In This Life, I'll Assist You (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8

I reentered the exhaust duct and sat down on a flat spot.

Only then could I finally let out a long breath.

‘You remember me.’

I’m happy—unbelievably so.

After retracing my steps through the secret passage and climbing out of the well, I immediately returned to the underground chambers of the main keep. Under house arrest, staying away from my designated quarters for too long might arouse unnecessary suspicion.

Sitting atop a haystack, I steadied my breathing and carefully replayed my conversation with the Grand Duke, checking for any possible missteps.

Then, suddenly, one of Arcadia’s remarks came to mind.

[To cause disruption, I had to go this far.]

Disruption—disrupt what, exactly?

[I struggled just to break the stubborn insistence of those Southern bastards trying to come over here again.]

According to him, Lahert had wanted the banquet held at the Azure Villa’s manor. But the Grand Duke of the North had refused.

Arcadia had negotiated with the South and ultimately moved the banquet from the villa back to the main keep.

Given Lahert’s personality, he must have already laid out elaborate plans—from the banquet onward—as soon as he opened the villa to the North.

‘For the South, this sudden change might have thrown their preparations into chaos.’

Ah.

Could “disruption” possibly mean that the Grand Duke of the South had his carefully laid plans abruptly shaken?

When the game changes, control over the new board inevitably becomes uncertain.

Perhaps the North had come here with their own preparations already in place. No—“perhaps” is too weak. They must have arrived fully prepared. It would only be natural.

Could I, in even the smallest way, contribute to their readiness?

Grand Duke of the North, Zion Belfast.

Please—become the ultimate victor and rescue me from this hellish House of Lahert. Be the lifeline that leads me to a new world.

[This is the timeline separator]

Just in case, I prowled around the main keep’s kitchen.

There are many ways to poison someone, but the simplest is through food.

Medea’s dog—the girl with half her face grotesquely distorted—was a known figure among the staff here. Thus, I could loiter around without raising suspicion, though the fact that I was a would-be assassin remained a top secret.

“Ugh, how disgusting. Can’t you get lost already?”

“Watch it! If your freakish presence makes us mess up the food, you’ll answer for it!”

The kitchen servants made no effort to hide their revulsion upon seeing me.

My face—so horrifying, then.

The realization struck me anew, tightening my chest.

Though I longed to cover my melted-looking left side, the half-mask I was permitted only concealed the right side of my face.

Medea had never once—through cunning means—allowed me to reveal my true face.

[Don’t be ashamed of your real face. You’re not hideous at all.]

She always said that, carefully hiding my original face behind the mask.

Now I understand why—the face beneath that mask is my true one, the real granddaughter of the Emperor.

Evening was approaching.

Setting aside my thoughts, I concealed myself atop another building overlooking the kitchen. No suspicious figures acting out of character or carrying poison were visible. But I couldn’t be certain.

‘Too many people coming and going.’

At that moment, I spotted the Yellow Caterpillar carrying a tray. A chilling intuition began creeping up my spine.

[This is the timeline separator]

The secret passages within the main keep connect to the ceilings of each floor. Moving silently and slowly through the ceiling, I finally arrived directly above the banquet hall.

Through a small vent, I saw a blindingly white tablecloth and an impossibly long marble dining table stretching into the distance.

Grand Duke Zion Belfast and Grand Duke Cramnel Lahert sat side by side at the short end of the table—the place of honor.

Perhaps to show there was no hierarchy between them, they sat shoulder to shoulder, both facing forward.

By etiquette, the guest of honor—and victor of the recent campaign—Grand Duke of the North should have occupied the seat of honor alone, but Cramnel had refused to yield. Such was his bundle of insecurities regarding the Northern Grand Duke.

On Lahert’s side, along the long edge of the table, sat Medea Lahert and her younger brother, Kahen Lahert. Arcadia Nugent sat beside Zion Belfast.

I waited, having lost sight of the Yellow Caterpillar amid the bustling crowd. If he entered the hall, I would detonate a smoke bomb from the ceiling itself to signal the danger.

Medea’s voice floated over, gentle as a spring breeze.

Even from afar, my sharp hearing as a Sword Master caught every word clearly.

“Lord Arcadia Nugent, it truly gladdens me to see you here. Without an occasion like this, how could we ever sit together for a meal?”

On the surface, it sounded like a warm welcome.

But I knew better. Her words truly meant: “How dare someone like you presume to share a table with me unless forced by circumstance like this?”

It was an elegant way of revealing her disdain—that someone like the second son of a mere Northern earldom would never again sit across from her, a daughter of a sovereign ducal house.

