Chapter 40

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 40

Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Wife of the Monster Duke

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In noble etiquette, introducing someone unknown to each other was a perfectly natural procedure.

After all, most of their meetings aimed at forming social connections.

"But who might this gentleman be...?"

However, the question from the Lady of Baron Vitin carried a somewhat brazen edge.

The primary issue was her apparent lack of awareness and tact.

Everyone else already attending the funeral had quickly pieced together who the man beside Ilrin was.

Some things you could figure out without even striking up a conversation, right?

For starters, House Arlen had frequent dealings with the North lately.

Plus, there were whispers that their daughter had gotten married.

Those who traded with House Arlen couldn't possibly be completely in the dark about it.

"That man is..."

Whispers steadily spread among the guests.

The man beside the lady had a face that wasn't well-known, and he didn't appear to be of high status.

Moreover, his attire didn't resemble a knight's uniform.

If a knight from a clear affiliation were escorting her out of loyalty, he'd wear a cloak or insignia marking his affiliation unmistakably.

But there was nothing of the sort on him.

His features were strikingly handsome, yet his clothes were plain, almost devoid of ornamentation.

Of course, being people tied to noble houses, the gathered crowd had an eye for clothing.

Most recognized that the man's outfit was of quite expensive make.

"Who on earth is he?"

"Well, no one's said it outright, but isn't it obvious...?"

Decisively, the Lady Arlen, Viscount Arlen's daughter, had shown up with this outsider of a man—perhaps even her husband—clearly at her side.

Even if she hadn't debuted in high society, she was someone well-versed in noble etiquette.

That much had spread among certain guests who frequented House Arlen, at least among those present at this funeral.

"She wouldn't have brought him without knowing what it implies."

"But his face isn't familiar."

Aden knew the mounting whispers were all pointing his way.

Ilrin, hearing far fewer of them, still caught on that he was the subject of the murmurs.

"..."

Exposing his face had been his choice.

Even so, Ilrin glanced up at Aden.

Was he really okay with this?

She'd heard that after becoming Duke of Biplten, he'd cut off all contact with the capital.

This could spark unnecessary trouble for him.

But Aden, reading her thoughts, smiled as if to say it was fine.

"He's Den from the Esid Merchant Group."

Viscount Arlen already knew him as affiliated with the Esid Merchant Group anyway.

As their northern distribution manager's proxy, no less.

Based on the rumors and Milo's investigations, Viscount Arlen hadn't even announced Ilrin's marriage publicly.

He'd probably planned to paint her as a flighty girl who looked grown-up but bolted without listening to him.

That way, he could at least claim the absurd title of a father who couldn't bear to defy his beloved daughter's wishes, prioritizing her happiness over the house's revival.

And afterward, he'd scheme to line his own pockets while wondering exactly which house she'd married into.

It was a rare thing for him to see through someone he'd barely met so transparently.

Nobles looked down on marrying merchants.

Aden minded that a bit, but Ilrin was already holding his hand.

It meant she felt no need to hide their relationship here.

He felt a slight twinge of pleasure.

After all, it was gratifying that she proudly showed him off.

"Ah... So he's from a merchant group."

The Lady of Baron Vitin hid her face behind her fan.

The awkward gesture laid bare her shallow thoughts to Aden's eyes.

She was wasting her time pondering useless notions about how Ilrin, once a viscount's daughter of higher standing, had married a lowly merchant.

Their conversation inevitably echoed through the funeral hall.

"So, married to a merchant?"

"House Arlen..."

The whispers buzzed around Aden's ears once more.

He let them pass without a change in expression.

The rumors were already spreading.

The Lady Arlen, Viscount Arlen's daughter—who disregarded noble etiquette—had arrived escorted by a man of unclear affiliation.

Even while standing vigil beside her mother's coffin at the funeral, she kept him with her.

The man's identity was surely her husband.

House Arlen might hush it up, but he was unmistakably the one she'd chosen.

Viscount Arlen's displeased expression confirmed it.

Ilrin de Arlen—no, the former Lady Arlen—had married.

To that man with the neat black hair and deep blue eyes.

Afterward, Ilrin made one full round of the funeral hall.

Then she kissed Viscountess Arlen's coffin once more.

Repeating a procedure that could end after one kiss clearly held meaning.

She knew that whenever nobles gathered—for funerals, weddings, or any event—such commotions inevitably arose.

And whether it was a joyous occasion or a farewell to the departed, the place always became a hotbed of gossip.

But she didn't want it too noisy.

"..."

After that, the funeral hall fell silent, just as she wished.

Aden stayed by Ilrin's side until the funeral concluded.

He rose before her in the mornings and retired after her at night.

Berdah silently kept watch by Ilrin's side as well.

Without even informing her son-in-law, Viscount Arlen, of her visit.

