for somewhere else as soon as possible.”
The contents were simple.
They recorded, down to the minute, who had badmouthed Shite, when they had done it, and what they had said.
Why did he record things like this?
He couldn’t understand it, but it could be useful for gauging Shite’s reputation.
There’s hardly anything about the Madam.
It recorded when she left the house and whom she met, but most of it involved him secretly observing her.
They seemed to be a couple who rarely had private conversations.
So it was true that she wasn’t close to her husband.
He returned the notebook to its place and headed toward the bookshelf.
On top of a row of neatly arranged books sat a single rolled-up sheet of parchment.
If it was important enough to write on parchment and preserve, it must be fairly significant.
He took it down and unfolded it.
It was a prenuptial agreement.
To leave a document like this lying around so carelessly…
It revealed quite a lot about how Shite Hurniswald viewed this marriage.
Just as Ulyssian was about to fold the parchment back up, one particular word caught his eye.
Amarintis Routschild.
That woman was a much bigger player than I thought.
It was only after reading through the contract that Ulyssian finally realized where the enormous dowry Amarintis had paid upon marriage—and the living expenses she paid every month—were going.
Kildian’s mercenary force had suddenly increased in size over the course of about a year.
During that time, Ulyssian had been tracking Kildian’s military funds.
But no matter how deeply he investigated, he could never determine where such a large sum of money had come from.
So this is where it was coming from.
The time when Kildian had begun to move in earnest coincided with the time Shite had married Amarintis.
The military funds whose source had been impossible to trace roughly matched the sum of the dowry Amarintis had initially provided and the living expenses she had continued paying.
Is the Madam an accomplice? Or is she being used?
Just as he finished that thought—
—Boom.
A heavy sound came from beyond the bookshelf.
A moment later, footsteps followed.
He quickly rolled up the parchment, slipped it between the books, and moved toward the wall where a decorative sword hung.
That way, he would be able to react immediately if it was an intruder.
Anyone who can freely enter this private space through a secret passage must be someone closely connected to Shite Hurniswald.
If he made even one wrong move, they might realize that he wasn’t Shite.
He tensed as he recalled everything Amarintis had told him.
He lowered his hair over his face and hunched his body.
The bookshelf fully opened, revealing a pitch-black passage.
A person stood motionless in the corridor, where not a single ray of light could reach.
Once the bookshelf stopped moving, a suspiciously dressed man slowly walked inside and removed his hood.
He was someone Ulyssian knew very well.
Brother.
The man approached and casually took the seat of honor on the sofa.
Kildian leaned back against the backrest and looked Ulyssian up and down.
“I came because you hadn’t reported even after the appointed time, and I find you looking like this. What happened to Ulyssian?”
