68.

Lo warily increased the distance as Turner moved closer.

“……What is it?”

“May I ask why you’re doing this kind of training?”

Lo stopped turning her shoulder at those words. Her turquoise eyes narrowed sharply, as if trying to peer into the other’s true intentions.

“Why suddenly ask that?”

“I’m just the type who can’t stand not knowing when I’m curious.”

He added with a slight smirk.

“You’re a distinguished noblewoman, yet enduring such grueling work for training seems odd from my perspective. It feels even stranger when I consider the task you requested.”

“…….”

“My information network has never once carried the rumor that you fancy Cardier Montrosa.”

At that moment, Lo read everything Turner left unsaid. The meaning was clear. He wanted to ask if she was imitating the ‘Red Dawn’—the woman Cardier had pursued. When she silently looked up at him, Turner playfully twitched his eyebrows.

“Am I wrong?”

Since ancient times, the lady of the Montrosa household held the right, during the admiral’s absence, to temporarily assume the position of naval commander and recommend the next admiral. That privilege was precisely the recognition of Montrosa’s long-standing contribution in protecting Esperanda’s east.

It made sense for a future lady of the Montrosa house to cultivate an authority befitting such privilege. Yet, that ‘authority’ did not require physical prowess. At most, perhaps a study of naval tactics—but nothing more.

However, the image of the young countess personally running drills, swinging wooden swords, and drenched in sweat seemed excessive. Still, it would be foolish to clarify matters no matter how Turner misunderstood. Especially since some people wouldn’t be convinced even if explained to, not until they were ready to believe. Lo rubbed her ear as if she’d just heard nonsense.

“What strange things you say. I’m just learning it as a hobby.”

“A hobby?”

Turner chuckled briefly. If it were truly just an unusual hobby, as the noblewoman claimed, the young count should have simply handed his wife a wooden sword. Or assigned her a courteous knight who knew proper etiquette. There was no reason to assign a man like Turner—someone who’d rolled through back alleys and lived off scraps—to a wife famously cherished.

Turner recalled the memory from a few days prior, when he’d been seized by the naval security force and dragged away. He’d thought he was finally headed to the gallows for swindling Lord Roben, only to be unceremoniously tossed into the vice-admiral’s office—a rather deflating experience.

By the time Cardier entered, Turner’s forced kneeling legs were cramping badly. Cardier took a small box from his aide and handed it to Turner. When Turner accepted it, bewildered, Cardier commanded:

‘Open it.’

Turner obeyed. Upon seeing the dagger inside, he couldn’t hide his shock. What was this sudden turn? Was he being told to commit suicide? Or to assassinate someone? His confusion showed plainly on his face.

‘What… is this?’

Even Turner, usually indifferent to rank, didn’t dare drop formalities before the glaring naval officers in front of the vice-admiral. His respectful demeanor made Cardier’s lips relax into an amused smile.

‘My wife’s dagger.’

Turner blinked, momentarily failing to comprehend.

‘The noble lady uses this?’

‘Had it specially made for training.’

‘……Excuse me? Why go through the trouble? I mean, setting aside other things… a dagger for the noble lady?’

‘Yes. Anything heavier would be difficult to carry regularly.’

‘That may be true, but the noble lady isn’t someone who walks around unguarded, and teaching her dagger techniques in my way seems excessive….’

At that moment, Cardier spoke with a peculiar smile.

‘My wife will want it.’

Recalling that memory, Turner was now certain. Hobby? Nonsense. This was for self-defense. Not just ordinary protection, but closer to a final, desperate struggle for survival.

But why should survival even be a concern? If she wished, this woman could remain within the estate grounds without stepping a single foot outside, unguarded.

Turner observed the woman relaxing her shoulders again. Occasionally, this noblewoman displayed a familiarity with blades that left him baffled—especially in the smallest moments.

The natural way she checked the dagger’s edge, the manner she gripped it, the motion of gauging its weight, the practiced glance measuring distance with an opponent immediately after drawing it.

The implication was clear. This woman was no beginner with a blade. Why she insisted on hiding it, he didn’t know. In any case, she was indeed an unusual woman, just as he’d sensed from the very first moment.