Viscount Arlen was too busy exchanging greetings with other nobles to neglect a guest who arrived alone, making it possible.

On the first day of the funeral, Ijis approached Berdah as she left House Arlen.

"You've been ordered to be escorted to Madam's quarters."

Ijis saluted her crisply.

Not being his lord or madam, there was no need for a full show of loyalty.

Still, he infused his greeting with genuine respect.

Berdah looked at him with an intrigued expression.

"Ilrin's orders?"

Just from Ijis's face, Berdah grasped half the situation.

So the rumors about precognitive dreams running in Madam's maternal family were true.

"It's my lord's command."

But Berdah had only grasped half of it.

Escorting her to Ilrin was Aden's order.

"Oh my."

How sly—he was very sly indeed.

Chattering lightly, Berdah twirled her cane and followed.

Ijis quickly realized after a few steps that the cane wasn't for support.

He cautiously extended his hand.

"Allow me to assist you comfortably."

The gesture differed entirely from escorting.

Didn't it almost look like he was asking her to hand something over?

After the surprise gift of her grandson-in-law Aden, and now his adjutant acting so endearingly, Berdah finally burst into laughter.

"Can't rein him in at all."

She gladly handed over the cane in her hand.

Ijis hesitated briefly, then held it as if cradling a longsword.

"I never expected anything from that viscount..."

She even hesitated to call Viscount Arlen her son-in-law.

"...but I never imagined the grandson-in-law would turn out better."

To go this far with such cute gestures.

With a delighted face, she followed Ijis.

Ijis bowed politely to her once more.

Her following without suspicion must mean she'd foreseen his face.

He was struck anew by the greatness of precognitive abilities.

Of course, he had no intention of lying anyway, but he resolved never to fib in front of Madam.

White lies or whatever, they'd look like pathetic tricks to someone who already knew everything.

He courteously guided Berdah to the quarters.

Her steps, vigorous beyond her years, followed briskly behind.

Aden had several reasons for escorting Berdah to Ilrin's quarters.

For one, as Ilrin's sole meaningful blood relative, it was worth currying favor.

No matter that he was the Duke of the winter lands, ruler of Biplten who commanded the blizzard-swept North—he couldn't force a marriage life on Ilrin.

Of course, she seemed happy in his arms.

But who knew what might happen if her grandmother Berdah opposed the marriage.

He didn't think she'd leave Biplten immediately.

Not that he'd let her go even if she wanted to—he was far too devious for that.

"See to it she's comfortable."

Still, Aden didn't want Ilrin, who'd lost her mother, to suffer further loss.

Especially not because of him—that would be an even greater sin.

Winning over Berdah for Ilrin's sake was only natural.

If Berdah took a dislike to him, Ilrin couldn't relax fully, could she?

If he earned her ill will, it might force Ilrin into the cruel choice between Berdah and Biplten.

"You've arrived?"

Ilrin welcomed Berdah with a bright smile.

Another key reason lay there.

Ilrin had suddenly lost her mother just days ago.

He hoped time with her family would offer some comfort.

Fortunately, Ilrin recovered her smiles readily around Berdah.

On nights when thoughts weighed heavy in the darkening solitude, Aden spent them with her.

He filled those thick, intense hours—enough to embarrass Ijis guarding the door—so she wouldn't feel lonely.

"It's Milo."

It was around then, as she spent time with Berdah.

Aden tilted his head slightly.

There was no reason for Milo to visit now.

"Come in."

What reason could bring Milo all the way to Viscount Arlen's estate in person?

"My lord."

Milo appeared not as head of the Esid Merchant Group, but dressed as some servant.

It wasn't much of a surprise.

Managing the merchant group wasn't Milo's only role.

Disguises, infiltration, and intelligence gathering were part of his duties too.

"Keep formalities brief."

Even with no eyes about, Aden had no intention of chatting long in Viscount Arlen's poorly soundproofed house.

"What's the matter?"

Milo proceeded cautiously.

He pulled out paper and pen from his bosom and wrote his message.

Aden didn't find it excessive.

True, few could hide their presence from him.

Even among Biplten's monsters, whose senses far outstripped humans', it was hard to find one who could.

But caution was best.

Aden narrowed his eyes.

Ijis, silently guarding behind him, widened his own.

Milo swiftly wrote below it.

Luminous Ello?

Urgent contact from there? Only one thing came to mind.

It couldn't be.

April brought fierce northwest winds, but Luminous Ello wouldn't crumble so quickly as to contact the estate in mere days.

If they lacked that much resilience, they couldn't have held their base near monster territory to begin with.

Moreover, harsh weather made messengers scarce, so news of the winter duke heading south likely hadn't left the estate vicinity.

How could the Yester Tribe, vulnerable to divine power, move at such exquisitely perfect timing?

Something was off.

Even so, he rose to his feet.