RTT-04

Chapter 4

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Why is this person here?

Wondering if his eyes were deceiving him, Isis rubbed them.

The item the man had tossed him was none other than an invitation to the banquet.

The crest stamped clearly onto the luxurious silk envelope looked very familiar.

Isis stared at the man.

“…Is this really yours?”

Gone was the aggressive attitude he’d displayed only moments ago. His voice had become noticeably more cautious.

The man idly rubbed the tip of his chin.

“You seem to be quite suspicious. If you’d gone to the front, you would’ve seen the crest on my carriage as well. Ah… then again, since you asked my identity directly, I suppose you didn’t.”

“…Mud had splashed over the carriage, so I couldn’t see it clearly…”

Trailing off awkwardly, Isis examined the crest on the invitation once more.

An eagle standing atop a bed of thorny vines.

It was the unmistakable emblem of House Hilton, one of the families supporting the Dowager Empress.

That’s strange.

As far as I know, Winston Hilton is studying abroad on the Eastern Continent. Did he already return?

“What? Is that still not enough proof of my identity?”

“No… As far as I know, Winston Hilton is still on the Eastern Continent—”

“Ugh.”

Feeling that something didn’t quite add up, Isis instinctively stepped backward.

He hadn’t even sensed the man moving.

Yet somehow, the man was suddenly standing directly in front of him.

Up close, the stranger was far larger than he’d first appeared.

Isis himself was exceptionally tall and had graduated first in the Imperial Academy’s Swordsmanship Department. Never in his life had he felt physically intimidated by another person.

But this man…

Was it his towering height?

Those broad, square shoulders?

Or simply the strange aura surrounding him?

Whatever it was, an inexplicable sense of pressure radiated from him.

“The Eastern Continent? Ah… yes, I was there until a few days ago. But I heard there’d be a victory banquet, so I returned a little earlier.”

Slowly, the man raised a hand marked by prominent veins and pulled back the hood covering his face.

For a split second, sharp sapphire-blue eyes gleamed like those of a predator beneath the shadows.

Then the color faded, and the hood fell completely back.

The revealed Winston possessed light brown hair and chestnut-colored eyes—the very image of Marquis Hilton himself.

…What?

I was sure his eyes were blue.

Did I imagine it?

Seeing a face different from what she’d expected, Litricia found herself staring at Winston without realizing it.

Feeling her gaze, Winston turned to look at her.

But he soon looked away again, standing with a casual slouch as a cynical smile crossed his lips.

“So the cursed prince who’s been hiding away in the North is finally coming. It’d be a shame to miss such entertaining spectacle, wouldn’t it?”

“Um… yes, I suppose.”

When Winston addressed the occupants of the black carriage that had apparently followed behind Isis, one of them—presumably its owner—gave a reluctant nod.

The corners of Winston’s lips curved ever so slightly.

“So there you have it.”

He lightly tapped the Estha family crest carved into the side of Isis’s carriage.

“What more must I do to prove my identity, Young Master Estha?”

Though he’d finally stopped addressing Isis so informally, seemingly acknowledging him as the heir of another noble house, the politeness in his words only made the oppressive atmosphere around him even heavier.

Enduring that razor-sharp pressure, Isis became certain of one thing.

For whatever reason…

Winston Hilton absolutely disliked him.

Otherwise, there was no way such formally courteous speech could feel so unpleasant.

Damn it.

What did I even do?

Is he seriously this angry just because I didn’t recognize him and snapped at him a few times?

Petty bastard.

Suppressing the harsh assessment rising to his lips, Isis forced a smile.

“No. It seems I was mistaken.”

Although something still felt off, if the man before him truly was Winston Hilton, continuing to question someone of higher status would be inappropriate.

More importantly, his hair and eye color themselves were proof that he was the eldest son of House Hilton.

Seeing Isis back down, Winston stroked his chin.

“Very well. Then let’s leave the introductions at that.”

“How do you intend to get everyone out of here?”

“Well…”

Unable to answer, Isis glared at the two stranded carriages blocking the road.

He had already inspected the situation himself.

Nothing had changed.

Just as the coachman had predicted, the remaining space beside the carriages was far too narrow for another carriage to squeeze through.

People could probably make it through on foot using the narrow gap beside them…

Slowly lifting his gaze, Isis looked toward the faint outline of the Imperial Palace beyond the fog.

It looked deceptively close.

Yet it was still too far to reasonably walk.

Walking would be insanity.

Then riding horseback must be the only option…

For a brief moment, his expression brightened.

But as soon as he noticed the thick mud caked onto his boots, he shook his head.

Impossible.

The ground beneath him was actually one of the firmer spots.

The farther ahead they went, the muddier it became, and around Winston’s carriage the mud was so deep that simply standing still caused one’s feet to sink.

