Chapter 59: Family or Cause?
“Ha ha ha ha! The gods… Ah! The gods are on my side!”
Fitzmetz burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching his belly. A shocking shift from the sobbing wreck he had been moments before.
But how could he not laugh?
Just when he thought the sky was falling, a sudden message arrived—and with it, an unexpected escape hatch.
“It’s fate. This has to be fate…!”
The northern region of the Batevil Kingdom, at the natural boundary dividing Batevil from the Kingdom of Dagnes—
─Nevera Valley.
A perilous ravine nestled among the world-renowned Caphras Mountains, second only to the most treacherous peaks known to man.
It was said that the Red Clover, a legendary flower, bloomed only at the very bottom of Nevera Valley.
“According to legend, Mort Clover, the founder of the Clover Trade Company, discovered it…”
But a legend was just that—a legend. There was no way to confirm if it truly existed.
No one knew if Mort had ever truly descended to the bottom of Nevera Valley.
History, after all, was a lie rewritten by the victors.
“Amazing! A dreamer if I’ve ever seen one!”
Aajen Clover had publicly declared he would seek out something whose very existence was uncertain!
Fitzmetz, a staunch realist, could only scoff.
“He made such a grand declaration in front of everyone. Even if he realizes it was a slip of the tongue, the words are already out. He can’t take them back. Which means…”
Hee hee hee. Fitzmetz rubbed his hands together like a scheming fly, his grin oozing with malice.
Leaning back into his half-broken sofa, he began to devise his next wicked plan.
“No matter what, that stiff-necked fool Aajen will head to Nevera Valley. Whether he finds the Red Clover or paints a regular one red, he has to at least pretend he’s searching there!”
So, what if they laid an ambush ahead of time—before Aajen and his companions arrived?
Strike when they’re off-guard. Kill them. Make it look like a fall.
“Unlike the expedition… this time we’ll be thorough. Meticulous.”
He would make sure Aajen Clover died.
For good.
The bottom of Nevera Valley was unknown to all. No one would ever uncover the truth behind Aajen’s death.
“And then… the Clover Trade Company…”
Would fall into the hands of his beloved granddaughter, Enaka Clover.
At long last, he would see their dream realized.
“That settles it. I’ll request reinforcements from Depicio.”
The assassination guild Depicio was often mockingly referred to as a “beastkin federation,” due to its diverse and entirely non-human membership.
Surely among them were beastkin who could fly, swim up waterfalls, or wield strange ancestral powers.
“Yes! That’s it!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Fitzmetz’s expression was bright as a clear sky after rain.
But just as his despair had vanished in a blink—so too would peace.
For life, as always, was fair in its cruelty.
And Fitzmetz had overlooked that truth.
“...Good. That takes care of one concern.”
He had just finished transmitting the plan to Depicio when he felt a pang of hunger.
“Ah, come to think of it—I skipped dinner. No wonder I’m hungry. Tch, this damn age—can’t miss even one meal.”
Chuckling to himself, he brushed dust from his coat and rose to his feet.
“No one’s at the dining hall right now, right?”
Planning to prepare a quick bite, he reached for the doorknob.
Just as his hand touched the smooth handle—about to turn it—
“…!”
Fitzmetz froze.
Like prey caught in the gaze of a predator, he began to tremble violently.
Clink!
He felt it—cold steel pressing against the back of his head.
A blade.
Someone had broken into his office.
“Don’t turn around. Hands up.”
The voice was low, eerie, and androgynous… chillingly strange.
The muzzle of a gun crept closer as the voice spoke. Fitzmetz complied, raising his hands slowly.
“W-Who are you…?”
Scraping together what little courage he had left, he forced himself to speak.
Though his voice trembled with fear, he did not stop—like a broken music box.
“Who dares… to threaten me, in my office, at this hour?! Do you know who I am?! Do you have any idea what kind of power stands behind me?!”
A dangerously provocative statement for a man moments from death.
But Fitzmetz had never been one to sit back and surrender.
“H-Ha! Do you not fear the consequences of threatening me?! But what now?! Too late for regrets!”
Since his impoverished childhood, Fitzmetz had endured countless hardships.
Now, all showed him respect. They honored him.
Why?
Because Fitzmetz Magpie had earned that honor. He had clawed his way into high society.
He had never stopped striving.
Grit!
Without realizing it, he clenched his teeth.
If I hadn’t been a beastkin. If I had been born a pure LAMPAS citizen…
Would I have suffered this humiliation?
The fire of inferiority scorched him.