“Indeed. It’s an honor, my lady. Had the South dealt with those barbarians themselves, I would never have had this chance—so I suppose I’ve been lucky.”

Arcadia replied, cloaked in courtesy.

His posture was graceful and upright, his tone modulated perfectly, his speech refined—a voice like winter awaiting early spring, half a note higher than the Grand Duke’s.

“We are simply grateful you went to the trouble of traveling such a distance.”

Medea responded softly.

“Gladly?” Even a three-year-old in the Empire would laugh at that.

Everyone knew he’d been dragged down here against his will, ensnared in the South’s web.

Yet Grand Duke Belfast’s smile held neither mockery nor anger.

Lahert’s Grand Duke picked up his daughter’s graceful remark.

“Medea, enough with the appetizer-level pleasantries. How rare it is for North and South to gather like this for the Empire’s sake. Isn’t that right, Belfast?”

A subtle slight.

But once again, Zion Belfast maintained his calm smile.

“That is correct, Your Grace.”

“Hah! Seeing you up close like this, you really are remarkably composed. You remind me of your father—the late Grand Duke Belfast was so unpretentious.”

“Is that so?”

Lahert dredged up the late Grand Duke—a deliberate provocation. Yet Belfast remained unperturbed, despite knowing—as I did—that it was the Emperor and the Southern Grand Duke who had sent the former Grand Duke of the North to his death on the battlefield.

Cramnel’s audacity made my heart pound.

‘The serpent who killed my mother… One day, I’ll surely…’

[This is the timeline separator]

The meal began.

Yet for some reason, Arcadia barely touched his food. Perhaps he was heeding the Grand Duke’s warning about poison.

“Is the food not to your taste?”

Kahen Lahert asked with concern.

“Kahen, are you insulting the Southern ducal chefs?”

Medea gave her brother a sweet smile, though a blade lay hidden beneath. Arcadia answered the flinching Kahen.

“No, it’s delicious. It’s just that these dishes are rarely found in the North or on the battlefield.”

“Lord Nugent prefers tougher, coarser fare than he appears. He might simply be tense due to the formal setting. Is that it, Lord Nugent?”

Arcadia replied to Grand Duke Belfast’s comment.

“My apologies, Your Grace. It seems the fatigue from battle hasn’t fully left me yet. I worry I’m being discourteous before such thoughtfully prepared dishes.”

“I see. I’ve heard it was indeed a grueling campaign.”

Reluctantly, Lahert brought up the battle—calmly, as though recounting someone else’s story.

“What can one do? Heavy responsibilities often accompany great strength—as seen in the North’s recent expedition. You’ve assembled a fine order of knights, Grand Duke Belfast.”

“Your praise is too generous.”

At that moment, I sensed something amiss.

‘Your Grace?’

The Grand Duke’s voice trembled faintly. Now that I looked, his hand shook slightly too.

‘What’s wrong, Your Grace?’

Then, the Grand Duke’s body slumped forward.

—Cough!

Zion Belfast vomited blood. His hands, already turning blue, clutched the tablecloth—but it wasn’t enough to steady his trembling body.

“Your Grace!”

Arcadia caught the Grand Duke as he collapsed sideways.

‘Your Grace!’

I stifled the scream rising in my throat with both hands.

What’s happening? Why the Grand Duke and not Arcadia?

In my previous life, the Grand Duke had been perfectly fine. He’d left the South unharmed—only Arcadia had been lost. So why now?

The Laherts froze instantly. Medea’s face, in particular, turned not just pale but sickly blue.

“Knights! His Grace has collapsed!”

At Arcadia’s cry, the Northern knights stationed outside the hall rushed in.

Medea shouted,

“What’s wrong, Your Grace?!”

“He seems to have been poisoned! How could this happen?!”

Arcadia roared furiously at Medea.

Chaos erupted in the banquet hall. To protect their Grand Duke, the Northern knights drew their swords.

[This is the timeline separator]

“This is impossible! I haven’t even used the poison yet!”

Medea protested, pulling a vial of clear liquid from a drawer in her office desk.

“Look! My prepared dose is still right here! And Father knows better than anyone—I never intended to target the Grand Duke!”

“Then explain this! How did this happen?!”

Cramnel Lahert, unable to contain his fury, seized an expensive piece of porcelain from his daughter’s room and hurled it. It shattered against the wall beside Medea.

“We’re going to be branded as assassins!”

Lahert spat in frustration.

Medea stared down at the broken shards.

Anger and humiliation.

