Home/The Duke's Revolution Is My Responsibility/ch 6

Chapter 6: The One Who Killed Me

Victor Hartland slowly studied the man who had burst into the room. The combination of silver hair and rose-colored eyes was rare enough, but more than that, the man was so strikingly handsome that he would be unforgettable at a single glance.

Victor felt as though the man's features were somehow familiar. Yet strangely, it seemed as if he had never actually seen him in person.

While Victor, confused and clutching a pillow, broke out in a cold sweat, the man casually wandered around the room. He examined the bookshelf crammed with thick, worn-out magical engineering tomes, fiddled with the stained writing instruments, and even flicked the light switch on the ceiling-mounted lamp.

After completing his tour, he bent his knees and brought himself to eye level with Victor, who was sitting stiffly.

"By any chance, are you the 'co-owner' of this room?"

Co-owner! Of course, he wished that were true more than anything, but that wasn't the point...

Victor, whose face had flushed red and was sputtering, suddenly realized who the man was. The moment he saw those captivating eyes up close, a portrait surfaced from the folds of his memory.

A lavish gold frame, a polished uniform, silver hair slicked back with oil... Silver hair!

Victor's eyes widened.

"D-Duke Eastwood...?"

Cleo clapped his hands like a delighted child.

"Oh, someone in this backwater recognizes me! What an honor!"

Victor immediately tossed aside the pillow and bowed from his seated position. He wanted to stand, but the distance to Cleo was too close to allow it.

"What brings Your Grace to a place like this..."

Victor felt like he might faint at the reality that Cleo Eastwood—the notoriously infamous duke, and the Emperor's own cousin—was right before his eyes. He'd even forgotten that the man had broken in through the window.

Cleo smiled sweetly and leaned casually against the wardrobe. His posture exuded such ease it bordered on languor.

"Didn't I tell you? I came to see the owner of this room. I even asked if you were the 'co-owner.' As far as I know, Roana Wedgison is unmarried, but... relationships between men and women can take many forms beyond legal definitions, so I fully understand."

But Victor Hartland shook his head vehemently.

"Oh? Then what are you denying? The fact that you're the co-owner? That relationships take many forms? Or both? In any case, I came to see Roana Wedgison..."

Just then, the door swung open. Victor turned toward it as if seeing a savior.

Finally, the true owner of this room appeared, standing tall in the doorway with her arms crossed, glancing back and forth between the two grown men.

"Who the hell are you?"

---

Cleo Eastwood!

Cold sweat trickled down her spine. Why had he followed her? How had he found her house? She was confused, but she quickly steadied herself. She couldn't afford to waver.

I need to stay strong.

This was a moment requiring wit and quick thinking. Acting skills would be a bonus.

She forced herself to stay calm and stepped into the room. From the desk drawer, she pulled out a revolver she had meticulously modified to her liking and aimed it at the man.

"After I saved you, you don't even show gratitude and instead stalk me?"

Both men shouted urgently at the same time.

"Wait, my lady! It's not like that, I swear!"

"No, Ro, it's not!"

Roana was puzzled by Victor's vehement reaction.

"Did he find some weakness of yours in the meantime? Good grief, he's both despicable and vile."

She glared and adjusted her grip on the gun, but Victor raised his voice.

"It's really not like that! This person is...!"

The man shot Victor a subtle glance.

After hesitating, Victor finally gave up and murmured.

"So... he came to see you."

"So?"

It seemed Victor had been charmed by the man. Annoyed, she snapped at Victor—no, at the intruder.

"Oh, so you broke in to see me?"

"...!"

As if realizing something significant, Victor widened his eyes and covered his mouth with both hands.

"Or maybe you opened the window for him?"

"No. It really was breaking and entering."

Receiving a crisp answer with an enthusiastic head shake, she confirmed his response and gestured toward Cleo with her chin.

"Now, you have nothing to say about me using this gun, do you?"

"I object!"

Cleo raised both hands fully above his head in surrender.

On guard, she slowly moved closer to the bed. With her free hand, she grabbed Victor's arm and pulled him up, positioning him behind her.

"Stay behind me, Victor. I'm going to settle things with this guy."

With a solemn nod, Victor shuffled toward the door and planted himself firmly by the doorway.

"I'll keep watch from here."

"You two seem to be treating me like a villain..."

He grumbled something, but she ignored him completely. At least she felt reassured knowing Victor was behind her.

Still, she didn't let her guard down. She gripped the gun tightly so it wouldn't fall and approached Cleo.

He obediently backed away. She closed the distance quickly and pressed the muzzle beneath his chin.

Behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath—Victor's.

Annoyingly, Cleo didn't even flinch. His crooked smile looked as if he was actually enjoying the situation. A refreshing scent tickled her nose.

Looking down at her with a grin, he spoke.

"Check my left robe pocket."

"...Excuse me?"

"Please, just check it. Please?"

"..."

After glaring at him for a moment, she pulled open his robe. In the left pocket was the artifact she had discarded yesterday. It was about the size of a woman's palm, octagonal in shape. Because she'd tossed it carelessly, it was dusty and cracked, but it was undeniably hers.

Once she recognized it, the man, who had been feigning ignorance, asked.

"This was made by you, wasn't it?"

"Why should I tell you that?"

"Hey, I'm unarmed right now. Yes, breaking in was wrong, but my life is in your hands. Would it really hurt to answer that much?"

