This Villain Is Mine Now

Chapter 90

The man, seemingly around fifty years old, had hair that was streaked with gray, covering about half of his head. According to what Elaina had learned in advance, Shawd was one of the late Archduke’s most trusted aides, a figure akin to Drane for Lyle.

Entrusting the position of lord of Pendita, effectively the capital of the North, to a bureaucrat not yet thirty years old spoke volumes about how much trust the late Archduke placed in him.

However, Shawd’s appearance was vastly different from Drane’s.

‘He once dreamed of becoming a knight in his youth.’

It was said that Shawd had such a fiery temperament that he protested to the late Archduke, declaring he would return to his hometown if he couldn’t become a knight, even after being chosen as a bureaucrat.

As a result, Shawd held the unique distinction of being both the lord of Pendita and a member of the Grant Knights. Even with his advancing years, as Lyle had mentioned, Shawd’s presence radiated a powerful vigor.

Elaina’s eyes, wide with amazement, met Shawd’s.

“I greet Your Grace, the Archduchess.”

Shawd’s eyes welled with tears. As he bowed in greeting, he quickly dropped to one knee, the clattering sound of armor echoing as the joints of his old suit collided.

He wore a suit of armor that had clearly seen its share of time. Though it had been oiled, the years had not been completely erased. Lyle recognized it immediately.

The black iron armor, adorned with crow-like feather decorations on both shoulders, was from the previous generation of the Grant Knights.

For a moment, Lyle was speechless as he stared at the old man.

“Please rise, Count Shawd. The ground is quite cold.”

Elaina approached him and offered her hand. Despite her words, Shawd, his head bowed deeply, could not bring himself to stand. Drops of wet earth formed round marks on the ground beneath where he knelt.

He was crying. He couldn’t help it. The moment he saw Lyle step out of the carriage, Shawd forgot his age entirely.

“Let me introduce you to each other. This is my son, Lucin. And this one here is Shawd.”

Originally, Shawd came from an insignificant baronet family. If not for his close friend Fleang, Shawd might never have dreamed of joining the knights.

Thanks to Fleang’s recommendation, Shawd was brought to Pendita, yet, for some reason, instead of joining the knights, he began taking lessons to become a bureaucrat.

“Why me? Wouldn’t Fleang be more suitable for this kind of role? If I may say so, I don’t believe my swordsmanship is any worse than his.”

“That’s exactly why.”

“…Pardon?”

“Fleang is quite a capable fellow. As you said, he isn’t extraordinarily skilled in swordsmanship, but if he were to enter politics, he’d likely excel. The same goes for you. Those who seek glory through the sword inevitably call forth blood. That’s why I’m giving Fleang the sword and you the pen.”

The Archduke laughed heartily, adding that Fleang was so clever he might become too ambitious if given a lordship.

“In times of peace, you need moderate individuals. Fleang will serve as the next knight commander, and you, as the acting lord of Pendita, will be a great help to Lucin.”

The Archduke’s son, who shared some of his father’s traits but exuded a gentler demeanor, had a deep affection for the North, which he was destined to govern.

When Shawd first met the 25-year-old Lucin, he made a vow to dedicate his life to the North and to the Grant family.

But the plans the late Archduke had carefully laid out for his son fell apart entirely.

The close friend who had vowed to become the family’s shield skewered his lord’s heart to earn favor and became a central noble. The future lord, whom Shawd had pledged his life to protect, was dragged to the battlefield and killed in a manner unworthy even of a dog.

After Lucin’s death, Shawd felt there was no longer any purpose to his life. The dreams he had shared with Lucin about the future of the North faded away without meaning.

Left to rule over the North in Lucin’s absence, Shawd had to govern in place of someone who cared for nothing but the taxes from the land.

The only reason Shawd endured, even as he wished for death, was his inability to forgive himself for failing to stop the late Archduke.

Driven by guilt, he painstakingly preserved the famine-stricken territories of the North. Each day felt like surviving through sheer willpower.

At the end of these years of penance, news finally reached Shawd.

