This Is What Revenge Looks Like
Chapter 4

The Duchy of Taylor, the cornerstone of the Dekan Empire, was known for its golden wheat fields. Its lands were so expansive that it seemed nearly endless, and it grew the wheat which fed citizens all over the empire.

“No one shall starve in the Taylor territory.”

Such was the rule created by the first Duke Taylor, and as a result, all following dukes had gone to great efforts to better the lives of the duchy’s residents. They also focused on developing agricultural technology for stable wheat harvests.

As a result, the Duchy of Taylor was reborn as a massive breadbasket which fed the entire empire. It was only natural that its coat of arms included the design of grains of wheat. The third emperor of the empire had valued the contributions of House Taylor so highly that he personally granted a chapel and beautiful gallery to the house.

Grace, in her wedding dress and veil, slowly walked through the gallery which bore the glory of her house. The nobles whispered among themselves as they watched her.

“She is the splitting image of her mother.”

“You never know in life, I suppose. Who would have thought a Taylor would stoop to marry the son of Count Jaxen?”

“Shh! They are the family who produced the empress. You do not want anyone to hear you say that.”

Count Jaxen looked Grace up and down like he was evaluating livestock and muttered just like his son, “The money was worth it.”

In the meantime, Rosette balled her fists, feeling indignant. She couldn’t bear for a moment to have people’s attention drawn to Grace. Rosette would have done anything to direct the gazes away from the bride, and her wish was soon granted when the other key participant of the wedding showed up.

“My goodness...” someone murmured, and the laments spread like a disease.

“Oh, my...”

Grace’s future husband had appeared behind her. His eyes were black and blue, and the rest of his face was not much prettier. People found themselves glancing at the beautiful bride waiting at the entrance to the chapel.

“Poor thing.”

Those words seemed to be perfectly adequate to describe the situation. What a poor woman. Joseph, the aide standing next to Walter, thought no differently. He sucked his teeth quietly and asked, “A profligate and a Taylor, wed! She’s the one who sent you the invitation, right?”

Walter glanced at him and warned him, “Watch your mouth.”

Joseph clammed up and quickly scanned his surroundings. They were all but hiding in a remote part of the garden in front of the chapel, but Walter Richmond’s looks were a problem. His muscles, formed through his battles with demonic creatures on the battlefield, made him look like a piece of art. Combined with his huge build, it made him look like a god of war even in a suit.

Unlike the nobles, who had their hair neatly brushed back, his short hair hadn’t been touched up at all. But even that was a testament to his wildness, and more than a few noblewomen had blushed while looking in his direction.

“Who is that man?”

The nobles were stealing glances at him, cocking their heads. He was so striking that nobody could have forgotten him after seeing him once, but none of them had seen him before. His suit did not have any indication of house, either.

“Don’t tell me he isn’t a noble?”

“How could a commoner have been invited?” someone muttered.

A bell tolled, indicating that the ceremony was beginning. The nobles who had been glancing at Walter suppressed their curiosity for a bit and turned toward the chapel again.

Standing amid the sea of people, an old man with hoary hair muttered, “He looks like His Majesty, who is confined to his sickbed.”

The son who was beside him, looking after him, seemed shocked. He whispered to the old man, “Don’t say things like that. I’m afraid somebody might hear you.”

The old man shrugged, apparently unimpressed.

“But he does. It’s the truth. It has been over ten years that His Majesty has failed to awaken... Everybody has forgotten what he looks like. I thought I was no different. But if His Highness the Crown Prince were alive, he might look just like that man.”

“Nobody thinks that!” his son protested.

“So many things changed all at once. It took but a moment...” The man, apparently oblivious to his son’s remonstrances, stared at the back of Grace, who was walking toward the archbishop waiting for her.

She had grown into a fine woman. So much so, in fact, that even he, who had nothing to do with her, felt his heart ache for her. If the previous duke’s soul were watching, he would no doubt be striking the earth and sobbing miserably.

The archbishop who watched the bride and bridegroom walk toward him was thinking along similar lines. The bridegroom with the bruised eyes could only be described as a ruffian, nothing more, nothing less. Even as the solemn ceremony was beginning, he was hungrily eyeing the woman. While the archbishop sighed at the pathetic sight, the couple arrived in front of him.

With the help of the priests, they kneeled politely before him. The colorful sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows painted the ornate uniform of the archbishop.The archbishop rang the bell again personally, then applied sanctified water on the foreheads of the bride and bridegroom.

