The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 11

The merchant picked up one of the fancier flintstones from the display, raising it high for the gathering crowd to admire. “See how intricately carved and polished this is? It’s not just functional—it’s a piece of art! One strike, and it will spark a flame every time. Folks, wouldn’t you agree this is worth every coin?”

A few voices in the crowd murmured their agreement, but Jeanne was unmoved. She ignored the luxurious flintstone and scrutinized the stall for anything cheaper, her eyes blazing with determination.

Unbeknownst to the crowd, Jeanne had grown up in the Kaiman estate, where flintstones were always plentiful and readily available. She had never realized how costly and luxurious they were outside of her sheltered life. This revelation had left her genuinely shocked.

Knowing their value and convenience, Jeanne found it impossible to give up on owning one. Her gaze darted back and forth across the stall, scanning for the least expensive option she could find.

Meanwhile, the merchant, having decided Jeanne wasn’t a serious buyer, focused his attention on drawing in more onlookers.

“The artisan who crafted these is renowned among noble households! Just look at the fine craftsmanship—it’s not only practical but also a work of art. My flintstones are as much a decorative masterpiece as they are a tool for lighting fires!”

A middle-aged man, who had stopped to watch the commotion, stepped closer to inspect the flintstones. “I was thinking of getting one. How much is that?” he asked, pointing to a mid-range option.

The merchant’s face broke into a beaming smile, sensing a potential sale.

While Jeanne was engrossed in her search for a bargain, Andre had retreated a few steps, trying to avoid the growing crowd. Before he knew it, he found himself near the edge of an alley.

From the shadows, Andre’s blue eyes followed Jeanne’s back, his gaze anxious and uncertain. People moved between them, momentarily blocking her from view, only for her figure to reappear moments later.

Then, something caught his eye.

“Huh?”

Jeanne, who seemed to have found something of interest, pointed at one of the flintstones on the stall and raised her voice.

“This one has a flaw! Look, there’s a scratch on it! Isn’t this secondhand?”

People who had been browsing nearby turned their heads to Jeanne and the flintstone she had singled out. The merchant immediately shook his head, denying the accusation.

“What nonsense! I only sell brand-new items!”

“Then explain this scratch right here,” Jeanne insisted, picking up the flintstone and holding it up for the merchant to see the faint mark on its surface.

“Huh? What the—when did that happen?” The merchant stumbled over his words, clearly flustered by the undeniable evidence.

“See? It’s a flawed product. You can’t sell it for full price,” Jeanne pressed.

“N-no! It doesn’t matter! Flintstones get scratched when you use them anyway. It’s going to end up like that regardless!”

“But didn’t you just say these flintstones are works of art? Are you seriously trying to sell something you’ve already used yourself?” Jeanne shot back, her voice sharp.

“I told you, I only sell new items!”

“Then explain this scratch!”

The growing argument between Jeanne and the merchant drew more attention, and the once-dispersing crowd began to gather again. Andre, wary of the increasing number of people, reluctantly stepped further into the shadows of the alley, still keeping Jeanne in his line of sight.

Although the surrounding chatter grew louder, Andre focused all his attention on Jeanne’s voice, his senses on high alert. He kept his body tense, ready to leap to her side if necessary.

It was at that moment, while Andre peeked out from the alley, that he noticed something—a tall, broad-shouldered man walking through the crowd near the flintstone stall.

The man was wearing a cloak embroidered with a familiar emblem: the fiery crest of the Kaiman family.

Andre’s eyes widened in disbelief. His heart skipped a beat, and then began pounding furiously in his chest. Raising his gaze, he caught sight of the man’s face. It was someone he knew well.

It was Dune Grehead, a knight who had once served as his father’s personal guard. Dune had accompanied the Kaiman patriarch to the royal palace on the day the family fell, and Andre hadn’t seen him since.

Andre instinctively opened his mouth to call out, but something made him hesitate. A strange unease washed over him, silencing him before the words could escape.

“Why…” he muttered under his breath.

Dune was openly wearing the Kaiman family’s crest, showing no attempt to hide his affiliation. For a knight of a disgraced, supposedly treasonous house, this was unthinkable. The implications raced through Andre’s mind, and his heart pounded harder as a glimmer of hope flared within him.

Could it be possible? Could the Kaiman family have been vindicated?

Dune, seemingly unaware of Jeanne’s presence at the stall, only cast a passing glance at the commotion before quickly moving on. Not wanting to lose sight of him, Andre began to follow, practically running as excitement and trepidation made his hands tremble.