More than fear for his life, it was the wound to his pride that hurt most.
“……”
But strangely, the intruder didn’t respond.
That’s it! This is some clueless thief!
Fitzmetz assumed, and with a forced tone of mercy, barked:
“Bah! If you back down now, I’ll forgive you. Kneel and bow your head!”
He even internally praised himself for sounding so magnanimous under pressure.
“…Hah.”
But what came in return was a cold, derisive laugh.
Click.
The sound of a gun being cocked.
“A merchant, are you? Head of a merchant group, no less—and yet so pitiful.”
The intruder scoffed.
“Disappointing. I expected better from someone so well known. But you’re just a fool who only sees the world through your own lens.”
“W-What did you say?!”
Fitzmetz tried to retort, but the intruder continued.
“You don’t seem to learn. So let me offer some advice.”
Click.
The sound of a trigger being pulled—slow, deliberate—right beside his ear.
Fitzmetz’s face went pale.
“I don’t like repeating myself.”
“W-Wait—!”
Something surged. Triggered. Cutting through the air like a charging bull—
And Fitzmetz Magpie, he had no defense.
Bang!
“Ugh—!”
It burned. It was cold. It was pain like no other.
In just a second, that sensation repeated endlessly—until he understood.
“AAAAAAGHHHHH!”
Agonizing pain tore through his abdomen. Something hot and wet poured down his stomach.
“Hhgh… ggh—!”
Now truly realizing what had happened, tears of agony streamed down Fitzmetz’s aged face.
“Wh-what… do you want from me…? Why are you doing this…?”
His words faltered, the pain breaking his composure far more than the fear ever had.
Now, Fitzmetz’s voice carried a depth far beyond what he had shown earlier.
“Looks like you finally understand.”
But it was too late.
The assailant, satisfied, pulled something from their coat.
“Here. Look closely.”
Through bloodied, clouded eyes, Fitzmetz looked up.
And saw who had done this.
The attacker made no effort to hide their identity. No mask. No dark clothes. No secrecy at all.
Which was shocking in itself, but what truly made him speechless—
“…Blond?”
It was night. The world outside pitch black. Yet somehow, that golden hair shone clear as day.
And today, Fitzmetz had seen someone with hair like that.
With his own eyes.
“Y-You…!”
It was him.
—I’m Lewin Legisel. Representative of Aajen Clover, rightful heir to the Clover Trade Company.
Aajen Clover! That bastard! He’s behind this! How did he know about the caravan plot!?
But Fitzmetz didn’t have the strength left to say it aloud.
All he could do was gasp for air, writhing in pain.
“You’re looking at me—but you should be looking here.”
The intruder—no, Elwin—spoke softly.
He waved a small, glowing orb before Fitzmetz’s eyes.
“Because someone you love more than anything is in here.”
“…!”
Dread instantly gripped him. Eyes wide, he stared into the orb.
At first, he saw only a masked figure—probably an accomplice.
As he tried to analyze it, the image suddenly shifted.
Fzzzt—
A new figure appeared.
[T-Tskh…!]
A girl, tightly bound by ropes.
Small frame. Wearing a familiar deep-blue dress.
“Huh…?”
But it was her hair—shimmering with lavender and sky-blue hues—that froze his breath.
[Gr-Grandfather…]
That voice.
It sent a chill down his entire body.
“…Enaka?”
It felt like someone had struck the back of his head.
His mind went blank.
Inside the orb was his one and only granddaughter—Enaka Clover.
“Wh-What is this?!”
Fitzmetz’s old face contorted in shock.
When? When was she taken?!
He had seen her at the conference. But the Enaka in the orb looked exhausted—like she had been tied up for hours, maybe longer.
“When do you think she’s been like that?”
Elwin spoke, as if reading Fitzmetz’s mind.
“She hasn’t had a sip of water in days. She’ll collapse soon—unless, of course, you follow my instructions.”
“…!”
“It’s a bit cliché, but I figured I’d say it anyway.”
Elwin declared:
“If you want to save your granddaughter, do as I say. Otherwise—she dies.”
In an instant, the ruthless man who sought power vanished.
Fitzmetz dropped to his knees and begged, groveling with a pitiful grin.
“I’ll do anything… Just please… don’t hurt my granddaughter… please…”
Then he closed his eyes tight, helpless laughter leaking out.
“How ironic. What a cruel joke of fate…”
In a single moment, fate had given him both hope and despair.
Hope after despair—and then despair again.
“So this is it.”
Now he understood.
The gods had never once smiled upon him.
As always.