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As his schizophrenia deepened, he suffered from severe hallucinations and auditory delusions; moreover, he frequently cut off the wrists of his attendants, screaming, "You are also trying to kill me!"
It would not have been surprising to hear the moniker "Tyrant Vasily" drifting from some distant land during his studies abroad. It only made Valentin's heart ache, thinking that he must still be suffering from those hallucinations and delusions.
'I must help Vasily so that he doesn't go mad.'
Vasily's tyranny had played a decisive role in allowing the rebel faction to swallow the Imperial Family. It was the primary catalyst that led all the citizens of the Empire to acknowledge the legitimacy of the rebels' bloodline and the justice they championed.
Valentin diligently hovered by Vasily's side.
Observing Vasily more closely than before, Valentin found that he was surprisingly more sane and rational than in his past memories. However, he occasionally exhibited an inexplicable state of vigilance, and today was one such day.
"Damn it. Stop, Valentin!"
His scream echoed through the wind.
Vasily, who had readily suggested a ride, claiming it was a new stallion brought in from the Northern Steppes, suddenly commanded him to stop.
"Valentin! If you can hear my voice, get off the horse right now! Right now!"
At the thunderous shout, Valentin's body moved before his mind could process it.
Leaping almost as if falling from the saddle, Valentin tumbled across the ground for a while before coming to a stop. He felt as though his ankle had twisted due to the speed of the horse, but he had no luxury to examine it closely.
The horse, which had been running well, suddenly collapsed and plummeted forward.
Neigh—!
A chill ran down his spine. Had he remained in the saddle, his entire lower body might have been paralyzed.
"What on earth was...?"
"Can you not stand? Then do not move."
To his humble surprise, Vasily personally carried Valentin on his back to the physician. Along with a diagnosis of a fractured ankle, he heard that if he were unlucky, he might spend the rest of his life limping on one leg, but Valentin was preoccupied with a different matter.
The matter of Vasily's younger sister, Princess Tatyana.
"Someone tampered with the horseshoes. They were designed so that the more the horse runs, the deeper the nails drive in to hit the nerves."
Bustling into Vasily's bedroom, she threw a large, blood-stained nail onto the table.
"A nail?"
"Yes. Phew... I told you to be careful, didn't I? Why didn't you check beforehand? What if you had been on that horse and cracked your head open!"
It was a neurotic reprimand, but Vasily quietly nodded.
"I am sorry. I was indeed short-sighted this time. I never imagined they would go as far as to do such a thing to a horse."
With a weary expression, he wiped his face with his hand and then patted Valentin's shoulder in consolation.
"I have nothing to say to you either, Valentin. To suffer such harm because of me. I will compensate you somehow."
"...Vasily, could it be that such incidents are not uncommon for you?"
The other's silence served as a tacit affirmation. The sight of Vasily, so dreadfully accustomed to assassination threats, was enough to make Valentin's head spin.
'Ah, if that's the case... then the numerous atrocities he committed in the past...'
Should they not have been dismissed as mere mental illness?
After returning home, Valentin spent several days racking his brain, pulling out the murky memories from just before his death one by one.
He was certain that the period when Vasily began exhibiting abnormal behavior was several years after the current point in time.
The judgments that showed no hesitation in harming people, the rumors of killing in a blood-crazed frenzy... would these not be the natural future of someone who had endured such incidents countless times?
He became convinced.
'Someone is intentionally trying to bring down Vasily—no, this Imperial Family.'
Along with that conviction, a certain face flashed through his mind. Those who had killed his father and put him on the execution block, namely...
"Prince Ivan and Duke Libertan."
The second son of the current Emperor, Nicholas Ivanovich Novarov, and his younger brother. The two men, who had been gradually approaching from across the long corridor of the Imperial Palace, stopped before Valentin.
"Ah, Valentin. It has been a long time. Is your foot alright? I heard your movements would remain uncomfortable for a while."
"Yes, I consider it a great blessing just to have survived."
"Haha, you are right. It is a blessing to be alive. A wonderful mindset."
Duke Libertan burst into a hearty laugh and patted his shoulder, adding leisurely:
"Still, do not overexert yourself. You must preserve the one leg you have left."
Valentin watched Duke Libertan's receding back, then lowered his head to stare at the imbalance of his two feet. He then scoffed at himself.
'...Was that how it was?'
The dignity of the Imperial Family had become a joke. To think he hadn't noticed for so long, even though the one attempting to overthrow its roots was right before his eyes.
However, there is always a reason why the area directly beneath the lamp is the darkest.
'Prince Ivan.'
As expected, there is a high probability that Prince Ivan is the leader of the rebellion.
It was a truly pitiful truth for Vasily. For Valentin knew well that the siblings had been exceptionally close, both before and after the Empress's death.
Recalling how wretched Vasily's end had been, it seemed he had failed to notice Ivan's betrayal until the very last moment.
Prince Ivan rarely spends days staying at the Imperial Palace. The lively and sociable nature of his childhood had vanished long ago. So long ago that he could hardly remember it...
Perhaps he had been harboring a knife in his heart for quite some time.
After that day.
Valentin shut himself inside his mansion for three days and nights, pondering how to peel away Duke Libertan's shell.
Prince Ivan and Duke Libertan are conspiring for rebellion. However, reporting this fact directly to the Emperor carried a great risk. If he could not present clear evidence during the process of accusing a member of the Imperial Family as a traitor, a massive backlash would surely follow.
'Evidence...'
Do they say that desire leaves a trail?
If Prince Ivan is truly plotting a rebellion, and if his reach has already extended into the Imperial Palace, then their traces must be entangled like a spiderweb throughout this Makhachkala.
However, since Valentin had already drawn the opponent's suspicion, it was too dangerous to dig into their movements immediately. The priority was to vanish from their sight.
For instance, by becoming a wreck, devastated by the shock of becoming disabled.
"Young Master, Crown Prince Vasily has sent a gift."
Rumors that he had shut himself in his mansion and lived immersed in alcohol quickly swept through Makhachkala.
He refused not only Vasily's get-well gifts but also all visits from acquaintances. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, as if he were driving a nail into the guilt Vasily felt, but considering the future, there was no better strategy. After all, he was the only one who could prove the truth he knew.
"It has been a long time, Valentin. Haha. Do not look at me with such wary eyes. I simply stopped by on my way back."
It had been nearly three months since Valentin had established himself as a magnificent wreck of Makhachkala and been forgotten by people's memories when Duke Nikitin, who had visited to pay his respects, flung open his door.
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