If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 190

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It felt like facing a solid wall. No matter what he said, Agatha’s hatred and anger toward him wouldn’t subside. In fact, the more he spoke, the more it seemed to fuel her fury.

Agatha left, leaving Cain behind. Stuck in his spot, unable to move for a long while, Cain was snapped out of his thoughts by Lehman’s voice entering the room.

“Commander, the men are too exhausted to move immediately. It will be difficult to find new accommodations for them right now.”

Given that they hadn’t rested a single day on their journey from the capital to here, it was only natural.

Cain asked Charlotte to find a place where the knights could rest, and Charlotte gladly offered up a bedroom and food for them. But it wasn’t just because of the knights. Cain had no intention of leaving this place immediately.

He didn’t expect to gain her forgiveness in a single moment.

But he didn’t want to return to that terrible hell where he couldn’t see her again. He knew that kind of suffering was enough for one lifetime.

Reflecting on the countless pains he had caused Agatha, he realized how selfish his own desire to avoid suffering was.

At the very least, he should wait for her as long as she had waited for him.

The idea of waiting wasn’t a problem for him, no matter how long it would take. So he was determined to stay by her side and wait.

It was far better to remain as a selfish, miserable person than to lose her.

And besides…

“Count Schuck…”

In the midst of his thoughts, he hadn’t considered it at the time.

But there had been something unsettling in the way he had looked at Agatha. Moreover, the whereabouts of John Calvino were still unknown. With an uneasy feeling rising within him, Cain knew he had to stay close to her to ensure her safety.

So he had decided, once again, to be the bad guy who ignored her wishes.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

“That Vernat guy… he’s got such an unpleasant look.”

Count Schuck muttered after sending off his unexpected guests.

Although he had heard of the reputation of Cain Vernat’s name, this was the first time he had encountered him in person.

The man appeared much more intimidating and cold than he had imagined from the rumors. The Count had initially underestimated him, thinking that a young noble with a reputation would lack true authority.

But the moment he met him in person, he realized how wrong his assumptions had been.

The threatening glare in his eyes and the strong voice that instilled fear with just a word—Cain Vernat exuded a force that couldn’t be ignored.

The Count’s discomfort wasn’t just from being ignored by a young noble from a lower rank. It was something deeper, something else entirely.

When he first met Cain Vernat’s eyes, there was a strange sense of déjà vu. It was an unfamiliar face, yet it felt strangely familiar.

Where had he seen this face before? It was a face he felt he knew well.

The Count sank heavily into his chair, his body trembling as he struggled to recall a memory that seemed just out of reach. His steps, though only a few, seemed like a great burden for his large body.

A maid quickly placed a cup of tea in front of him, then poured milk into it.

At fifty years old, the Count had peculiar tastes that didn’t quite fit with what one might expect of a nobleman of his age. One of those quirks was his love for sweet foods. In particular, he adored drinking hot milk with an excessive amount of sugar.

Despite a warning from his doctor that he wouldn’t live long if he didn’t change his eating habits, the Count showed no interest in adjusting his diet.

He didn’t see the need to exercise or care for his health, as he was surrounded by people eager to serve him with just a snap of his finger. For him, his obesity seemed to be a comfortable indulgence.

He quickly finished his cup, and without missing a beat, the maid refilled it for him. He took a sip, then suddenly spoke as if recalling something important.

“I’ve definitely seen that face before. Don’t you think?”

“Who are you talking about, sir?”

“Cain Vernat. His face is strangely familiar.”

“Ah, you mean Marquis Vernat. He certainly doesn’t have a common face…”

“That’s exactly what I mean. It’s an annoying face, but not one you’d see every day. But where have I seen it?”

The question wasn’t really asked to elicit an answer. The Count treated his servants more like dolls—people who were to speak and obey without question.

“Forgive me, but there is someone he resembles.”

“Resemble? Who?”

“It was a slave with brown hair that the Grand Duke had gifted you. That slave had eyes that oddly resembled the Marquis.”

“A slave with brown hair?”

The Count furrowed his brow, seemingly unable to recall. He was trying to dig into his memory, thinking back to the slave the Grand Duke had gifted to him…

“Ah, that woman.”

The Count finally slapped his knee as though he had just remembered.

“Yes, now that you mention it, those strange blue eyes do seem similar. But that slave, wasn’t she from Amasril? And for a man from the Vernat family to resemble a prisoner from Amasril, that doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“I was just offering my foolish thoughts. As soon as I saw the Marquis, that slave came to mind…”