SIWALL 8

Generwin Tulion was the nephew of the Marquis of Tulion, adopted by the marquis when he was young. As soon as young Generwin was adopted, what he faced was a fiercely violent older brother.

Ever since he was little, he grew up enduring all sorts of conspiracies, such as being beaten by his brother or being framed for things he didn’t do.

There was no way young Generwin could defeat a brother eight years his senior. His brother was always a step ahead of him.

Whether it was because the brother hated the adopted Generwin or to solidify his position as successor, it remained unknown. Yet, because of his brother’s cunning and crafty methods, Generwin became increasingly isolated at home.

The marquis couple regarded their adopted youngest son as a sinister, stubborn child who somehow didn’t draw any affection.

The retainers of the marquis family considered Generwin to be lacking compared to the firstborn, and among the servants, baseless rumors circulated that ‘the second young master is a twisted pervert.’

So Generwin decided to deliberately fall out of his brother’s favor to put his mind at ease.

A fool, pathetic to the extreme, obsessed with women. A lavish and indolent idler.

That was the mask Generwin wore in order to survive.

“Since when… as expected, because of your brother… your brother ordered it? What did your brother say? Is it, is it just a warning? Or….”

Having lost all color in his face, Generwin frantically darted his eyes around to inspect every nook and cranny of the greenhouse. His face was tinged with panic, and his lips were slightly pale and bluish.

“Customer— Miso—”

“D-did you tell him everything? The commission I gave you, the contract we made… did you tell him everything?”

Generwin asked desperately. It was a change hard to believe of the man who, just moments before, had been flashing a confident, charming smile while threatening Elliot.

“Wait a second… Sorry, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, not to my brother… This time I might really die. I’m sorry, writer mate.”

His voice shook violently like a goat’s bleating. Yet instead of finding it funny, Elliot felt utterly dumbfounded.

That tall, handsome young man—the relaxed and carefree fellow who seemed as though he would fear nothing—looked like a five-year-old child unable to escape the shadow of violence.

‘Seongsik, I’m sorry. Please, this time I might really die. Daddy is sorry. Just this once….’

His father’s voice—which he had tried consciously to forget throughout his life, yet had never been able to forget even once—flashed across Generwin’s face.

A man who had somehow tried to do right. His only family. Poor and affectionate, a fool.

In this world, there are people who keep failing. There are people swallowed up in a single stroke by misfortunes resembling a landslide. When such a person chose to run away in the face of overwhelming scars, Elliot could not bring himself to hold him back.

Funnily enough, because his scars ached as if they were his own.

With Generwin before him now, it was only natural to think of his father. Elliot saw his father in countless people. It was a skill his father had given birth to and raised in him. There was no way that fierce empathy skill would bypass him this time.

“Phew….”

Still, let’s not get shaken. Do not get shaken. Receiving a threat where your life is on the line, and who are you sympathizing with right now? Elliot muttered inwardly.

“I was wrong. I’m sorry. I… I did that because I was afraid my brother would kill me. Just pretend you didn’t see it this time. Just this once….”

Generwin spoke without even breathing.

Elliot let out another sigh. Oh, look at the living Buddha. A walking Jesus Christ right here. Barely managing to restrain the urge to slap his own face, Elliot continued speaking.

“It’s nothing like that, so please stop.”

In the end, Elliot had no choice but to say this.

“I will write the letter for you.”

I will not grab another person’s weakness and shake them around the way you do.

Those were the words implied within.

In fact, the very first time Elliot brought up the brother’s story, it had merely been an improvisation to find an escape route. He had never actually intended to go to his brother and snitch or anything like that.

And at those words, Generwin completely changed his attitude. He acted much more friendly toward Elliot than before. He even insisted that he wanted to stay longer and talk. He even went as far as to insist on staying in the greenhouse even after the rain had stopped. Though he pretended to be relieved, he was still harboring suspicions about Elliot.

In response, Elliot equipped his service-industry smile and dragged Generwin out insistently, saying he would see him off.

“Writer mate, but why on earth did you suddenly decide you wanted revenge on Grand Duke Teron?”

“I haven’t made up my mind to do any such thing, customer~”

“Ah, I see. It’s a secret, is that it?”

Generwin raised an eyebrow playfully.

“But if you’re not my brother’s spy, how do you know the true nature of our perfect young Marquis of Tulion?”

“I just happened to find out.”

“You know that’s a terribly suspicious answer, right?”

“Even if it looks suspicious, it can’t be helped. Still, it’s the absolute truth that I don’t have any ties to your brother.”

Elliot replied calmly. Generwin looked down at Elliot’s eyelashes for a moment, then turned his gaze away.