Trying to ride a horse through that?

He already knew the result.

The horse would end up planted in the mud like a young sapling.

To make matters worse, Isis’s own carriage remained hopelessly stuck, its wheels spinning uselessly.

Turning back and finding another route wasn’t even an option.

Damn it.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Isis sighed.

He hadn’t wanted to attend tonight’s banquet.

But he’d certainly never imagined fate would grant that wish like this.

If he truly failed to attend…

The punishments for disobeying an Imperial decree—drilled into him countless times at the Academy—flashed through his mind.

His face darkened instantly.

Just then—

The man who had shown no intention whatsoever of solving the situation suddenly spoke.

“There doesn’t appear to be another solution.”

“Regardless, the road is blocked because of me.”

“So I’ll make sure everyone gets through.”

“…!”

“Really?”

“You have a way?”

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*

“If you had a solution, you could’ve mentioned it sooner.”

“I tried. You kept running around before I had the chance.”

“…Right. My mistake.”

Clop. Clop.

Riding horseback through the narrow passage beside the stranded carriages, Isis grumbled.

Under normal circumstances, crossing through this muddy gap on horseback would’ve been impossible.

But as if they had anticipated exactly this sort of situation, the horses pulling House Hilton’s carriage wore specially crafted horseshoes.

Whatever strange craftsmanship had gone into them, they allowed the horses to carry two riders through the mud as effortlessly as if they were galloping across solid ground.

“How did you even obtain horseshoes like these? They’re clearly not something sold on the market.”

“I simply believe in being well prepared.”

Yeah, yeah.

Of course you do.

Swallowing the sarcasm threatening to escape, Isis shifted awkwardly.

Immediately, the heavily muscled thigh of the man sharing his saddle brushed against his leg.

“Ugh. You’re too close. Move over.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“No, I’m the one who’s uncomfortable.”

“I see.”

Seriously?

What kind of person is this?

Realizing conversation was hopeless, Isis stared straight ahead.

There hadn’t been enough special horseshoes for everyone to ride separately.

So the group had split up, two people per horse.

The man riding with Isis was the owner of the black carriage that had been behind Winston’s.

He hadn’t wanted to ride with Litricia.

Nor could he very well ride with servants.

So he’d asked Winston Hilton to share a horse.

And what had Winston said?

“That would be difficult. Frankly, I’d rather not have my body pressed against yours, Young Master.”

As a result, Isis had been forced to settle for the remaining rider.

That damn Winston…

Glowering at Winston’s back as he rode ahead, Isis shifted uncomfortably once again.

This one’s wearing a robe too, so I couldn’t tell before… but why is he so huge?

For some reason, everyone he’d met today seemed larger than him.

It irritated his pride.

Taking out his frustration, he casually kicked Winston’s carriage beside him.

Naturally, he assumed it was empty.

“Hm?”

To his surprise, something inside reacted.

The carriage shook.

“What was that?”

“What are you doing?”

“We don’t have much time before the banquet begins. Please keep moving.”

“Y-Yeah… I will…”

Did I imagine that?

Just as Isis was about to urge his horse onward—

Clunk.

The carriage shook again.

This time…

He could’ve sworn he heard something from inside.

“Wait… Wait a second.”

“I think there’s something in there—”

Before he could stop his horse, the carriage suddenly lurched once more.

Then it sank even deeper into the mud.

Immediately afterward, the servant riding at the very back shouted,

“My apologies!”

“Our horse brushed against it as we passed. It seems the carriage sank even deeper!”

“Oh.”

“For a moment I thought something serious had happened.”

“You should be more careful.”

“What a commotion.”

Turning with a frown, Isis saw the servants scratching the backs of their heads apologetically.

Since they apologized so readily, there wasn’t much left to say.

He tightened his reins and continued past the carriage.

“Honestly.”

“Nothing but irritating people today.”

“Sorry about that!”

“We’ll be more careful!”

The servants repeatedly apologized as they watched Isis disappear into the distance.

Once he’d ridden far enough away…

One servant’s smile vanished.

He walked over to House Hilton’s carriage and opened the door.

Inside—

The real Winston Hilton lay bound hand and foot, wriggling helplessly like a freshly caught fish.

“Mmph! Mmph!”

“Oh, honestly.”

“Just stay quiet for a little while.”

“You’re the young master of a prestigious house, yet you have so little patience.”

Shaking his head at Winston, who was furiously gesturing with his bound hands, the servant firmly shut the carriage door once again.

Then he looked ahead.

At the other Winston riding at the front.

No—

At the true host of tonight’s banquet.

The man who had stolen Winston Hilton’s appearance.

The Grand Duke of Heberus.

The servant gazed at his lord with unwavering loyalty.

“You should consider it an honor that our lord chose to borrow your identity.”