Was this real? Or was it just his desperate wish creating a mirage before his eyes? He couldn’t believe he had encountered one of his father’s knights alive, much less one so brazenly displaying the family’s crest.

Dune stopped in a secluded alleyway, and Andre, keeping his distance, slowed his pace. His eyes widened further when he saw another figure waiting for Dune—a second knight wearing the Kaiman crest. This one, too, was familiar to Andre.

The shock of seeing two living knights of the Kaiman family left Andre rooted to the spot. His mind reeled with questions. Were they truly alive? What had happened to them after the family’s fall? Why were they here?

Fighting the urge to reveal himself, Andre pressed his back against the alley wall and hid behind a corner, straining to hear their conversation.

“There’s been no progress,” the waiting knight said, bowing his head toward Dune. His tone was heavy with frustration.

“We haven’t found any trace of him leaving the territory. It’s unusual for there to be no signs at all. It makes me wonder if…” The knight hesitated, then cautiously continued, “…if the royal knights might have already caught him.”

“Silence,” Dune snapped, his voice cold and commanding. “Don’t speak carelessly.”

Dune’s harsh voice made the other knight stiffen, his head still bowed low, unable to meet Dune’s gaze.

“If the young master had fallen into their hands, the Emperor would have reacted by now. But there’s been no such response, which means they haven’t found him either. The royal side is being watched by the Duke himself, and we’ll be notified immediately if anything happens. For now, reexamine the areas we’ve already searched—more thoroughly this time. Finding the young master is a mission we must complete, even at the cost of our lives.”

Dune’s voice carried a sense of forced resolve, but beneath it lay a layer of resignation. He, too, was beginning to consider the possibility of failure—the possibility that Andre might already be lost.

The only trace of Andre they had found was a pair of custom-made shoes, identifiable as his because they had been commissioned by the Kaiman estate. A witness claimed to have purchased the shoes from a girl and a boy matching Jeanne’s and Andre’s descriptions. It was their only lead, and it had repeatedly drawn Dune and his knights back to this village, despite countless other fruitless searches in nearby areas.

But weeks had passed since they found the shoes, and no new clues had surfaced. The silence, the lack of progress—it all pointed toward a grim conclusion. Dune couldn’t help but wrestle with the thought that Andre might no longer be alive.

“I’m sorry,” the knight whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed grief. It wasn’t just the failure to find Andre that weighed on him—it was the shame of his own survival, the guilt of living when so many had died.

On the day of the massacre, the knights and soldiers who had stayed behind at the Kaiman estate had been slaughtered without much resistance. Only those who had accompanied Clint Kaiman, the head of the family, to the royal palace had escaped the carnage.

Those who survived carried the unbearable burden of knowing why so many had died so senselessly. The betrayal, the orchestrated tragedy, left behind a fury that burned hotter than the flames that consumed their home.

When the Emperor learned of the aftermath, he had delivered a mockery of an apology to Duke Clint Kaiman and his surviving knights.

[“Duke, it seems I made a slight mistake. How unfortunate.”]

[“My family… my people… they were—”]

[“I’m terribly sorry, truly. But misunderstandings can happen between men of our positions, can they not? I’ll have the imperial treasury cover the funeral expenses for the deceased. Consider it an apology.”]

[“…Your Majesty, do you mean to address this horror with mere words? To dismiss it as a misunderstanding?”]

[“Duke, let’s not take this too far.”]

Clint’s trembling fists were impossible to miss, yet the Emperor only smiled, clearly pleased with the devastation he had wrought.

[“What’s done is done, Duke. The living must carry on, after all.”]

Everyone present understood the truth: the so-called “misunderstanding” was nothing more than the Emperor’s deliberate maneuver to weaken the Kaiman family. Documents accusing the Kaiman family of treason had been fabricated, and the individuals who forged and presented them were summarily executed the next day, ensuring no further leaks. The documents themselves were quickly destroyed.

Once the Emperor’s allies were certain that no noble houses would dare rally to the Kaiman family’s defense, the Emperor issued his insincere apology, blaming the tragedy on a hasty mistake. No one could publicly challenge his words without risking their own downfall.

What shocked those present most was the Emperor’s shamelessness. Despite everything, he had the audacity to offer his illegitimate daughter, Princess Grecia, as a bride to Clint, claiming it would help the Duke rebuild his family.

