Chapter 83 : Between Bullets and Silk

Chapter 83 — Between Bullets and Silk

A sudden warmth blossomed behind me. Johannes’s hands were firm yet gentle as he grasped me, guiding me into the stance of a marksman.

“Have you ever fired a gun?” His voice cut through the silence, calm yet probing. “At first glance, I thought you learned from Sergeant Prim.”

I froze under his gaze, startled by the unexpected closeness and sudden question. Collecting my scattered thoughts, I answered quietly, “I learned the theory, studied the posture, but I’ve never actually fired. I only know to pull the hammer back and aim…”

Before I could finish, the sharp click of the trigger shattered the stillness. Johannes had fired.

Startled, I leapt away instinctively, my heart pounding like a frantic drum. Slowly, I turned to find him looking down at me, his face composed as if nothing had occurred.

“No, you’re the one who’s surprised,” I protested, voice trembling.

He rolled his deep blue eyes with faint amusement. “Why be surprised when there’s no bullet? I merely inspected the weapon and made an educated guess.”

I averted my gaze, cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

From Johannes’s perspective, it seemed far more daunting to peer at the lifeless corpse before us than to endure the echo of a blank shot.

Though startled by the suddenness, I steadied myself, bolstered by his calm presence.

He explained without hesitation, “I carry this with me always. In a perilous moment, you must pull the trigger without hesitation. No criminal waits for caution.”

“I don’t think I could shoot without hesitation,” I confessed, the weight of the truth heavy on my tongue.

“You’d die if you hesitated. And I trust you don’t want that.”

His words struck like thunder—harsh yet undeniable. There was no room for doubt.

Shaking my head, Johannes warned against complacency, that fortune once found would not always smile twice.

Then, raising the revolver, he leveled it at himself.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, breath caught in my throat.

“When the enemy is this close,” he said with icy resolve.

Before I could react, clang—the hammer snapped back.

“What in the world…?”

I watched, pale and breathless, as the weapon’s chamber clicked.

Though the revolver held no bullets, it was a harbinger of death—a silent promise of destruction.

He had once aimed it at Noah Weber, but then his intent was hollow; now, the menace felt tangible.

I had never imagined such proximity to a weapon pointed so calmly—especially not by my own husband.

Johannes continued, undeterred by my stunned silence.

“If you’re too close to aim precisely, shoot the legs first. Then, swiftly aim for the head. Pull the trigger without delay.”

Before I could even shift my trembling hand away, the chamber spun again with a crisp click.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them to meet his serene gaze.

“I hope I never have to use this,” he murmured.

“…”

“If you do, I hope you make the right choice. Unless you want to see me lose my mind.”

Madness. His words bled a fierce love—an anguish born of desperate care.

Heat flushed my cheeks, and I steadied the wild beating of my heart.

“You really…”

“So when that moment comes, you have to shoot.”

His voice was solemn, unwavering—as if the burden of survival rested on that single act.

This only deepened the conviction that Johannes Schultz was not the culprit behind the murders.

Or perhaps…

He was weaving a fragile veil to shield me from doubt, to keep my trust unshaken.

I clung to that hope, even as guilt gnawed at me for suspecting him.

Fragments of the book haunted my mind, swirling confusion within.

I closed my eyes, seeking refuge in the quiet.

—

The next morning arrived with a sharp dispatch, hastened by the Marquis Russell of Böln. The sender—an austere elderwoman.

Evanstein Castle, before Duchess Schultz.

I had presumed news of the murders had yet to seep into Böln, yet the letter’s tone was brazen beyond expectation.

Flowing script, elegant yet laden with unspoken reproach, invited me to visit the Marquis’s residence.

Duchess Schultz,

I was heartbroken to hear of the grave events unfolding in Mussen.

To think the Duchess is embroiled in such darkness…

Even at this early line, her disdain painted itself vividly in my mind: a face twisted with pity, a voice dripping with condescension.

Yet I read on, intrigued by the letter’s full course.

Thus, I too have wrestled with concern.

Is it truly wise for me to journey to Mussen?

There is much to protect—my lineage, my estates, my affairs.

One cannot venture into troubled lands without great risk. Is it not safer to remain in Böln?

Though I know your past is shadowed by misfortune, on the train to Böln, I have reserved all seats for my lady.

For security, the head of the agency shall be chosen after thorough scrutiny.

Therefore, I wish for the Duchess to come to me, as this will surely strengthen the ties between the Schultz and Russell houses.

I trust you will not refuse, and I look forward to witnessing the keen eyes of the Duchess.

Awaiting your swift and favorable reply,

From Old Mrs. Russell.

So, in the end, it was merely a summons cloaked in concern—an insistence that I present myself in person.

Perhaps she departed for Böln after the recent ball, mulling over her vexation at needing to meet a commoner duchess in distant Mussen.

Perhaps she believed, in her haughty mind, that the excitement of the ball had swayed Johannes, blinding him to reality.

Even if not, the shadow of murder hung over Mussen, casting reluctance in many hearts.

As one of Docilia’s foremost magnates, her caution was unsurprising.

Yet to cancel an appointment would be to admit defeat.

Thus, she chartered a train, bestowing the utmost respect upon the duchess she summoned.

Perhaps her ire stems from my steadfastness at Heibenstein Castle.

I handed the letter to Johannes immediately—not for approval, but for scrutiny.

He scanned the letter, unmoved, then spoke with measured finality:

“It’s best to decline.”

“I did not bring this to you for permission,” I replied.

“Then what?”

“I think we should visit Old Mrs. Russell ourselves. Did you not intend to impress her?”

Though Johannes sought her favor, the old lady remained stubbornly resistant.

Yet, the need for her assistance lingered stubbornly.

I could not discern her true motives, but Bjorn was undoubtedly safer, as she warned.

So, on the day she chartered the train, I resolved to journey to Böln, guarded by a formidable escort.

As I coordinated the trip, the weight of devising a pleasing business proposal settled upon me—a task I must face alone.

Just as the idea crystallized, a call came from Böln.

—

Dressed, I concealed Johannes’s revolver beneath the garter belt of my gown. I packed ample ammunition into my handbag.

With my escort and Ahin beside me, I advanced toward Mussen Station.

The platform was unusually deserted.

As I stepped aboard, the engineer hastened out from the engine, bowing with respect.

“I awaited you, Duchess Schultz. I am Carter McKelly, honored to serve you this day.”

Howie scrutinized his features closely, permitting boarding only after verifying his identity matched Old Mrs. Russell’s records.

“All preparations concerning your attendant head are complete. Yet before departure, the train director’s identity shall be reconfirmed, and all passengers assigned cabins to ensure no intruders escape notice.”

No sooner had these checks concluded than the train roared its horn and began to glide forward.

I gazed out the window in silence.

Suddenly, Ahin, seated opposite, lurched forward with a start.

“Ahin?”

Her wide eyes fixed ahead in shock.

Beside her, a man rose and addressed me:

“Hello, Duchess. Long time no see.”