After Lea left, Moen sat alone in the quiet dining hall, as if still reminiscing about the sensation at his fingertips just moments ago.

Truly worthy of being the future saintess—those little hands...

"Ahem..."

Just then, a rapid cough interrupted his thoughts.

Shawn approached him and respectfully said:

"Young Master Moen, we've interrogated everyone in the dining hall. No one knows those two who tried to assassinate you. It seems they slipped in here midway."

"Of course. After all, my actions are unpredictable. An impromptu assassination like this couldn't have involved long-term planting."

Moen interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, his gaze sweeping over Shawn meaningfully.

"What concerns me more is why just having a meal would provoke such a fierce assassination attempt. Isn't it a bit too soon for assassins of that caliber to be sent?"

"I... I absolutely did not leak any information about your movements, Young Master Moen!"

Shawn suddenly lowered his head, breaking into a cold sweat.

"We ran into each other by chance, and I had no idea beforehand. Besides, I've been with you the entire time; I had no opportunity to pass on any information. Please trust me, I..."

"Alright, I didn't mean to suspect you."

Moen gave him a casual glance before looking away.

Shawn Jones was a staunch royal faction supporter and carried the avenge for his late wife. No matter how he looked at it, there was no motive for betrayal.

As for the reason his movements were exposed...

It was really Celicia who had been monitored, wasn't it?

No, to be precise, it was that little courtyard of Celicia's.

Otherwise, the timing of that chocolate delivery wouldn't have been so precise.

He must have drawn attention when Lawrence carried him out from there.

Still, he hadn't expected to be targeted for assassination so shortly after being noticed.

Truly decisive people.

"So, Master Moen, what should we do next?"

Seeing that Moen had not doubted him, Shawn breathed a sigh of relief and asked.

"What to do... Obviously, I'm heading back to the academy and laying low. I doubt anyone could uncover clues just because this assassination attempt failed. If they're bold enough to act, they've surely prepared follow-ups."

Moen tapped the table thoughtfully.

"As for you, just focus on your job for the time being. Leave everything else aside—right now, you probably haven't even set foot into the bigger whirlpool. Someone else will handle this assassination matter for me."

"Understood."

"By the way, about that captured assassin, interrogate him properly. The result isn't important; what's important is... that you deliver that result to His Majesty."

Shawn paused, then quickly realized the implication. A flash of cold ruthlessness, rarely seen before Moen, gleamed in his eyes. He grinned maliciously and said:

"Rest assured, Master Moen. Interrogation... happens to be my specialty."

"Is that so? Excellent."

Seeing Shawn's confidence, Moen couldn't help but smile.

He wasn't too concerned about what useful information could be extracted to trouble those behind the scenes. Just the thought of annoying them a little was already satisfying enough for him.

After all, he was currently the lone standard-bearer of his ducal house. Though he could leverage his family's name to access resources or even hire powerful bodyguards at significant cost, directly clashing against those in hiding would be far from wise.

His enemies remained in the shadows, after all.

So, the safest course of action for now was to return to the academy and stay under the radar.

Surely those people weren't so all-seeing and omnipotent that they'd dare extend their claws under Teacher Mela's supervision.

Staying low-key was the right way forward.

Besides, in many senses, time was on his side.

Once the engagement ceremony with Celicia was completed, he'd be able to openly cling to her long, stocking-clad legs every day.

And as long as he clung tightly enough, would he still need to worry about these shadowy little nuisances who dared not even show their faces openly?

This was, after all, Belland—not their private playground.

"It's getting late. I'll take my leave now."

"Safe travels, sir."

"I'll leave the cleanup to you."

"That's my duty."

With a casual farewell, Moen left, hands clasped behind his back, humming a jaunty tune.

He strolled toward the academy unhurriedly, as though he hadn't just experienced a life-threatening assassination attempt.

What a pity he couldn't walk side-by-side with the future saintess. That truly would have been a delight.

—

—

Late at night.

The moon was hidden; the wind was high.

Lawrence removed his conspicuous armor and donned plain clothing. He pulled a wide-brimmed black hat low over his face and cautiously approached a secluded manor.

Making sure he wasn't followed, he knocked on the manor's door.

"It's me, Lawrence."

He spoke softly into the building.

Creak—

The rusted gate opened slowly, its sound grating like the wail of a vengeful specter.

But there was no one behind the door. It was as though it had opened of its own accord.

Lawrence showed no surprise. Pressing the brim lower, he stepped into the manor.

The gate shut itself once again behind him.

The manor was dead silent—no lights, no figures.

Both sides of the barely visible pathway were overgrown with weeds, some reaching as high as his waist.

The place seemed long abandoned, devoid of any vitality.

Lawrence carefully brushed aside the weeds, making his way to the deepest part of the manor.

The timeworn building, enshrouded in lifeless ivy, exuded an air of decay, as though it were the ghostly dwelling from some storybook.

Taking a deep breath, Lawrence glanced at the tightly shut door but did not enter.

Instead, his hand reached into the area most densely covered by vines, pulling them aside to reveal a concealed entrance.

He bent down and stepped inside.

The pitch-black passageway was dimly illuminated by faint candlelight.

At the end of a spacious chamber stood a tall man, his features obscured. He had his hands clasped behind his back, gazing intently at a massive portrait mounted on the wall.

The painting depicted a woman, but the dim lighting kept her face hidden.

Lawrence stood silently in the shadows, head bowed, waiting respectfully.

Moments passed in stillness.

The man didn't even glance at him, continuing to scrutinize the painting as he casually asked,

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes, I did."

"And your thoughts?"

Lawrence considered for a moment before replying:

"Just as the reports said. His combat aura is at the second-tier level, but his fundamentals are solid—it’s evident the Duke put a lot of effort into his son.

"As for his magical abilities... He's got decent mana reserves, but his skill level... Well, I'd say it's on par with the average Campbell family standard."

"Anything else?"

"Additionally..."

Lawrence hesitated briefly before continuing:

"The rumors seem to be entirely accurate."

"Rumors?"

"His gait is unsteady, his dark-circled eyes betray excess indulgence—it’s all indicative of someone succumbing to debauchery. From every angle, he fits the profile of a hedonistic noble through and through."

"..."

In the suffocating silence that followed, the man finally turned around and cast a deep, penetrating gaze at Lawrence.

Beads of cold sweat visibly formed on Lawrence's brow as he endured the crushing weight of the man's scrutiny. He kept his head lowered, not daring to meet his eyes.

"I see."

The man suddenly smiled, a faint and ambiguous gesture.

"You've worked hard, Lawrence. Fresh off a recent battle, you should really be getting some rest."

"It's no trouble at all. Serving you is my privilege."

The man seemed uninterested in continuing the conversation. With an absent-minded wave of his hand, he said,

"Your compensation will be delivered to you shortly."

"Thank you!"

Relieved, Lawrence retreated into the darkness.

When he emerged from the manor, he realized his clothing was drenched in sweat.

...

"Heh, so the plan failed?"

After Lawrence left, the man broke his silence, an icy smirk curling his lips as he examined a letter that had somehow appeared in his hand.

"What an interesting 'debauched noble heir' we have here."