Sometimes, when Turner looked at the noblewoman, he was reminded of someone long dead—the Red Dawn. Since the image was so vivid in his mind, even the slightest resemblance felt magnified. Once he made that connection, even her pronunciation, intonation, and minor habits seemed eerily similar. As if she’d merely switched outer shells…

At that thought, Turner burst into a hollow laugh. A rumor once widespread among the eastern lower classes suddenly came to mind.

Wasn’t there talk of a witch who swapped souls? Something along those lines. It was such an absurd legend that even Turner, who bought and sold every scrap of information entering the east, had scoffed at it the moment he heard it.

Still, given his profession, he’d investigated it separately once. All he could confirm was that a witch staying at an inn had brewed potions in exchange for payment. Of course, when Turner went to the inn to verify it himself, the witch had already vanished.

In short, such rumors were all tricks. Turner shook his head to dispel the ridiculous thoughts and casually dismissed the past. But at that very instant, a strange memory flickered through his mind. Come to think of it, he once overheard that the crown prince had been gathering information meticulously about rumors concerning the ‘soul-swapping witch.’

The crown prince, his former fiancée Lady Valdemore, young Count Montrosa, the Red Dawn, the soul-swapping witch, Melvin… People who should have no connection at all seemed linked by faint threads. Turner instinctively realized he’d stumbled into something deeply troublesome. He didn’t yet know exactly what connection he’d grasped, but he felt it.

“You’re not even listening. What are you thinking about?”

Turner barely snapped out of his thoughts as a pale hand waved abruptly in front of his eyes. The noblewoman looked thoroughly displeased, and judging by the atmosphere, she was one step away from kicking him. Turner scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry about that. Got caught up in a bit of thinking.”

Keep thinking like that, and you’ll drown in it. Lo muttered resentfully, hiding none of her irritation. Then she stepped close to Turner and whispered.

“How’s the job going? When can I meet Melvin?”

“Oh, that. Almost done. The kid keeps moving every few months. Turns out he’s extremely suspicious.”

“……Is that so?”

“You’ll be able to meet him next week. I guarantee it.”

Of course, this guy always talked big. Lo gave a skeptical look but still nodded firmly. After all, once he made a promise, he’d move heaven and earth to fulfill it. So maybe she really could expect it next week. Coincidentally, by then, the ten days she’d promised to Audrey would also be ending—perfect timing.

“Fine.”

“Then stand over here.”

Lo smiled like a well-fed cat. But at Turner’s next words, she immediately wrinkled her nose.

“What? Isn’t training already finished?”

“What? Who said that?”

“…….”

* * *

Lo barely managed to return to her room, utterly exhausted. That madman Turner, the moment he realized she could properly wield a dagger, proposed an utterly outrageous training method. He would use a wooden sword, while she used a real blade in sparring. Madman. In her former self, she would’ve severed his wooden-sword arm in one stroke. But in Lea’s body, she couldn’t muster that kind of strength.

She tried aiming for Turner’s neck, but that required getting dangerously close—within range of his wooden sword. A clumsy approach would put her own life at risk. Turner surpassed her in strength, height, and speed. Because of this, for over thirty minutes, she never attempted a single attack, merely maintaining a tense distance.

Her body, already fatigued from being dragged around since morning, was practically screaming in protest. She couldn’t think straight. Lo’s last memory was collapsing onto the couch, insisting she’d just rest a moment despite Anna’s pleas. Even in her sleep, she faintly felt hands lifting her, carrying her to the bathtub, changing her into nightclothes, and carefully placing her back into bed.

She wanted to thank them for their trouble, but her eyes refused to open. When she finally regained her senses, dawn was approaching. Lo peeled open her crusty eyes, buried in the soft blanket. Peeking around, she saw Cardier had already left.

Cardier had returned only after she fell asleep and left the estate before she woke each morning. As a result, Lo hadn’t seen her husband’s face in nearly ten days. She knew they were both busy, but the thought of another day passing without seeing him filled her with quiet disappointment. And then, the bedroom door creaked open carefully.

“Lo, are you awake?”