[“I raised her well, Duke. Placing the Emperor’s only daughter as your second wife is an honor. It’s a way to heal and move forward.”]

Grecia was a child born of a courtesan the Emperor had met in enemy territory decades prior. While her mother had been discarded, Grecia was acknowledged as a princess due to her rare violet eyes, a trait unique to the imperial bloodline. Despite her royal status, Grecia’s origins were considered disgraceful, and her position in the palace was always precarious.

The Emperor’s offer wasn’t made out of kindness—it was a calculated insult. Clint, who had loved his late wife deeply, felt humiliated and enraged. He had never taken a mistress, his devotion to his wife unmatched even among noble families.

Clint’s knights shared his fury. They all wanted to draw their swords and end the Emperor’s life on the spot. But they couldn’t—not while Andre’s fate remained uncertain. To continue searching for Andre, they needed the Emperor’s grudging tolerance.

[“Your Majesty, I appreciate your consideration, but as you know, I am still mourning. I must decline your offer.”]

Clint clenched his teeth and swallowed his humiliation, forcing himself to bow to the Emperor. Yet even as he bowed, the Emperor continued to mock him, adding insult to injury by offering his illegitimate daughter to Clint whenever he desired, as though it were an act of generosity.

Dune ground his teeth at the memory of the Emperor’s arrogant and vile behavior during that fateful audience.

“We must find the young master as soon as possible,” he muttered to himself, his voice heavy with urgency.

The Emperor, having acknowledged his so-called “mistake,” had promised reparations in the form of lavish gifts, including jewels and supplies, to be delivered to Drehel, the Kaiman family’s ancestral lands. This offer was not a gesture of goodwill but a calculated act of humiliation. The Emperor knew that Clint would have to travel to Drehel to accept these reparations, which meant leaving the capital. Refusing the “reparations” would risk another accusation of treason—an outcome Clint could not afford.

With the Emperor’s thinly veiled threat looming over him, Clint had no choice but to prepare for his departure within two weeks, even though he hadn’t yet found Andre. It was a cruel strategy designed to further fracture the Kaiman family’s remnants.

Dune rubbed his roughened jaw with a grim expression, deep in thought. The other knight, hesitant and nervous, finally lifted his gaze to Dune and spoke cautiously.

“Captain… after we find the young master and Jeanne, what happens next?”

Dune’s sharp gaze flicked toward the knight, his irritation barely concealed. Though he valued his men as comrades and family, their occasional hesitance and lack of resolve grated on his nerves. But the question struck him harder than he expected.

“What happened to Jeanne?” the knight asked, voice low.

The mention of Jeanne gave Dune pause. She wasn’t just a servant’s child to him—she was family. He had seen her grow from a babbling infant to the brave, resourceful young woman she had become. He couldn’t help but feel a deep attachment to her.

At first, they had assumed Jeanne had died in the fire, like so many others who had remained at the estate during the massacre. But the discovery of Andre’s trail—alongside evidence of a girl’s presence—had given them reason to believe Jeanne was alive. For that, they had all silently thanked the heavens.

But now, as knights of the Kaiman family, their primary duty was to Andre. Jeanne’s survival presented a moral dilemma. If they found her, they couldn’t bring her to Drehel. It would be too dangerous for her to be associated with the Kaiman family.

“If Jeanne is alive and we find her, she cannot come with us to Drehel. For her own safety, she should cut ties with the Kaiman family entirely,” Dune said, his voice heavy with reluctant pragmatism. “The best option would be to place her under the protection of Scarlett’s noble family.”

The knight nodded reluctantly. “Understood.”

Dune closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. He had already decided that if they found Jeanne, he would give her all the money he had saved. He would ensure she had a secure future, even if they could no longer be part of it. He hoped it would bring her some comfort in the face of all she had lost.

But all of that depended on finding her first. Steeling himself, Dune turned to head back toward the outskirts of the village, where he planned to conduct yet another search.

As he moved, his gaze caught on the figure of a girl wearing a headscarf, her back turned to him as she walked away. She seemed to have hesitated upon spotting the knights blocking the alley, and now appeared to be retreating.

Dune instinctively assessed her height. She was a little shorter than Jeanne, who was approaching adulthood, but her stature and build reminded him of the young master. However, her gender was clearly wrong—it couldn’t be Andre.

Still, something about her silhouette tugged at his heart. With a faint, wistful look, Dune muttered under his breath, watching the girl disappear into the crowd.

“Please, just be alive, young master.”

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