Oscar scoffed at himself.
Unlike him—who had spent the entire night driven by lust like a rutting dog—the woman had endured. From beginning to end, she had held back.
Yes.
From beginning to end.
“Let’s assume I’m the idiot.”
A sharp glint entered Oscar’s blue eyes, which until then had been filled with scorn.
“Why did you endure?”
Why, indeed.
Oscar picked up the translated copy of her identification from the materials Simon had brought. His gaze settled on the name.
Han Seo-ah.
He lingered on the unfamiliar name for a long time. Forgive and love. After considering it in silence, he set the document aside and reached for Theresia Wittkenstein’s report.
The moment he opened the worn, faded cover, a name written in block letters greeted him.
Theresia Wittkenstein.
She was one of the few surviving wolves raised directly under his father.
As befitted, someone once evaluated as the most capable intelligence agent under the previous Marquis, the volume of reports she had submitted throughout her career was vast. Oscar selected only those from the period when she began tracking Peter. Even that subset alone was enough to fill an entire book.
Indeed, she had been following Peter’s traces for over twenty years.
Oscar remembered the day she departed.
It was the day they received news that the wolves escorting Peter—reported to be returning with him captured alive—had gone missing.
Oscar had been seated in the chair his father once occupied.
He had sat in that chair for three years by then, yet his feet still did not reach the floor. The long vertical conference table remained too high, no matter how straight he forced his back. When his posture began to tilt, Barbara, standing behind him, would always press lightly against his lower back.
“I believe they are all dead.”
The man who said this was Karl.
Oscar looked at him and asked quietly, “Peter too?”
Karl unrolled a large nautical chart and spread it across the table before Oscar. With a measured motion, he pointed to a marked area.
“This is Qinghai, where fragments of the ship and James Wittkenstein’s remains were recovered.”
On the chart, Qinghai was marked clearly on the sea bordered by the eastern continent of Asu—where the Rioher Empire lay—and a peninsula extending from its edge.
“We presume they were swept away by the currents. The estimated sinking point of the ship is here—the Ibis Strait.”
His finger moved westward from Qinghai and stopped at a narrow body of water.
“The Ibis Strait is notorious for rough seas. Shipwrecks occur there frequently, even in fair weather.”
The Ibis Strait lay between the Rioher Empire—the eastern hegemon—and the Visnia Federation. Though infamous for its narrow width, violent waters, and frequent naval clashes, it remained a heavily trafficked route. Detouring around it significantly increased travel distance, and the alternative passage was plagued by sea monsters, making it even more dangerous outside of winter, when the creatures lay dormant.
“Both the Rioher and Visnia naVues have officially announced evidence of an unidentified ship sinking in the strait—”
“Evidence?”
Oscar interrupted.
“The ship sank.”
“That’s circumstantial,” Oscar said flatly. “What I want is proof.”
Even as he spoke, he had considered the possibility that Peter was dead. Yet at nine years old, he could not easily accept that Peter—the only person onto whom he could direct his hatred—had vanished without a trace. Half-stubborn, half-desperate, he insisted.
“Search again.”
“…….”
“Find it. Bring back the body—or whatever remains.”
No one answered immediately. Most of the wolves present shared the same hesitation.
It was Theresia who stepped forward.
She advanced with long strides and knelt before Oscar.
“I will find him. Please entrust it to me, Your Excellency.”
That winter, Theresia left Luxen alone.
At the time, Reinhardt was effectively in ruins, and there were no personnel to support her.
After departing Luxen, Theresia sent reports at regular intervals. Her first came from the Visnia Federation. The next arrived from the southern reaches of the Rioher Empire.
She personally inspected everybody recovered from the sea. Through her efforts, some of the wolves’ belongings and a handful of remains were returned.
Peter was not among them.
By her sixth report, Theresia had moved closer to Qinghai. She traveled through every port along the Rioher coast surrounding it, following what traces she could find of Peter—and of the key.
Oscar flipped through the reports with casual movements.
They were utterly meaningless.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
Then—after the twelfth report—contact was lost.
The reports that had once arrived at regular intervals stopped entirely. They dispatched people to search for her, but the only response that returned was the same each time: Theresia Wittkenstein could not be found.
Several years later, a report arrived again.
That report was brief.
And after that, silence followed once more—for several years—until, finally, report number 2021 was submitted.
That had been three years ago.
After more than twenty years of pursuit, it was the first time Theresia had written her personal conclusion: that Peter and the key had most likely sunk into the sea.
Even Barbara—who had never once voiced her opinion on the matter—said after reading that report that it was time to abandon Peter and the key, and find another way to open the safe.
Oscar reopened the twelfth report. The one before the contact was lost.
Classified under the year 1988, it was not particularly long. It was little more than a detailed account of failure. Oscar skimmed through it quickly. His gaze, which had reached the end almost instantly, paused at one section.
“…I will investigate the Rioher Empire a little further and plan to move to Dangguk next month. Since the western region of Dangguk borders Qinghai, I intend to investigate there as well.”
A few short sentences, written in the additional comments.
Had it been the Oscar of that time, he would have closed the report without reading the appendix—if he read it at all. At best, he would have skimmed it.
Oscar immediately opened the thirteenth report.
The sender was not Dangguk, but the Port of Rush in the Rioher Empire. However, Dangguk appeared repeatedly in its contents. The report stated that she had traveled through Dangguk and had returned to Rioher to submit her findings.
In other words, during the years when contact had been lost, Theresia had stayed in Dangguk.
Report 2021 had also been sent from Rioher. And once again, it followed the same pattern: a report, then years of silence.
Dangguk.
The name of that small eastern country had been surfacing around him with increasing frequency.
Oscar summoned Karl at once.
“You called?”
Karl—who had stood by his side alongside Barbara for many years—was still active in the field, overseeing search operations despite his graying hair.
“Karl.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“What is the probability that Theresia Wittkenstein betrayed us?”
“…What?”
“That she mixed falsehoods into her reports.”
Karl fell silent for a moment. Then he straightened his posture and answered firmly.
“That is impossible.”
Oscar scoffed—this time, genuinely.
“I didn’t expect to hear that from someone who witnessed firsthand who betrayed my father.”
“…I apologize. But there is no reason for her to do so, Your Excellency.”
“The grounds?”
“First, she holds a personal grudge against Peter. Her family was destroyed because of his betrayal, and her husband died during his transport. More importantly, there is no benefit for her to deceive you.”
“No benefit?”
“If she lied, it would mean she knew Peter’s whereabouts—or the location of the key—and deliberately concealed it. What benefit could she gain from that? Hiding Peter makes no sense, and keeping the key for herself—well, that clearly did not happen.”
That much was true.
The key had passed through that woman’s hands and now rested in his.
Oscar stared at Theresia’s report instead of replying.
Doubting the woman, he had entrusted with the pursuit for over twenty years was absurd. And yet, the suspicion sparked by the key—appearing so suddenly after all this time—continued to gnaw at his nerves.
“You never know,” Oscar said quietly. “While wandering abroad without returning, perhaps some benefit arose.”
“…Your Excellency.”
Oscar took a cigarette from his drawer and lit it.
“Form a search team.”
He tossed the thirteenth report onto the desk.
“Based on this report, trace Theresia Wittkenstein’s movements in Dangguk. Bring me everything—locations, contacts, targets—within three months.”
Karl hesitated briefly, then chose not to argue.
“Understood.”
“Three months.”
“I will dispatch them tonight.”
“You may go.”
Karl bowed and left.
—