Chapter 39

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: The Princess Only Deals in the Real Thing - Chapter 45

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There's no point in turning the pawnshop upside down anymore.

Because if they track down that 'grandfather' who hasn't shown up even with closure looming, some clues are bound to emerge.

'There must be a reason why that grandfather's whereabouts are so elusive. He's hiding because he's got something to feel guilty about.'

Narrowing the search radius for Eibor—who was holed up like a dead rat—should have made Tessah pleased.

And yet, for some reason...

"...Ha."

Something was nagging at him.

Was it his gut feeling that this pawnshop was hiding secrets?

Or perhaps...

"Isn't she uncomfortable?"

Tessah raked a hand roughly through his hair as he stared at Elisha, who had curled up and fallen asleep before he knew it.

Maybe because it wasn't that damn ledger serving as her pillow.

Tessah, with one knee bent, carefully tried to slip the blanket out and prop the ledger underneath her head.

At that moment, Elisha stirred.

"Mm..."

Tessah's throat bobbed as he ended up letting her rest her head on his arm by accident.

Long eyelashes. A dainty little nose and lips. Even the peachy-pink strands of hair tickling his fingertips.

They were too close.

For some reason, heat rushed to his ears.

Tessah sharply averted his gaze, drawing in a breath—then froze in place.

'The tracking clip is flashing.'

Blink.

Blink blink blink.

The magical tool buried amid Elisha's peachy-pink hair was flashing furiously.

There was only one scenario in which the device that detected Rugenoht's energy would blink continuously.

'It means Eibor was here. And recently!'

Tessah squeezed his eyes shut.

In the western reaches of the Empire, the Alkemia Ducal Lands.

The butler's voice was soft and gentle as he attended to the elderly Duchess.

'It's just the sort of place where there's hardly ever any need to raise one's voice.'

The longtime servants were loyal, and their master—the Duchess herself—had a mild temperament.

"Your Grace, shall I read the telegrams and letters that arrived today?"

"...I could check them myself at this point. You've been working too hard, my friend."

Invitations to parties and teas flew by quickly.

"It's been nearly a decade since Your Grace last appeared in society, yet so many still yearn to see you."

"I'm grateful. But this old soul just wants to live quietly amid nature."

"Understood. I'll send our polite regrets."

"Do that."

The Duchess gazed out the window at the flowers and trees beyond her glasses, murmuring softly.

"They say the northern snowcapped mountains and waterfalls are truly breathtaking."

"...Your Grace."

"Ah, just idle talk. Dragging this frail old body all the way north would only lead to illness."

The Duchess smiled wryly from her wheelchair.

Frail from birth, she adored nature but had never truly experienced it up close.

Her world was limited to the flower beds and trees in the garden.

'Those scheming for the positions of adopted son or daughter showered her with flattery and massive landscape paintings... but none ever quite caught her eye.'

The Duchess had married, but her weak constitution had prevented her from having heirs.

As such, plenty tried to cozy up as adopted heirs, coveting her wealth and title.

They'd send house-sized scenic paintings with pleas of 'Take some comfort in this!'—only for her to return them all.

Were they simply not up to her standards?

The butler, looking glum as well, picked up the final letter.

"Oh? This one..."

"Something wrong?"

"It's a letter with no sender listed."

Who could have sent it?

The butler tilted his head and tore open the envelope, only to tilt it again at the contents.

"There's just a single photograph inside."

"Hand it here."

The Duchess took the photo.

While the butler wondered who might have sent such a thing...

"Prepare a carriage at once."

"P-Pardon?"

The Duchess cried out in a rare, animated voice.

"I must go to the Philosophy Auction House!"

As the servants bustled in preparation for the rare outing, the butler snatched up the photo he'd barely glimpsed earlier.

It showed a plate.

A small note was attached beneath the plate depicting a waterfall.

Tonight, at the Philosophy Auction House night auction.

Late at night, just before midnight.

I stretched as I stepped out of the guild hall.

'All my tasks are done. Now it's just a matter of waiting.'

I'd resubmitted the permit application, and word had come back that the Alkemia Duchess's butler had taken the letter.

'Time to head to the auction house.'

On the way to the auction house.

I glanced at the darkened pawnshop.

'Alter actually woke me up.'

I'd figured he'd just set an alarm clock or something.

But no—he woke me precisely thirty minutes later.

"Get up."

Though he bolted right after.

'Did he snoop around upstairs while I was asleep?'

Half-passed out, I hadn't even locked the upstairs door.

Alter wouldn't miss a chance like that. He'd always suspected I was hiding the pearl-inlaid sword.

I didn't deal in stolen goods anyway, so there was nothing incriminating.

'To think I'd end up showing it to him so anticlimactically.'

My policy was never to let him see upstairs, but half of it had been sheer stubbornness.

Everything was still in place when I checked. He'd just looked with his eyes.

'Guess he won't come around anymore.'

I'd always fretted over how to chase him off, but now that he might not show... it felt oddly disappointing.

I shook my head to clear the thought.

'Alter, Ayrun, Rina—their matters tangle my heart, but I can't know the outcomes yet.'

Better to focus on the present than worry ahead of time.

'Some things you only learn by seeing them through.'

The auction house came into view in the distance before long.

Instead of heading straight in, I scoped out the carriages.

'There they are.'

Rozanne Viscountess's carriage...

And the Duchess of Alkemia's.'

I smirked and donned my mask.

'I'm curious, Rozanne.'

About what face you'll make at midnight tonight.

In the buyer section of the Philosophy Auction House.

Rozanne Viscountess couldn't hide her irritation even behind her mask.

To think she'd have to slum it at a night auction—one that didn't even require trading over 200 million gold for an invitation like the weekly ones?

This was all because of that useless Hugo, Carlos, and Nicholas.

'If only Nicholas had properly copied Forest of Colonya!'

Nicholas hadn't even shown his face today.

Meals were always separate anyway, but to not even see him off?

Was he cowering in his atelier, terrified his blunder would come to light?

As if hiding his head made his whole body vanish, like some ostrich.

'Well, Nicholas is just a disposable brush anyway. Once I get that 'magician' in hand, I'll shove the original Forest of Colonya in that idiot's face and crush his pathetic pride.'

Rozanne snickered, her sadism flaring.

'You're such a bother to the end, Uncle. But this is where you stop.'

It wasn't just Nicholas who hadn't shown.

Right up until entering the auction house, she'd confirmed: Michele hadn't appeared in Ashen Street either.

And that wench Elisha hadn't come sniffing around her.

Which meant...

'The pawnshop's days are numbered.'

Once the pawnshop closed, Michele would start hunting his hidden fortune.

All she had to do was tail him and intercept it midway.

What could a rabbit do without its burrow?

'The fortune hidden in Forest of Colonya is basically the stepping stone.'

With that thought, the painting category finally kicked off.

"Forest of Colonya, starting at 100 million gold. Bids?"

Rozanne lazily raised her paddle.

No one else would bid on that trashy painting anyway.

But...

"101 million gold. 110 million gold..."

Bids kept coming.

'What?'