Chapter 493

Without elaborating any further, Hugo lightly brushed back his still-damp hair. He had suddenly become conscious of whether the lion wearing the face of a kitten had left bite marks on his neck. But Flinn seemed to take the gesture as a sign of fatigue, and with a small start, he bowed his head.

“It’s late, so I’ll take my leave now. If your headache gets worse or you need anything, please call for me.”

“All right.”

“Ah, and there was something I needed to give you.”

As though something had just come to mind, he stopped, half-turned, and slipped a hand into his inner pocket. It was positioned so that Hugo could clearly see the movement of his busy wrist. It was one of the rules in this estate as well, so that even if an assassin disguised as a servant drew a weapon, the duke could respond immediately.

Of course, if he could not trust Flinn, then whom could he trust? Even so, Hugo watched closely to see what would emerge from his hand.

The object he took out was presented along with both palms. A token.

“I found it this morning while I was staying behind in the archive room at the preliminary arena organizing files. I thought perhaps you had left it there.”

With a puzzled look, Hugo held out his hand and took the keepsake.

“Well.”

To think he had left behind something this important. It seemed he truly had not been in his right mind then.

“I must have had no time to spare. Thank you for bringing it.”

“So it really was yours, my lord? Since you haven’t attended social gatherings lately, I wasn’t sure... Is it some kind of charm or commemorative coin? Ah, my apologies.”

Sensing he was talking too much, Flinn hurriedly swallowed his curiosity.

“I only meant to deliver that... Please rest well.”

Then, after bowing politely, he approached the door with silent steps.

“And no more drinking.”

Having finished the sentence all by himself, he still could not refrain from mixing concern with meddling to the very end. Hugo let out a faint laugh and tipped his head. Then, without answering, he turned the holed token over in his hand. A thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he turned his head and spoke.

“Come to think of it, Flinn.”

“Yes?”

Flinn, whose body had already been halfway out, stopped at once at the quiet call. He perked up and turned back, only to see Hugo part his lips, close them again, and shake his head.

“No, never mind. Go get some rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. Understood.”

Flinn tilted his head, but did not add anything further. After that, the sound of the door closing rang faintly. As the extreme silence settled in, Hugo finally felt that he was alone.

The rim of the token, filled in alternating white and black, flickered softly in front of the candlelight. While staring at that contrast, Hugo almost reached for the cognac out of habit, then stopped. At this rate, he had no standing to tell Leonardo to refrain from drinking.

I should start cutting back as well.

Instead, he laid a hand over the bottle and sealed its mouth with an ice stopper so the scent would not escape. He pushed the glass and vial to one side of the table as well. Whenever he looked at this token, he always thought of that clear face waving shyly from a distance. At such times, he was seized by the feeling that he needed to keep himself in check, as though he ought to become an adult capable of supporting him.

Of course, that sense of responsibility was not unpleasant.

As Hugo stroked the token held between thumb and forefinger, he lightly pressed his lips to the engraved number 0 in the center.

At the same moment, the line of desk drawers behind him opened on their own. The yellow envelope inside slowly slipped out.

Flap.

The envelope rippled through the air like a wave, fluttered like a carpet, and flew toward the sofa where the duke sat. Then it swayed from side to side like a lifeless fallen leaf, gradually lowering until it settled onto the table.

It was one of the pieces of evidence brought earlier by Shorendo’s adjutant at the meeting, the one containing the sealed Servan family photograph. By strict principle, materials related to a case handled by the institution should never have been brought into a private residence, but Hugo did not think he could feel at ease no matter where inside the Council this was left.

Setting down the token, Hugo picked up the envelope instead and opened it. Then he carefully took out the photograph inside.

Steadying himself with an unnecessary deep breath, he quietly studied the photograph that gave him such a strange feeling.

“......”

The view under the candlelight was especially tinged with yellow. Perhaps because of that, the child’s hair, which had looked white before, was now dyed with an unmistakable gold.

The moment he saw it, the headache began creeping back once more. The dull ache instantly sharpened into something needle-like, constricting and stabbing at his head from all sides. Hugo furrowed his brow and pressed one hand against the corner of his eye.