As those emotions shattered along with the porcelain, cold rationality returned to her.

‘Calm down, Medea. You must keep your wits precisely at a time like this.’

She fixed her gaze on her father.

“Now everything is finally coming into focus.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“The Grand Duke of the North isn’t the easygoing man you imagined. He’s not unpretentious at all.”

“…So what? Once it’s known that Belfast is on death’s door from an assassination attempt, people will suspect us as the culprits.”

“No. We’ve always been the victims—and this time will be no different.”

The composure in Medea’s tone made the Southern Grand Duke’s eyes gleam.

“I didn’t use poison—yet Belfast vomited blood. To any observer, that’s clearly the symptom of poisoning. How is that possible? There’s only one answer.”

The Grand Duke, who had been silently pondering with closed eyes, opened them.

“He poisoned himself?”

“Yes. It’s an obvious setup—meant to put us in danger.”

“Ha! As cunning as they come—the spitting image of his father.”

Cramnel Lahert’s fists trembled with rage. Medea smiled.

“When faced with a setup, we can only answer with another setup. So the North dares to hunt serpents after wandering battlefields?”

“He means to catch me.”

“He won’t succeed. He’ll soon learn he didn’t provoke a serpent—but a dragon.”

Medea smirked coldly.

Cramnel Lahert relaxed at his eldest daughter’s smile. Since childhood, whenever she faced difficult odds or fierce competition, she always smiled like this—and the outcome was always ‘victory.’

[This is the timeline separator]

‘Your Grace, are you alright?’

The Azure Villa was locked down from the inside by the Northern knights.

No Southerner was allowed near the villa; the knights maintained strict vigilance. Even the physicians were exclusively those brought in by the North.

Though I worried deeply about the Grand Duke’s condition, I could only watch from afar—unable to approach.

Still, anxiety gnawed at me. Why had poison struck the Grand Duke instead of Arcadia—as it had in my previous life? This clearly put the South in a difficult position.

Could it be…?

I shook my head at the sudden thought.

‘Impossible. It can’t be the Grand Duke’s own fabrication.’

He truly vomited blood. No sovereign duke would risk his life for such a staged act.

To clear my thoughts, I began walking without direction.

Before I knew it, my familiar steps had carried me to a familiar place—

the entrance to Rachel’s Grove, directly beneath Medea’s chamber.

Then, without a sound, someone landed beside me. Startled, I turned to see the boy who’d been perpetually second-best to me—the Red Caterpillar.

Bathed in moonlight, his hair glowed crimson, his eyes red as well.

“I had a hunch—and sure enough, here you are. Don’t tell me you came here thinking someone like you could actually help Lady Medea.”

He openly showed his raw hostility toward me.

“What business is it of yours where I go?”

“None—but I’ve been ordered by the master to gather everyone.”

He swallowed bitterness as he glanced toward Medea’s room, not taking his eyes from it as he spoke.

“Don’t go thinking that just because our lord shows you a bit of favor, you’re already his trusted retainer.”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“Good. Then follow me.”

I hated it—but had no choice but to follow. In times like these, it wouldn’t do for them to discover I’d changed.

The Caterpillar led me to the front of the Azure Villa. But before I could steel myself, something was already unfolding there.

I stood behind Black Worm and the other assassin trainees, all disguised as ordinary servants. They all stared fixedly toward the villa’s entrance.

Medea?

Medea stood before the Azure Villa—and kneeling beside her, bound, was the Yellow Caterpillar.

The Yellow Caterpillar?

Even from a distance, the boy trembled violently—whether from fear or pain, I couldn’t tell.

Medea cried out,

“We’ve finally found the poisoner who attempted to assassinate His Grace the Grand Duke! Come out and confirm our Southern goodwill! Please—stop ignoring us! Can’t we settle this face to face?!”

Her voice was desperate.

Then, the Yellow Caterpillar let out strange, guttural cries—“Urrr… urrr!”

“His tongue’s been cut in half—on Lady Medea’s orders.”

Black Worm whispered.

‘!’

“He’s from the North—but he couldn’t forget it, so he defended them. Lady Medea found out. All of you must witness this sight—and engrave it deep in your hearts.”

My stomach twisted in revulsion.

Yellow Caterpillar—you were trembling from pain all along.

Medea shouted,

“This boy is from the North. We took him in as an orphan wandering the streets. We don’t understand why a stable hand would poison the Grand Duke’s meal! When we found him, his tongue had already been cut out! Could it be that you Northerners know him?!”

It felt like a blow to the back of my head.

Medea—what new seed of lies have you come to plant now?