Silence was like a sword that had not yet been pointed.
It was not an overt threat, but the intent to exert pressure beneath it was obvious.
And did it not resemble a sword in the way it created a taut sense of tension as well?
Indeed.
Even if it was not aimed, a sword was still a sword.
At last, Marquis Findleston had drawn the weapon he had been hiding.
At the very least, it was the result of his no longer finding any reason to conceal the blade from me.
Or perhaps he simply no longer had the leeway to do so.
The trembling middle-aged man from before was nowhere to be seen.
As he sighed and leaned back against the chair, his posture carried the arrogant dignity unique to the head of a prestigious house.
For the first time, the Marquis lifted his teacup.
Until now, his hands had trembled as though he suffered from some nervous disorder, yet the tea touched by that hand remained as calm as a tranquil lake.
“Forgive my discourtesy, Iron-Blooded Duke…… I chose, based on my own judgment, not to report this to you. More precisely, I believed it needed to remain secret for some time.”
It was an apology delivered between sips of tea.
Naturally, this was not a matter I could simply overlook, so my expression twisted.
“I don’t imagine those men were…