Chapter 30 : The Weight of Silence, the Echo of Truth
Chapter 30
“I was wondering if there were a single word… that could define Sergeant Isaac.”
Was it truly such a difficult task?
“If you’re choosing your words to spare my feelings, don’t. Speak plainly.”
I waited, anticipating some grand revelation—some profound tribute. Instead, he offered a deceptively simple phrase.
“An honest and upright man.”
It was unembellished, yet it captured the essence of my father perfectly.
‘Even in the military… my father remained unchanged.’
I drew in a deep breath, feeling my chest tighten. My voice trembled despite my best efforts.
“And in the end… was he in pain?”
Johannes’ hand stopped mid-motion.
Without a word, he extinguished his cigarette—dropped it into a half-full glass of wine. The ember hissed and died instantly.
I watched the fading smoke curl above the wet tobacco, eyes locked on the insignia engraved at the base.
‘Is the truth… too heavy to speak?’
Through the weeks, I’d learned this subtle habit of his—this telling silence. A rare fissure in the armor of a man forged in warfare. A quiet signal: the question had struck too deep.
And yet, within a blink, his face returned to its impassive calm.
“I don’t remember it well,” he replied.
“…What was the diagnosis?”
“Some suspected food poisoning. Others mentioned cholera. The symptoms pointed to both.”
My face twisted in disbelief.
“So no one knew for sure? There was no precise diagnosis? That’s absurd! Just food poisoning…? Was there not a single competent physician?”
The emotions I had restrained burst forth in a bitter surge.
It was ludicrous. Unforgivable.
What was the military doctor doing? Had I been there… had I been by his side… maybe he wouldn’t have died so senselessly!
“In wartime, even the smallest illness can claim a life,” Johannes said, steady and unshaken.
“That doesn’t make it right—!”
“This only happened in the Docilian army. That’s why we lost.”
“…What?”
I stared, uncomprehending.
He elaborated in a tone as even as marble.
“Tactically, the official reason was failure of strategy. But the truth? The army was depleted. Supplies were insufficient.”
My mind reeled.
But that was impossible.
Docilia had been flourishing—on the cusp of a golden age, powered by innovation and thriving trade.
A shortage of supplies? Inconceivable.
“This… this is insane. Docilia was on the brink of victory.”
Still, his expression remained detached, as though recounting someone else’s misfortune.
“If someone embezzled the war funds—”
I stopped myself.
Because the thought that followed should not have existed.
And yet… it did.
What if the royal family—those who profited from war—had hoarded wealth while soldiers perished? What if they created scapegoats to mask their disgraceful greed?
What if… Duke Schultz was one of them?
I checked the balcony doors. The guests were still mingling, none close enough to hear.
Then I whispered the question.
“Is that… what happened?”
Johannes didn’t answer. He simply lifted the wine glass, the one that now held a drowned cigarette.
And in that motion—I understood.
“…Why didn’t you tell me?”
My voice cracked as I demanded the impossible.
“It doesn’t concern you,” he said, curt and sharp.
“How can you say that? He was my father!”
“If you think like that, then what? Will you expose a truth no one can prove? People die in war every day.”
So you carried this alone?
I choked on the words that rose in my throat.
Everything spun. Whether from wine or from the weight of truth—I couldn’t tell.
As I faltered, Johannes gripped my shoulder, steadying me.
“Are you alright?”
“Are you?”
I brushed away his hand and lowered my voice.
“…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked something like this today.”
I was his wife—at least in title. And titles, as I was learning, meant very little in the presence of real grief.
Perhaps I had no right to demand answers.
As I leaned against the railing, Johannes’ voice softened—no longer sharp, but distant.
“There’s nothing to gain by mourning what’s already passed.”
He was right. I knew that.
Still… my heart refused to agree.
Trying to escape the suffocating air, I looked toward the ballroom.
“There are eyes on us,” I said, voice hushed.
He followed my gaze. A cluster of noblewomen stood near the window, watching with thinly veiled interest.
“There are quite a few who seem rather interested in your wife,” he muttered.
I smiled faintly.
“Maybe they’re not trying to win over my husband through me… maybe I’m the one they want to impress.”
He glanced sideways, and for the first time in a while, his lips curved slightly.
“Or perhaps they’re just curious about our performance.”
I frowned.
“Our… what?”
“This scene. It must look like a lovers’ quarrel to them.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Not so much. When you were with Edward Windsor, you seemed… comfortable.”
“What?!”
The volume of my voice made a few heads turn. I quickly composed myself, plastering on a smile for the benefit of our spectators.
Was he always like this?
Was he testing me?
Or simply teasing me?
No—he wouldn’t. Right?
“…Anyway, you’re right. I shouldn’t have left room for doubt today.”
And then, with a gentle motion, I lifted my hand and brushed it against his cheek. The moment our eyes met, his expression stiffened.
‘So this is why… he’s been cold.’
Because I vanished with Edward. Because I made him uneasy.
“I know this is unpleasant, but… this was the best I could do.”
Even as I smiled, my heart panged. I looked at him again.
“So… what now?”
“Why are you asking me?”
Before I could reply, he closed the space between us.
“You read faces well. And besides—”
His lips brushed my ear, voice warm despite the cool air.
“You’re now the Duchess of Schultz, Edith.”
His hand reached to tuck my hair behind my ear.
“That means the next move is yours.”
I inhaled sharply.
The Duchess of Schultz.
A title that had once seemed distant was now sewn into my very name.
I turned toward the watching ladies and smiled—poised, controlled, perfect.
The door opened. The noblewomen approached.
“Your Grace!”
Gilded in jewels, their tones honeyed, their admiration almost theatrical.
“How long did you study etiquette, Duchess?”
“It’s as though you were born into nobility.”
Their compliments flowed freely. And strangely, I felt… reassured.
Perhaps, as Johannes said, they were intrigued by me—not merely angling for his favor.
And wherever admiration exists… so does envy. That was the truth of nobility.
‘At least on the surface,’ I reminded myself.
Lord Gunner once told me that even the most glittering women formed secret factions.
These… these must be from the rising noble class. Commoners who, like me, climbed into gowns stitched from ambition.
So, I gave them what they came for—a graceful smile.
“If it pleases you, I’d be honored to invite you all to Castle Evanstein.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, truly. Right, Johannes?”
I quickly shifted my tone as the ladies’ excitement soared.
Johannes gave me a look—gentle, composed.
“If you wish it, madam.”
His voice was polished, his posture elegant.
“…Thank you.”
Just then—chaos shattered the serenity.
A shout pierced the air:
“A murder! There’s been a murder in the square!”
Gasps erupted. Conversations froze mid-word.
Every eye turned.
And just like that, on what was supposed to be the most peaceful day in the most peaceful city—
The illusion of serenity in Mussen shattered.
