RODH Chapter 27
by Brie27.
At first, I had intended to use a large shovel instead of a trowel.
But Bain panicked and stopped me.
“My lord! What if you damage what’s inside?”
Ah, yeah… that made sense.
I quickly agreed and followed his advice, picking up the trowel instead.
According to him, the ground behind the manor was only hard on the surface—the deeper layers were actually quite soft.
That’s why the house had been built out front, or something like that.
Anyway, as I dug diligently with the trowel, Bain came rushing over with a shovel in hand.
“I thought shovels were a no-go?”
“Well, that was only because I was worried your father might faint if he saw you struggling like that.”
“You really do worry too much…”
“Hehe.”
Come to think of it, if word got out that the Ruben heir was digging in the dirt, the one who’d be scolded most would be Bain.
My parents were lenient with me, but they were relatively strict with the servants.
I told Bain,
“Just dig a bit off the top. I’ll take care of the rest underneath.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Even though he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, Bain dug like a pro.
As the upper layer of soil was cleared and something caught on the shovel, I stopped him.
“There’s something here. It’s hard…”
“A box, maybe?”
“Could be.”
Bain and I started clearing the dirt with our hands around what looked like the edge of a box.
Just as Bain guessed, it was a box.
A rectangular one—perfect size to hold a journal.
“There really was something here.”
“Wow… Maybe Lord Berkisto was a genius after all?”
“Hm…”
More like a mole than a genius, maybe?
Bain burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
Brushing off the dirt, we found a lock on the front of the box.
“He didn’t mention a key, though.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a way.”
“A way?”
“Yes. My lord, please step back.”
I did as Bain said and backed away from the box.
He raised the head of the shovel high—and with a swift motion, smashed the lock open.
Clang—
I couldn’t help but clap.
“Ahem. If you’re going to serve someone like you, my lord, this much is basic.”
“Just don’t hit me with a shovel next time you get mad.”
“W-What? I could never hit you, my lord!”
“I’m joking, I’m joking. Let’s see what’s inside.”
“I’ll cover the hole first. You go ahead and read the journal.”
While Bain carefully covered the soil again, I began peeling away the resin-wrapped cloth layer by layer.
He must’ve planned for long-term preservation—that’s why he’d wrapped it in resin cloth.
The journal inside looked brand-new, like the untouched note from before.
As I flipped to the first page, I saw a familiar phrase in the preface.
What set this journal apart from the previous one was that, like most of Berkisto’s notes, the preface was long and wordy.
[History is the record of the victors.
But I have dared to reject that record.
To those in the future reading this—
I have written this journal with as little personal bias as possible.
The judgment is yours to make.]
Did he write something serious?
When I opened a random page in the book, it revealed detailed information about the North.
Berkisto hadn’t failed to leave a record of the North.
He had written it—he just chose to hide it, for some reason.
And the reason for hiding it was probably…
“My lord?”
“Bain.”
“You don’t look well. Is something wrong?”
“What we found here today… don’t tell anyone.”
“Eh? Oh—yes, young master.”
Thankfully, Bain was quick on the uptake.
“Let’s go back in.”
I glanced around cautiously as I carried the journal, box and all.
The butler asked about the box along the way, but I brushed it off with some excuse about it containing herbs from Alvis.
Bain, clearly unsettled by my silence, hovered nervously beside me the whole time as I sat quietly, reading through the journal.
[Imperial Year 1432.
An unprecedented monster wave caused the White Dragon Ephasia to lose her sense of self.
Ephasia was the youngest sister of Radime, King of the Dragon Clan, and at the time, she had been traveling through the North.
Having lost her reason, Ephasia summoned her true form and attacked the Kirias domain alongside the monsters.
The Grand Duke’s estate in Kirias was built for defense, so civilian casualties within the domain were minimal.
However, the losses among the combat forces were severe.
The reason was simple—they could not kill Ephasia.
The Emperor urgently sent a letter to Radime, asking him to decide Ephasia’s fate, but by then, it was already too late.
The Grand Duke and Duchess of Kirias died, leaving behind their only son, Nevan Nik Kirias.
About 40% of the Grand Duke’s estate was damaged.
Even that limited damage was only thanks to the Grand Duke and Duchess successfully exhausting Ephasia’s strength at the cost of their own lives.
But behind this tragedy lay the Emperor’s meticulous calculation.
According to the testimony of many, including Sir Hubert, the Emperor did not immediately send a letter to Radime upon receiving the news.
Instead, he saw it as a perfect opportunity to break the spirit of the North—and deliberately delayed informing the Dragon King.
The Emperor is said to have stated:
“Northeners can never be tamed. I respect their spirit. However, as long as Ferost is imperial territory, they must obey my orders, not a Grand Duke’s. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sir Hubert?”]