Lyle Grant, the son of Lucin Grant.

The young master, who had once been a mere boy, had returned as a war hero, having severed the head of the enemy commander on the battlefield.

Shawd pounded the ground with his fists. Though his gloves quickly became soaked with blood, he couldn’t calm his surging emotions.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!”

It felt as if Lucin had come back to life. Tears flowed uncontrollably.

For ten years, Shawd had held back his tears, thinking he had no right to cry. Though Elaina tried to comfort him, the tears refused to stop.

The sound of Shawd’s sobbing created a solemn atmosphere among all who were present. The sorrow of an aged knight filled the skies over Pendita.

***

It was only after a long time had passed that Shawd finally stopped crying. Even so, he couldn’t meet Lyle’s gaze directly.

Suffering from guilt, Shawd flinched when Lyle spoke in a firm voice.

“Shawd Dewiran. If you’re going to make others uncomfortable with this behavior, you’d better leave for another territory right away.”

“…Lyle!”

Elaina, caught off guard by Lyle’s harsh words, couldn’t help but glance nervously at Shawd. The sight of the older man crying earlier had lingered in her mind, weighing on her heart.

But even as Elaina sent Lyle a look pleading for leniency, he remained unmoved.

“If that’s not what you want, then calm yourself now.”

At Lyle’s words, Shawd could only nod weakly, unable to reply.

There was no way Lyle could remember Shawd from their meeting so many years ago. To have made such a terrible first impression—how utterly pathetic.

Forcing his heavy legs to move, Shawd led Lyle and Elaina toward the Archducal Castle. As Shawd walked ahead, Lyle’s voice sounded from behind him.

“In your younger days, you were a more resolute man. They say people become more sentimental with age; it seems you’re no exception. Much of the man I first saw has faded.”

Startled, Shawd turned to look back at Lyle. For the first time, Lyle met Shawd’s gaze directly and spoke.

“I remember you. A long time ago, when I visited the Archducal Castle with my father, I met you there.”

“You… remember me?”

“Not everything, but I vaguely recall watching you spar with my father.”

At those words, Shawd’s face brightened.

“That’s right! I once escorted Your Grace to the training ground behind the Archducal Castle. Your father boasted endlessly about having built an identical training ground at the capital’s mansion, declaring that this time, he would surely defeat me.”

“And? Did he succeed?”

“…Yes, he did.”

Having spent much of his life in the capital, the Archduke’s swordsmanship was not particularly advanced. He often remarked that such a level was perfectly adequate for a time of peace. Lucin envisioned a North that was peaceful, simple, and a place where everyone could live well.

Shawd’s voice grew heavy with emotion once more.

If only he had offered the Archduke more serious advice about Lucin’s swordsmanship training back then—could things have turned out differently?

He barely managed to suppress the surge of emotions. This was the first day he had met the successor of the Grant family, which he had thought to be extinct, and seen him in such a splendid state. He could not allow himself to appear undignified any longer.

“Ahem. This is the Archducal Castle. Its gates have remained closed for the past ten years.”

“The gates have been closed for ten years? But…”

“Whatever Fleang told you, it was all lies. As the lord of Pendita, I risked my life against charges of insubordination and refused to open the gates.”

Though Shawd understood that Fleang might have acted in the name of the Empire’s stability, he couldn’t suppress his lingering resentment.

It was a disaster.

The carriage bearing Fleang, who flaunted his promotion to marquis with the Redwood family’s banner, was pelted with rotten eggs thrown by the citizens of Pendita.

“You’ve become a marquis, have you? Then you’d better not return here until you’ve climbed even higher and become an archduke! Know this well—there is no way you’ll enter the Archducal Castle while I’m alive, Fleang!”

Fleang.

Once his long-time friend, Fleang Redwood.

The sinister glare of Fleang’s hateful eyes as he ground his teeth and stared back at Shawd remained vividly etched in his memory. Shawd struggled to erase from his mind the image of his old friend leaving in a carriage covered in filth. Finally, Shawd pushed open the massive gates of the Archducal Castle.