In truth, Brian hadn't been the one looking for trouble in the palace earlier. It was Duke Ogsger and that old swordsman, Puning, who had been staring daggers at him from the moment he stepped into the hall. The Duke's eyes burned with anger and killing intent. Brian had even given them a chance—an opportunity for Puning to back down and walk away alive.
But Puning, proud of his titles as chief swordmaster of the Greenland Kingdom and first disciple of the Sword Saint Xinrich, had been too full of himself. With the Duke's unspoken permission to kill Brian during the duel, he had come on strong and unrelenting.
Unfortunately for him, arrogance and age made a poor combination. Years of living in luxury had dulled his reflexes, and facing a man who had already decided to strike without warning, he never stood a chance. One punch—and that was the end of it.
As for Brian's dear royal father-in-law—the frail king who'd long since wasted away his health—he might very well have been one of the hands behind the curtain. Brian had noticed the king's odd expression back in the hall.
Of course, that was only speculation—Brian's own deduction, with no concrete proof. But Brian wasn't the sort to wait for proof. He had no patience for "mending the pen after the sheep were lost." Whether he had evidence or not, his style was always the same—strike first, wipe out every possible threat, before it ever had the chance to grow teeth.
When Lady Rolyn heard that her husband, Duke Ogsger, had come to the capital, her face went instantly pale.
Brian noticed her reaction and smiled faintly. "You and your husband must've been quite close?"
Rolyn's body trembled. Her voice choked as she said, "Please… please let me go back."
Brian shrugged. "If you want to go back, sure. I'm not into that imprisonment kind of play anyway. After spending too long together, I get sick of a woman's scent."
"Really?" Rolyn's eyes brightened, a flicker of hope breaking through her despair.
"Of course," Brian said, tilting her chin up with a finger. "But I live by a simple motto—want to hear it?"
Rolyn nodded instinctively.
"If it's mine, no one touches it. If it isn't mine—but I want it—then I take it. So… yes, what I said earlier was a lie."
"You—how could you!" Rolyn's heart plummeted. Moments ago she'd thought she was saved, free again, elated as if lifted to the heavens—only to crash straight into the abyss.
"That's what keeps life interesting," Brian said lazily. "Don't worry—you'll learn to enjoy it."
"Don't… don't—"
At that moment, the twin maids Ram and Rem, who had been waiting nearby to serve him, walked forward.
As Brian yawned, they began to clean him up, wiping the blood from his skin and dressing him in his naval uniform.
Then, a young woman in a white fencing outfit, a rapier hanging at her waist, entered the room and knelt respectfully before him. "Lord Brian, Antonio has arrived. He's waiting in the courtyard for your summons."
Brian crooked a finger. "Asuna, come here. Let me look at you."
The girl called Asuna blushed and stepped closer.
Although she too was one of the maids Brian had purchased, he had never allowed Diana to train her in the standard maid disciplines. Different training, after all, bred different personalities—and Brian liked variety.
That was part of his twisted taste. He hated sameness. Even the décor of his manor—gardens, furniture, art—was changed every week.
And the same went for women.
Brian had never spent more than three days with the same woman. Any longer, and he'd start to feel disgusted. To keep life fresh, he rotated them—variety, he said, was what made life beautiful.
"Asuna," Brian said evenly, "your swordsmanship is still lacking. Such a small distraction, and you lose your composure."
"Asuna will train harder!" she answered, blushing deeper.
"Good." Brian gestured toward the door. "Now go fetch Antonio. Bring him to my study."
"Yes, Lord Brian." Asuna straightened her clothes and hurried out.
Brian's study was lined wall-to-wall with expensive oil paintings.
They were so densely packed that anyone with trypophobia would've gone mad within minutes.
"My heavens… that's Master Fant's Windmill at Dusk, and that one—Grandmaster Grana's Baikal Snowfield…"
Antonio, a royal scribe and a man of culture, stood awestruck. His artistic taste was worlds above Brian's. To him, this study was a treasure vault. He was so entranced he didn't even notice Brian walk up behind him.
"Like what you see?" Brian asked casually from behind.
"Of course—of course I do," Antonio blurted automatically, then caught himself and dropped to his knees, bowing low. "Please forgive me, Lord Brian! I didn't mean to covet them!"
"Greed is human nature," Brian said lightly. "If a man doesn't desire anything, what's the point of living?"
He turned toward Asuna. "Wrap up that windmill painting and the snowfield one. Deliver them to Mr. Antonio's home."
Antonio's eyes went wide. "L-Lord Brian, you mean… you're giving them to me?!"
"My generosity," Brian said, lighting a cigar, "is greater than you imagine."
"Thank you, Lord Brian!" Antonio bowed repeatedly, though his gaze remained glued to the two masterpieces.
Seeing that look, Brian's smile sharpened slightly. "Don't thank me yet. I've got a little job for you."
"Lord Brian, please command me." Antonio's voice trembled. He knew nothing Brian gave was ever free.
"Good." Brian nodded with satisfaction and gestured to Rem, who brought forward a small glass vial. Brian placed it in Antonio's hands.
"Find a way to make His Majesty drink this," Brian said softly. "I don't ever want to see him again."
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