Please Be Patient, Grand Duke

Chapter 105.2

Carso left the exam room with a despondent expression, his mind in turmoil. The viscount’s announcement about the perfect scorer only added to his anxiety. He knew he had made a few mistakes, but to hear about someone who had aced the test left him feeling inferior. He thought about Lady Canillia and wondered how she had fared. His noble dignity was not just about words, and he didn’t want his sister-in-law to feel embarrassed.

“She left with the Duke. She was the first one to come out of the exam room,” Owen replied.

“Did she fail the exam?” Carso asked, his worried expression evident.

Owen shrugged, struggling to contain his amusement at Carso’s concern. “Well, her expression didn’t look bad.”

Relieved, Carso sighed. “That’s good news, but a perfect scorer? Even for me, who heard the sound of gifted students in the Southern Academy, it was a difficult exam.”

“You must have done well. You are a smart person,” Owen assured him, handing him the documents he had prepared. “Here’s the list of the jewel appraisers you requested. Also, news from the Valencia mines is included. They say they need an explosives expert. Looks like your work is piling up, Carso.”

Carso rubbed his aching head as he perused through the pile of documents Owen had handed him, wondering if he had chosen the wrong career path in life. However, he quickly composed himself and spoke up. “Let’s tackle this issue first. If we need explosives, I know just the person for the job. We should send a letter down south.”

Returning home, Carso hoped to find Canillia but was disappointed to learn that she was still missing. The duke was also nowhere to be found, leaving him feeling more dejected than before. As he entered his study, he began to pen his letter, but abruptly halted. The explosive expert he had in mind was a doctor who had treated the poor in his territory without charge. He was an expert in making explosives, but unfortunately, had lost his leg in an accident.

Carso knew that it wouldn’t be easy to find an explosive expert outside of the military, and calling someone from the capital would be both time-consuming and costly. He decided to call for his servant to pack his belongings, telling him to inform the Duke of his departure. “Let the Duke know that I’m going to my territory for a while. I’ll handle this situation myself.”

***

[The First Imperial Grand Ball, Canillia Vale]

Ian received a newspaper from the Kayan Empire, carrying tidings of Claude and Lia’s affairs—mere fleeting mentions that left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Nonetheless, he accepted the invitation to the ball and brought the newspaper to Laura, who was now in a stable state after reading books to children. Her surprise was palpable as she caught sight of Ria’s picture in the newspaper.

“My, she has grown up so much. Thank you, Your Grace, for letting me know,” Laura said, clutching the newspaper and letter tightly.

“Of course I had to let you know,” Ian replied. “And in a few days, Canillia will visit. That’s why I came to tell you.”

Laura’s joy could not be contained. She wiped away tears of surprise and stroked Canillia’s picture, taking solace in the fact that her daughter had been granted the position of grand duchess, albeit not by the government but by her own merit.

Meanwhile, Ian made his way to the training grounds, where knights were already hard at work, sweating under the scorching midday sun. Without a word, he drew his training sword and began to swing it lightly, addressing his subordinates with an air of confidence.

“Today, I’ll reward my opponent with a great prize.”

The knights looked at him in bewilderment, exchanging fearful glances. Ian was the dreaded mad dog, a vicious beast with a thirst for blood. They hesitated, unsure if they were ready to take on such a challenge, especially given Ian’s current condition, which seemed to be at its worst.

The knights standing before their lord knew better than to be fooled by his charming smile, for it was during such moments that he was at his most dangerous. Their throats ran dry as they hesitated to step forward, wary of what was to come next.

With a deep sigh, Ian surveyed the surrounding area before pointing to the leader, who was doing his best to avoid making eye contact. It was the same man who had been beaten by Ian’s elder brother’s subordinate during the war, yet had been appointed as the knight captain by Ian himself—a gesture of his unwavering loyalty.

“You’ll have to be my opponent today,” Ian said, his lips curling up into a wry smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll give you a fair fight.”

“Your Highness, please don’t do this,” one of the knights implored.

Ian shrugged. “I’m just in a bad mood. Humor me and help me vent my frustrations. I promise I won’t kill you, so don’t make any mistakes.”

The leader took a deep breath and picked up a training sword. “Well then, Your Highness, I trust you won’t hold a grudge against me,” he said before swinging his sword.