There was no doubt about it. Whenever he looked at this photograph, an unbearable headache surged up and interfered with his thoughts. It was as if something were forcibly trying to control his attempt to remember.

A bizarre static tangled chaotically together, stimulating everything from his eyes to his brain.

But at the same time, a deeply buried memory began to force its way out from one corner of his mind. Or rather, it was difficult to tell whether it was truly a memory or merely a delusion... but he could see the faint image of a small figure desperately clinging to his collar.

He could not clearly remember when he had seen that figure, where he had met it, or who it was.

Only one thing was certain. In that dim afterimage, the small being had spoken to him pitifully.

Please don’t go.

“Ugh.”

With pain that seemed to split his brain apart, his vision suddenly went white as if a fuse had blown. A low groan slipped through Hugo’s clenched teeth. At the same time, a gust of wind swept through the room, though not a single window had been opened. All four candles flickering nearby went out, leaving only pale smoke rising bleakly into the air.

“Ah...”

In the space left with only darkness, Hugo pressed his palm against his temple as if trying to crush it in his grip.

His head, pushed to its limit, throbbed violently. It was the first headache of its kind he had ever experienced in his life. At this rate, it felt as though cracks might form in his skull.

What on earth is happening to me?

How long had he remained like that? Perhaps the alcohol was finally catching up with him, because a haze crept over him and took on the role of a painkiller. Thanks to that, it was at least more bearable than when he had been staring at the photograph in his office. So what he had told Flinn had not been entirely false.

“Hoo...”

Releasing a deep sigh to steady the pain, Hugo closed his eyes and opened them again. In the dimness, he placed the photograph back into the envelope and sealed it once more. The moment the figures in the picture were hidden again, the candlestick that had seemed dead reignited on its own. He had done nothing.

With cold eyes, Hugo stared blankly at the burning wick.

A strange phenomenon.

“Was some kind of magic cast on it?”

This world was full of things no ordinary human logic could comprehend, so there would be nothing strange about an old spell being placed on a photograph.

But once his thoughts reached that point, the situation only felt more complicated.

At the meeting, I focused only on proving that the material had no evidentiary value in order to block suspicion from turning toward Leonardo. Of course, that was not a lie. Vivian Servan’s statement contained nothing beyond her own claim that could specifically identify the figure in the photograph as Leonardo.

To begin with, Leonardo was male, not female. And even if he had been so young that his sex could not be told at a glance, no one but a pervert would grow out a boy’s hair and dress him in a one-piece gown.

Moreover, Leonardo, who came from Bermuda, could not truly be blood family with this house. And even if one assumed he had been adopted...

Then why would they have let him enlist as a child soldier?

Back then, child soldiers were often used for menial work in the military or as cannon fodder in dangerous operations. The Servan family was not an old noble house, but it had once belonged to the class of wealthy families that had poured enormous funds into winning the favor of the imperial faction.

So there would have been no need for them to scrape together petty cash by selling a child off to the military.

Nor would they have intended to raise a child so slight that even the sex could be mistaken as a soldier. Even if they had known of his potential, a talented mage did not necessarily have to become a soldier.

But even putting all of that aside, Hugo could not shake the feeling that the child in the photograph was Leonardo in his youth, and that he himself had met him in the past.

The same was true of the afterimage that had flashed through his mind in Fidele’s cabin. Who exactly had grabbed him and begged him not to leave, and why had the same afterimage surfaced when he saw that photograph? Nothing about it made sense.

Ordinarily, in a situation like this, he would have begun methodically laying out the direction of the investigation and diagramming it step by step. Unfortunately, Hugo had no capacity for that right now.

He impulsively sprang to his feet. Then he crossed to the small table before the window, undid the lock, and took out the communication device.

It was paired to only one device, so there was no need to wonder whom he should contact.

After hesitating for a moment, Hugo pressed the button and waited through the monotonous signal tone as it rang several times.

Whenever he contacted him, this brief moment always felt like an eternity.

Then, in that instant, the signal cut off, and the sound of the connection going through reached him.

“Hugo?”