I had only read part of the journal, and already my head was spinning.
So what it was saying… was that the Grand Duke and Duchess were sacrificed to prevent an imbalance of power.
Chills ran down my entire body.
People had always believed that what happened that day was a tragic accident.
It was why they thought the Dragon King owed a great debt to the Grand Duke of Kirias.
But the truth was something else entirely.
Did the Grand Duke of Kirias know about this?
Just knowing such a thing could put someone’s life in danger.
After some thought, I decided not to tell anyone.
Not even the Grand Duke of Kirias.
I couldn’t sleep.
After spending nearly the whole night with my eyes wide open, a guest arrived at the estate.
It was Lucian.
Lucian tilted his head, eyeing Ian’s tired-looking green eyes.
He looked like someone who’d lost a piece of his soul—definitely not about to just say “I’m tired” and go home.
“Ian, are you sick?”
“No.”
“Then are you tired?”
“No.”
“If it’s neither… did you see something you weren’t supposed to?”
“……”
Ian blinked quickly, startled.
Lucian had a sharp nose for things.
Damn. I shouldn’t have called him.
As Ian sat tense and on edge, Lucian whispered to him,
“Must’ve been something dirty, huh?”
“…No. It wasn’t that.”
Thank god this idiot’s dumb.
Thank you, Lord.
Ian gave a silent prayer of gratitude as he sprawled back on the couch.
Lucian didn’t nitpick about Ian’s poor hospitality either.
“Doesn’t seem like you’re in a good mood today. Guess I came at the wrong time.”
So Ian responded the same way.
“Yes. If I had known, I wouldn’t have received a guest today. That was my mistake. Please forgive me.”
“You don’t look sorry at all.”
“I truly am.”
“How can someone be that completely devoid of sincerity?”
Tsk, tsk.
Lucian clicked his tongue.
He asked what had been bothering Ian lately.
Ian answered without hesitation.
“My engagement.”
“Engagement… Is that even something you can break off?”
“They said I could, if I meet face-to-face with him. My father has already given permission.”
“Hmm, then the problem’s His Majesty the Emperor?”
“……”
Ian’s face went pale the moment the Emperor was mentioned.
“What, don’t like your future father-in-law?”
“Of course not.”
He’s a wretched bastard.
Ian thought something that would’ve made anyone faint if they’d heard it out loud.
He could check if Berkisto’s journal was telling the truth by asking Peter.
According to the journal, Peter had confessed as much.
But with so much time passed since the Ephasia incident, would Peter even tell the truth now?
And if he did—wouldn’t he lose his head?
Ian suddenly felt resentful toward Berkisto.
“Judgment is yours,” he said. Yeah, right.
To write something like this knowing the truth… the man was truly insane.
If that journal ever landed in the wrong hands, the entire family could be branded traitors on the spot—
“Gasp!”
Ian suddenly shot up from the sofa as the memory of how he died in his fourth life flashed through his mind.
Lucian, seated some distance away with his arms crossed, watched Ian’s every move.
“You’re acting really weird. Either you ate something bad, or you’ve caught a terminal case of can’t-break-off-the-engagement.”
“…Let’s go with the latter.”
“Do you really want to end it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t love His Highness Seor.”
“Pfft. Since when do royal marriages involve love? They’re all arranged.”
“I don’t like that.”
Lucian leaned in close beside Ian and asked,
“Then you prefer a love marriage?”
“I have no thoughts about marriage at all, so please scoot over, Lord Lucian.”
“So prickly.”
Lucian backed off a little.
Every time he tried to get close, Ian bristled—it made getting close to him damn near impossible.
But Lucian wanted to help Ian with his breakup.
At first, Ian’s blunt honesty had felt refreshing. But at the hunting competition, Lucian realized—what he felt wasn’t just curiosity.
Even if the timing wasn’t right now, someday when it came time to choose a partner, he planned to propose Ian as a candidate for Crown Princess.
Yes, House Ruben’s solid background and the fact that Ian was a dominant omega who could handle Lucian’s pheromones played a part—but more than that, Lucian genuinely liked Ian.
“Like I said before, there’s no way I’d ever be bored with you.”
“That’s honestly kind of unpleasant to hear.”
“And if it is?”
“Then I’ll kick you out.”
“Huh?”
“Bain!”
“Okay okay, I’m sorry! I was kidding, I swear!”
Ian flopped back onto the couch, eyes half-shut.
He clearly hadn’t slept properly last night.
So Lucian figured he needed to find out what was making him so exhausted.
Whistling, Lucian stood up from his seat.
Ian didn’t seem to care where he wandered around the room.
Lucian’s eyes landed on the imperial decree for the May Festival resting on the desk.
Ah, so that’s what’s got him down.
“The May Festival’s what’s depressing you, right, Ian? I’ve got a great idea.”