“Well, alright. Let’s trust you for once.”

Generwin laughed, spinning his long umbrella round and round. The tip of the umbrella swept back and forth across the lawn, which had grown damp with rainwater. Watching the garden’s grass and soil getting scraped and dug up, Elliot frowned.

“Umbrella!”

“Hmm?”

“…Could you please not do that with it, customer?”

The employee mindset deeply engraved into his bones flared up once more. As Elliot twitched the corners of his mouth and forced a smile, Generwin burst into loud laughter.

“Ah, my bad, my bad. The writer mate is a gardener now, right?”

“I am the gardener’s assistant.”

“Right, the gardener’s assistant.”

While Elliot swallowed down his rising anger and inspected the lawn, Generwin swept his gaze over Elliot as if finding him intriguing.

His appearance was certainly similar to before. Except for the fact that his matted hair, previously left neglected anyhow, was now neatly groomed with good texture, and he no longer reeked of alcohol, he was the exact same Elliot Brown Generwin had known.

However, the Elliot Brown he had met a few times when commissioning ghostwriting work was much more… how should I put it, a man missing a screw somewhere. A chilling madness even trickled from his gaze, which was mixed with resentment toward the world, bitterness, and self-pity.

The Elliot Brown of the past would unhesitatingly display the atmosphere characteristic of an alcoholic trying to escape reality.

The Elliot of the present had changed somehow. Generwin had felt that clearly back in the greenhouse. He had felt a firm and warm sorrow in Elliot’s gaze as he looked at him.

Does a person change this much just from quitting drinking? I should probably drink moderately too.

Generwin thought, adjusting his umbrella with a composed posture.

“For some reason, I really want to trust you.”

Generwin poked Elliot’s waist with his elbow. At that, Elliot jumped back with a start and glared at Generwin. The corners of his mouth still pointed stubbornly upward in a brilliant smile. Generwin laughed out loud once again.

To outward appearances, it was a warm, friendly, and affectionate bickering. From Elliot’s perspective, it was merely exasperating and annoying, but Generwin was quite excited as if he had made a new friend.

And there was a gaze watching those two people.

“The prodigal son of Tulion, I see.”

A handsome man standing by the 3rd-floor study window and looking down at the garden said in a low voice. At that, Luor, who had been standing in a motionless posture in front of the desk, straightened his lower back tightly.

“You mean Generwin Tulion?”

“Did you not know that fellow came and went?”

Arzen tilted his excessively handsome face at an angle. Luor hardened his expression and lowered his head.

“My apologies, Excellency. I received the report, but since he said he had personal business with a servant… judging that it wasn’t an urgent matter, I pushed it down the priority list.”

“A servant?”

“Yes. They say he has friendly ties with the gardener’s assistant.”

At Luor’s words, Arzen’s gaze drifted slightly to the side.

The man standing next to Generwin, wearing a gentle smile. The gardener’s assistant.

Arzen recalled the fresh lilies and the shade cast over the sofa.

That servant back then was that fellow, was he.

“Elliot Brown.”

Arzen plucked a name from his memory. Luor raised his head looking slightly surprised.

“Yes, that’s correct. Elliot Brown. That was the name.”

Arzen’s interest ended right there. He watched Generwin and Elliot heading toward the main gate, then sat back down in front of his desk. The shadows beneath his two eyes were dark. Heavy nervousness and fatigue hung thickly around his eye sockets, which were sunken deeper than usual.

In the study where Arzen and Luor were, an enormous quantity of books filled the shelves densely from ceiling to floor. Dozens of books were piled up on the desk as well, and the documents and letters that the Grand Duke had to review and process were also enough to remind one of a small tower.

It was when he, seated amidst the piles of paper, picked up a strategy reinforcement proposal related to horsemanship.

“Grand Duke Excellency!”

Luor shouted in alarm. Spurt by spurt, drops of blood were dripping down onto the white paper.

Luor rushed forward in a flash to block under Arzen’s nose with a handkerchief. Although he was a terrifying and strict superior, the number of years they had rolled together on the battlefield exceeded ten fingers, so there was no hesitation in laying hands on each other’s bodies. The reason Arzen wrinkled his brow in displeasure and rebuked Luor was for an entirely different reason.

“What’s there to make such a fuss over for something like this.”

“But, Excellency! It has already been over a week since you properly couldn’t sleep. No matter how robust a warrior’s physique is, anyone will collapse if they cannot sleep. Isn’t this worse than when you were on the battlefield?”

“If it’s nagging, I’ve already heard enough of it from Henderson.”

Arzen said dismissively, pressing the bridge of his nose. However, the white handkerchief he was gripping was already ominously soaking through with bright red blood.