Chapter 55

"I'm delighted that such a beautiful dance could grace my engagement banquet with Freya. May I ask the two of you for your names?"

Jill came down the stairs, and Freya stepped forward to take his arm without the slightest hesitation.

Baron noticed the woman beside him shoot him a look whose meaning he could not place—playful, curious.

The gesture made his heart lurch. This woman... could she have seen through his disguise?

Yet she suddenly seized his hand and curtseyed toward Jill and Freya. "He is called L; I am called KK."

Baron started to protest, but KK already pulled him away.

She had danced with haughty pride; she left with smoldering grace.

"An interesting woman indeed," Freya heard her fiancé murmur.

Off the floor, Jack hurried up, obsequiously offering KK a peeled duck leg and a crystal goblet brimming with red wine. He looked every inch the fawning lackey.

KK paid no heed to the stares around her. She wrapped the duck leg in a napkin and devoured it in a few quick bites, then tipped the goblet back and emptied it in one swallow.

She set the empty glass on a passing servant's tray, plucked the kerchief from the servant's breast pocket to wipe her mouth, and casually flicked a fifty-pound note onto the tray as a tip.

The servant beamed.

Baron watched the woman in silence, those scarlet irises of hers unsettling him more than he cared to admit.

KK nudged Jack with her foot and whispered, "Your brother seems to have taken a liking to me."

A clear chime of crystal rang out. Jill's footman was tapping a silver spoon against a glass.

At European banquets, such a sound was the signal for every guest to set down fork and conversation and lend an ear to the forthcoming speech.

Jill, however, was not the sort for long speeches. When every eye turned to him, he simply raised his glass.

"Thank you all for coming to celebrate my engagement to Freya."

He drained his wine in one smooth motion, face betraying neither flush nor shortness of breath.

Applause thundered through the hall.

Baron conceded that the fellow drank like a man—half a hero, perhaps. The other half stood beside him.

Jack lifted his glass in imitation, winking at Baron. "Thank you all..."

Baron's mouth twitched. Never mind that he himself was a transmigrator; the original owner's diary made it clear there had been no contact between him and Freya. To him, the engagement was nothing more than ink on paper.

He turned his gaze to the dais.

Jill accepted an ornate red box from a footman and opened it, revealing a dazzling ring.

A deep scarlet stone, polished to mirror brightness, was set in mithril.

Baron's eyes narrowed. So this was the rumored Red-Dragon Scale.

"Nothing but a dead scale," KK murmured. "What it commemorates is likewise dead."

Then came the expected tableau: the fiancé on bended knee, the ring slipped onto the bride's finger, the swell of music, the rain of petals, the blaze of lights, the towering cake—romance incarnate.

Someone shouted that members of House Constantine were present and urged the couple to kiss for their benefit.

The hall erupted, applause and cheers shaking the chandeliers.

Jack glanced at Baron, who gave no sign of noticing. His face was impassive as he watched the couple disappear beneath a storm of confetti and well-wishers. Whatever thoughts stirred behind his eyes, he kept them to himself.

Jack scratched his head, produced another duck leg from his pocket, and pressed it on Baron. "Saved one for you."

For once Baron did not refuse. His stomach had begun to complain, and KK's unblinking stare was fixed on the leg.

The proposal concluded; the ball resumed. This time Jill and Freya both took the floor, though not with one another.

Jill led KK out; Freya, through Windsor, extended an invitation to Baron.

Neither declined. The orchestra struck a gentler measure—Gold and Kaysha were no longer there to disrupt it.

Baron rested his hand lightly on Freya's waist and, using Miss Windsor as a pretext, sounded her out about House Constantine.

Her answers did not merely surprise him; they shattered his assumptions.

For a moment he wondered whether he had taken the wrong woman's hand, or whether Freya had a malicious twin masquerading as his fiancée.

According to Freya, Miss Windsor was an opportunist desperate to curry favor; House Constantine a doddering relic.

As for Baron Constantine himself—

"To think he murdered my brother. Timed Death Sentence was far too lenient for him."

Murderous intent flashed in her eyes, impossible to conceal.

Baron, who had been on the verge of confessing everything, reconsidered. Whatever had changed Freya, persuasion now looked like a strategy with zero percent chance of success.

Jack's voice crackled in the miniature earpiece the Logistics Department had planned to use for cheating.

Enforcers had entered Hyde Manor. Leading them was the silver-haired knight, Wild; they were working through the guests, drawing ever closer to the ballroom.

"Don't blame me, brother. In a situation like this, splitting up is the smart play." The line went dead.

Had his identity been exposed? Impossible.

According to Freya, everyone believed Baron Constantine had perished under Timed Death Sentence.

Baron looked around. Sure enough, demon-hunters and contract knights were taking up positions outside the ballroom, removing masks from guests one by one, sparing not even the orchestra.

Dancers stumbled mid-step, suddenly aware of the intrusion—some wary, some flustered, some alarmed—as knights and hunters stripped away their disguises.

Jill, the host, appeared entirely oblivious. Still partnered with KK, he continued the measured dance in silence.

At last a Lion-Pupil knight approached Baron; the Westminster crest on Baron's cuff earned the man a margin of respect.

"Sir, please cooperate with the investigation—"

"Step aside. This man falls under the jurisdiction of the Hunter Association."

The knight's words were cut short by a towering figure who arrived with a contingent of demon-hunters.

Baron's heart sank: Gold.

Gold wasted no time. "I won't make this difficult. Remove the mask—and tell me where that blond fellow who was with you went."

The blond? Jack?

Baron hesitated; Gold's hand shot toward his face, clearly intending to tear the mask away himself.

Baron blocked the move instinctively.

"Obstructing an officer in the performance of his duty?"

Gold's brows rose, delighted that Baron had taken the bait. He signaled his men to seize him.

A faint crimson glimmer stirred in Baron's emerald eyes.

If things escalated, the Dragon-Knight identity was out of the question. According to Howard, Baron might be the last Dragon-Knight on earth; a single flash of golden eyes would not only demolish the pretense of his death but invite every blade in the hall.

A Blood-Sect demon-hunter was another matter. Baron could not be certain whether the Inside had such a faction, but if he escaped later, he could blame any anomalies on Westminster's "whimsical gadgets"—Forbidden Objects.

Yet before he could move, Freya stepped forward, bristling like a lion cub.

"Gold, what do you think you're doing? When did the second son of House Walter become so bold? Are you saying House Lancelot counts for nothing?"

The words stunned Gold and left Baron speechless.

Though she was defending him, the contrast with the Freya he had encountered on the train and in the tavern was jarring.

If the earlier Freya had been a gentle Jiangnan lady, this one had clearly returned from a sojourn in the northeast spoiling for a fight.

Gold bowed hastily. "This is by order of the Tower of London, the Knights Templar, and the Hunter Association. They suspect—"

"Suspect what?"

Freya pressed him like a haughty Roman princess.

Gold, blunt and short-tempered, found himself at a loss. Neither the Hesstine heir nor House Lancelot was an opponent House Walter could afford to offend.

"We suspect there are Lawbreakers in the manor."

Every head turned. Silver-haired knight Wild approached at a measured pace, clad in knight's regalia, silver hair shining, his face as if chiseled from marble.

He regarded Freya with composure. "Miss Lancelot, this operation has been authorized by multiple enforcer organizations. Every enforcer has discretionary authority. I must ask for your cooperation."

Freya opened her mouth, cheeks puffed in frustration, but in the end she bit her lip and said nothing.

Wild turned to Baron. "Agent of Westminster, please cooperate. Remove your mask."

Baron: "..."

Could fortune be any worse?