The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

While overseeing the inspection, Adele's sharp gaze scanned the dockyard like a falcon circling above prey. The moonlight glinted off the metallic crates, casting long, angular shadows that stretched like claws across the ground.

Suddenly, from behind a stack of sealed containers, Bernard emerged, cloaked in the same silence he always wore. His presence wasn't announced by sound—but by the sudden unease in the air, as if the night itself recoiled from him.

He leaned in close to Adele and whispered, "Ma'am, it's time."

Adele's lips curled faintly, but the gleam in her eyes could've frozen blood.

"Oh?" she murmured, her voice calm yet threaded with steel. "Finally."

Major Radii, noticing the subtle shift in her tone, stepped closer with a frown. "What happened, Lady Lela? Any inconvenience? Are the products not to your satisfaction?"

"No," she replied flatly. "The goods are fine. But it seems we have… mice sniffing around."

Radii raised a brow before breaking into a smirk as he understood the hint. "Ohh… those types. They're everywhere these days—rats crawling in through the cracks, thinking they won't be seen."

He chuckled, the sound unpleasant. "These roaches and insects never know where to stop or when to retreat. They always stir up trouble, then cry when the boot lands."

He leaned in and added in a conspiratorial tone, "We had a similar problem just a few days ago. Cleaned it up nicely."

Adele didn't respond. Her thoughts had already left the dock, flying through the shadows toward the hills beyond—toward those hidden eyes she knew were watching.

She turned toward Bernard again. "Can you take care of it?"

Bernard's lips curled, exposing the faintest shadow of a grin. "Of course. We've already led the man in."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then begin. Cleanse them."

Bernard then looked at the masked man who bowed his head.

"As your wish."

A pulse ran through the air like a silent thunderclap.

...

Far from the dock, nestled deep within a ridge of black stone and tangled roots, Martina's group stiffened all at once. Even the insects in the trees seemed to hush.

A presence was approaching—no, unfolding,like a great maw yawning open in the dark.

Then he appeared.

From behind the veiled woman in the black evening gown, a masked man emerged alongside another man.

He moved slowly, yet with a weight that warped the space around him. Every footstep was soft, deliberate—predator's steps. Each one closer was a tightening noose.

Kael's throat locked.

That wasn't normal killing intent. This wasn't a man simply ready to kill.

This was something older. Something primordial.

It was death that had forgotten how to be human.

Even the guards around the man unconsciously stepped aside, as if their instincts screamed not to obstruct whatever force had just entered the scene. Their grips on their sword tightened—not for action, but out of desperation to feel in control.

Sol felt a chill crawl down his spine. His fingers trembled. "W-What coincidence…?"

The masked man stopped beneath the pale moonlight, perfectly centered in the open dock. His eyes—icy, silver-edged, like forged obsidian—moved slowly, scanning the area like a blade drawing circles in water.

Then, with terrifying precision, his gaze passed directly over their concealed vantage point.

He circles around the place randomly as if looking here and there.

"Princess…" he muttered softly, voice smooth as velvet and cold as iron.

Martina flinched—not visibly, but those beside her felt the tremor ripple through her presence.

The masked man tilted his head, as though listening to music only he could hear. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

No one dared to breathe.

Herion's jaw clenched as he adjusted the scope of his telescope. His voice was little more than a strangled whisper. "Does… he knows we are here."

"But how?" Kael asked, mouth dry.

Martina didn't answer. Her eyes were locked onto the figure below unblinking, burning with a tension that felt like it had waited years to detonate. Cold sweat slid down her temple.

Her voice was low, firm. "Everyone. Stay still. No one moves."

Below, the woman in the black gown turned slightly, sensing the shift in energy. Though her face remained veiled, the subtle tension in her posture revealed unease. Her guards closed formation instantly, encircling her as though preparing for an invisible storm.

Adonis, peering over the edge of their lookout, muttered, "Who the hell is that guy?"

Kael looked at Martina, searching for an answer. But her silence said more than words. Her lips pressed into a tight, pale line. In her eyes dread. Not fear of death, but of something far worse.

The masked man's gaze drifted to the casket being carried by the young major, his voice cutting the silence.

"Such a fragile thing," he mused, almost mockingly. "And yet, worth all this trouble… What a joke."

Suddenly he stopped speaking.Then his head snapped upward.

Straight at their post.

Every heart skipped a beat.

Kael recoiled. "He looked—!"

"Did he—?!"

"Don't move!" Martina hissed. The words were like daggers, sharper than any blade they'd brought. She didn't raise her voice—she didn't need to. Authority radiated from her like lightning.

Down below, the man didn't take another step.

But the weight of his presence grew. Thick, suffocating. As if the space around him was collapsing inward. He tilted his head again, like an animal sniffing the scent of prey it couldn't see—but knew was there.

A faint smile pulled beneath his mask.

"Let's see how far you're willing to go this time, Princess of Heizen."

And with that, he turned and walked after the veiled woman, as if nothing had happened.

The guards followed tightly, eyes scanning all directions, weapons held low but ready.

Kael finally exhaled, only now realizing he'd been holding his breath.

Beside him, Martina was still frozen.

Staring at that man's back. Not with confusion. Not with curiosity.

With something ancient. Like facing a nightmare she had hoped was long buried.

"Who… was that?" Kael asked.

Martina didn't speak immediately.

When she finally did, her voice was colder than the wind above the ocean.

"It seems," she said slowly, "he is one of the Imperial Guards under the Third Prince."

The name hit the group like thunder.

Silence fell again this time not from fear of being heard.But because none of them knew if they were ready… to survive what came next.