Chapter 492

Hugo, lightly shaking off his damp hair, walked through the hidden corridor inside the room in nothing but a shower robe. In his hand, instead of a light orb, he carried a faint candle lamp. The light created by luminous stones or magic had felt particularly exhausting to him today.

Every window was covered by curtains without exception. Although enchantments already prevented anyone from seeing inside, today he wanted to block even the soft moonlight and the whispers of mountain birds.

Moving at a slow pace, he arrived at his private study connected to the bathroom. It also served as an antechamber attached to the bedroom—the last place attendants serving the duke were allowed to step into.

The interior was spacious yet silent. In front of the cold, extinguished fireplace lay a thick carpet and a glass table.

Only the flickering flame of a silver candlestick welcomed its weary master with warmth.

Hugo stepped into the stillness without hesitation. Setting the guiding lamp on the table, he let his body sink into the soft sofa behind it.

“Ha...”

As he tilted his head back, his broad frame sank halfway into the deep cushions. Rubbing his furrowed brow and eyes as if washing his face, the crystal decanter tilted on its own and poured a drink into the glass. The amber cognac sloshed softly, filling the rounded edge of the snifter.

Lowering his gaze lazily, Hugo picked up a small glass vial placed beside it.

He uncorked it and, as always, poured its contents into the glass. The black liquid spread like ink, blooming like a flower before slowly settling at the bottom.

After swirling it a few times with his wrist, he downed the concocted liquor in one gulp. Just as he was about to exhale his first breath—

Knock, knock—

A timely knock broke the quiet. His brow twitched briefly, but Hugo emptied the glass and composed his expression before responding calmly.

“What is it?”

Flinn, who had been about to open the door from outside, hesitated. Normally, Hugo would not even ask and would simply say “Come in,” so a question like this was a sign that he was not particularly pleased.

“The coachman has returned. He said you instructed him to report upon his return.”

“Send him in.”

With permission granted, Flinn checked that no one was nearby before opening the door to the antechamber.

The room, lit only by four small candles, was startlingly dim. However, already aware that his master was not in good condition today, Flinn entered quietly without showing any reaction.

The heavy door, thick enough to be nearly twenty centimeters, brushed past his feet and shut behind him. Sliding over to the sofa, Flinn carefully examined his master’s disheveled state and asked cautiously,

“Is your headache any better?”

Hugo only nodded without answering. His complexion did not look particularly improved, so Flinn glanced at the empty glass and vial and added,

“On a day like this... it might have been better not to drink.”

“Consider it a painkiller.”

At the immediate reply, Flinn’s expression darkened. Right after today’s meeting had ended, Hugo had quietly called him over and instructed him to bring medication for his headache. Having shown signs of discomfort throughout the meeting, Flinn had assumed it was a tension headache caused by stress.

However, when he returned with the medicine to the Legion Commander’s office, what he saw was his master, uncharacteristically clutching his forehead with one hand in visible distress.

Normally, Hugo maintained his health meticulously, and thanks to his natural physique, he rarely fell ill unless injured in battle. Yet the sight of him sitting at his desk with his head lowered had made even the surrounding air feel different.

Fortunately, his condition had improved considerably after leaving immediately once the meeting ended. Even so, not even the duke’s physician, who had rushed in, could determine the cause of the headache. It was only natural that concern lingered.

Sensing the gaze, Hugo waved his hand lightly as if to move on.

“So, what did the coachman report?”

“Ah, yes. The gathering ended around 23:38...”

Flinn recalled the report delivered by the deputy coachman of the ducal estate, who had returned late at night.

It seemed he had been instructed by his master to ensure the safe return home of Leonardo Blaine. Though he was no ordinary coachman—the ducal estate’s deputy driver whose skill bordered on artistry—a command from his master was absolute.

“He waited nearby for quite some time, then spotted Blaine coming out and successfully got him into the carriage.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone. However, he said he was not told the location or direction of his residence.”

“...What does that mean? Did he get off midway?”

“Not exactly...”

The coachman, who had intended to see Leonardo safely home, had also tried to subtly probe for where he was staying. But the direction Leonardo requested to be taken was entirely unexpected.

“The destination Blaine requested was Gate 3-2 in the southwest sector of the Agrizend territory.”

“The southwest 3-2... Celestia?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Previously, right after his release, the gate he used was also one bound for Celestia. Could it be that his residence is there?”

It was unlikely he had gone sightseeing alone in the aerial city at such a late hour after parting with his team. And given his fondness for high vantage points, it was a somewhat plausible assumption that he might be staying there.

However, Hugo, rubbing his chin, shook his head instinctively.

“He’s trying to erase his trail. Like last time.”

“Ah.”

He had hoped, under the guise of goodwill, to at least learn where he was staying... but in front of someone as perceptive as Leonardo, it was futile. Pretending to accept the favor of a ride home, only to vanish once again.

“He leaves no openings.”

But it seems he kept his promise not to drink.

At least he was not in a state so drunk that he would blindly follow a stranger. Then again, someone who had evaded all kinds of factions and organizations for three years would hardly lose that edge.

Yet just as it seemed he might be within reach, he would raise hope only to slip away again. If one day he were to disappear entirely, Hugo knew he would have no choice but to wait endlessly once more. That bitter truth made him scoff at himself.

“In moments like this... he can be quite heartless.”

It was a remark layered with many meanings. Watching his mood, Flinn quickly added,

“Ah, but he did say to convey his deep gratitude for your consideration!”

At the eager report, Hugo’s blue eyes shifted slightly to the side. Studying Flinn with a calm gaze, his eyes curved faintly.

“Did he truly say that?”

“...Perhaps not in those exact words, but something similar, I believe?”

Flinn gave an awkward smile, fidgeting with his hands. Aware that Flinn had been observing his expression the entire time, Hugo soon relaxed his features into a gentler expression.

“I see. Then that is good.”

“Um... if this is because of what was mentioned in today’s meeting, please don’t worry too much.”

At the unclear remark, Hugo’s brow lifted slightly.

“Hmm?”

“Blaine is very strong, and we both know what kind of person he is better than anyone.”

When Hugo did not respond, Flinn hesitated before continuing.

“You told the coachman to escort him... because you were worried he might become a target again, didn’t you? To protect him.”

“......”

Only then did Hugo vaguely understand what Flinn had meant earlier.

Flinn seemed to believe that Hugo had given that order to protect Leonardo Blaine from potential external pressure, after he had been named as a suspect in a murder case during the meeting.

...Come to think of it, Flinn could not possibly imagine what had happened in the shower room.

Given the circumstances, openly mentioning their covert relationship would be difficult. Leonardo, who had built a rapport with Flinn, would likely not want that, and it might make things awkward between the two of them.

I did give the order in case some fool tried anything...

In a sense, that too could be called “protection.”

“...Mm.”

Judging it not entirely incorrect, Hugo gave a vague, noncommittal acknowledgment—uncharacteristically evasive, as he found himself quietly pondering how to explain his relationship with Leonardo to his closest attendant.