What was this man's real purpose? He'd picked up her artifact and tracked her home in the middle of the night.

She had no obligation to treat him as a guest after he'd climbed through her window.

Yet his confidence and charm made him seem less like a villain and more like someone with unavoidable circumstances who had resorted to breaking in.

At this point, it almost felt like a surprise party arranged just for her.

"...Yes, I made it."

"Ah, just as I thought. If you had the proper equipment, could you mass-produce them?"

"It's not a big deal. As long as the equipment is properly set up."

Mass production required proper facilities, which was the most labor-intensive part. Some artisans, obsessed with handmade craftsmanship, opposed industrialization. But magical engineering was a practical field meant to improve people's lives. She was in favor of spreading technology and mass-producing artifacts—and in her previous life, she had even put it into practice. Though in a different direction...

"As expected, you're a genius."

"Are you changing tactics to flattery?"

"Does praising a genius require such tricks?"

"Sorry, but I've heard it so many times it doesn't impress me anymore."

She shrugged and cocked the revolver. Pressing the muzzle right under his chin, she finally saw a flicker of unease in his eyes.

"State your identity and your business."

"Could we talk alone?"

She sighed and lowered the gun. He immediately rubbed his neck as if relieved it was still attached.

"Don't worry, it's still firmly in place."

"What a coldhearted lady."

She re-engaged the safety and spoke.

"And anything you tell me, I want Victor to know too."

"Ro... Roana?"

Victor, who had been silent as if struck mute, finally spoke.

"The truth is, he..."

"He's my friend, and I don't want to hear anything I can't share with him."

She hoped he would back down. It was a polite refusal to hear his story.

But he rubbed his chin with his thumb and readily replied.

"What?"

It was an unexpected response.

Cleo pointed to the bed, looking genuinely excited.

"It's not much of a story, really. But could we at least sit down first?"

She nodded cautiously, still wary.

Victor quietly closed the door and moved beside her.

The man sat on the bed's edge and smiled.

"Ah, now I finally feel like a guest."

"You're not a guest. I'm letting you sit out of courtesy, so don't misunderstand."

"Haha. Fine, I understand."

He brought one hand elegantly to his chest. For someone who'd climbed through a window, it was quite a formal greeting.

"First, let me introduce myself properly, even if it's late. I am Cleo Eastwood. The Duke Eastwood, yes."

His introduction wasn't surprising.

But Victor leaned in and whispered to her.

"He's the Emperor's cousin."

In an instant, her chest burned as if she'd swallowed fire.

...Arthur III.

In her past life, she had been his tool. It would be a lie to say she didn't feel wronged for dying as payment for doing things she never wanted to do. But she still hadn't escaped the guilt of creating weapons of war.

Whenever she recalled the name Arthur III, fire seemed to boil in her stomach. Hatred and guilt, starting as small sparks, swelled in an instant.

Would she burn forever in eternal hellfire, unforgiven?

"Ugh..."

The mere thought of the Emperor's face brought nausea. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor. She covered her mouth and crawled like an animal.

The sensation of metal cutting deep into her flesh surged back vividly.

"Ro...!!!"

Victor dropped to his knees and caught her. His eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears. Despite being more frail than her, he patted her back and asked if she was okay. Then he glared at Cleo.

"What did you do?! Why is Roana suddenly like this?!"

Victor grabbed the revolver that had fallen to the floor. For someone startled, his aim was steady.

The man—Cleo Eastwood—looked the most flustered. All he'd done was introduce himself, and she'd collapsed.

Cleo looked wronged. As if the revolver Victor held didn't exist, he naturally leaned toward her. He lowered himself to one knee and extended his hand.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

Victor looked baffled.

"Take your hand away. Your... Your Grace."

He spat out, then belatedly remembered the duke's title. She was grateful he was losing his composure over her.

"I'm fine, Victor."

To prove she was all right, she deliberately enunciated clearly and pushed herself up using her knees.

"I'm fine."

Of course, she didn't take Cleo's hand.

Victor put down the gun and hurriedly pulled out the desk chair.

"Thank you."

She smiled and gripped the chair's back firmly. She straightened herself. She didn't want to show weakness in front of this man.

Cleo, unfazed even by his outstretched hand being rejected, remained composed.

"Are you sure you're okay? You don't look well."

"It's nothing. Just continue what you were saying."

When she urged him, Cleo let out a small breath and spoke.

"I came to commission an artifact from you. The same kind as the one from earlier."

"...Why me, of all people?"

"Because I've seen your skill."

"You dissected the artifact."

"Yes."

Cleo admitted it readily.

Even for artifacts with the same function, every magical engineer weaves the magical circuits differently. Depending on how the circuits are arranged, the mana required to operate the artifact could be more or less.

And I achieve high efficiency with simple circuits.

Whoever had analyzed her artifact on his side must have been no amateur. They could have simply copied her magical circuit, yet he came to her directly. Although not through proper means...

Cleo gestured with his chin toward the artifact still lying on the floor.

"So, what's your answer?"

It seemed fairly clear why he was commissioning mass production of her artifact. An artifact that emitted light to temporarily blind opponents—this wasn't an ordinary household item.

She recalled Cleo's voice, which had struck her heart like a dagger.

"My name is Cleo Eastwood. The one who will turn this cursed country upside down."

Yes.

He was truly preparing a revolution to overturn this nation.

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