Even while this was going on, Jack’s eyes were on his wife. She looked like a porcelain doll viewed from the side. He kept on marveling to himself about what a striking beauty she was.

He knew he had never seen her before, so he wasn’t sure why he kept getting the feeling he and she had met. And what was more, the bruising on his eyes seemed to ache more painfully when she was next to him.

Jack frowned at the throbbing pain, and the archbishop’s brow furrowed in response as he conducted the ceremony.

What in the world is this man thinking? He did not like the way Jack was glaring openly at the bride the entire time.

Even the guests were starting to murmur quietly among themselves.

“Huh? So he’s suddenly in love, is he?” Joseph muttered, watching from afar, and Walter barked an incredulous laugh. His eyes were also on Grace, just like Jack’s.

The ceremony was almost over now, but he wasn’t sure what it was that the bold woman had wanted him to see. It had proceeded quickly, and the only thing that remained was the oath, which involved questions in the presence of the divine to each person, followed by an oath.

They would be requested to direct questions at each other and to swear that they would remain pure and true in body and mind to each other, showing love and dedication for each other only for as long as they lived.

After a cold glance at Jack, the archbishop decided not to ask about remaining pure. It would be absurd to ask a man who already had six illegitimate sons if he intended to remain pure, physically or otherwise.

“Jack Jaxen. Do you hereby swear before our god to take Grace Taylor as your wife and to love her all your life?”

Jack turned to face the archbishop for the first time since he had entered the chapel and spoke with what appeared to be a serious expression. “Yes, I do swear.”

The archbishop’s eyes traveled to Grace. She had been listening to the archbishop all this time, steady and elegant.

“Grace Taylor. Do you hereby swear to commit yourself to this holy matrimony, pure of mind and of body?”

This was an age-old query. It was something everybody replied to with a “yes,” and it had been reduced to a simple ritual, just like the application of holy water to the forehead. Grace looked up slowly.

She could see herself in her wedding dress reflected in the eyes of the cleric, who gazed down at her now. When she directed her gaze further back, she saw a holy statue behind him. Past moments flitted past her mind.

“Lady Grace, When it comes to a hunt, the most important thing is waiting for the right moment.”

The guests began to murmur again at her silence. The archbishop cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Ahem.”

The god who had always looked down at her without feeling was no different today. Once again, he was simply there, watching her from above. Grace gazed up at the statue and thought, God, it is time.

“Grace Taylor. Do you hereby swear to commit yourself to this holy matrimony, pure of mind and of body?” the archbishop repeated slightly louder, his voice echoing in the round chapel.

Everybody was looking at her, and she felt at that moment like she was standing alone behind enemy lines. The fine hairs on her back seemed to stand on end, and her heart burned, as though the fire she had suppressed all this time was finally rearing its head. She tightened her belly and breathed in.

Then she spoke—or rather, brandished the invisible sword she had been hiding all along.

“No. It is somebody else that I have come to love.”

Her shocking declaration resulted in a dumb silence that filled the chapel. Count Jaxen and his wife gasped, their eyes bulging, and the duke and duchess clamped their hands over their mouths, at a complete loss.

They were not the only ones who were taken aback. Jack, despite having had no less than six children out of wedlock, glared at her with eyes enlarged so the whites showed.

The archbishop cleared his throat repeatedly, bewildered. Such a thing was unprecedented. He desperately racked his brains. Never in the history of the Temple had such an event ever happened before.

The murmuring grew in volume, and the flustered archbishop eventually pretended he hadn’t heard and continued on with the next question.

“Grace Taylor, do you swear before our god to take Jack Jaxen as your husband and to love him all your life?” He looked pleadingly at Grace. Please, just say yes!

But his desire was to remain unfulfilled. Grace slowly turned her head to look at Jack, and her calm grace made her feelings for him evident. The guests were following her gaze and looking at Jack, too, and they found themselves nodding.

“My goodness... What was he up to the day before his own wedding?”

“Even I would find it difficult to love or respect such a man.”

Jack was slowly starting to fume, which only solidified the watchers’ sympathy for Grace.

“Archbishop! Well? What are you doing? Get on with it!” shouted Count Jaxen, shooting to his feet, apparently out of patience.

The archbishop wanted nothing better and tried to quickly move on to the next part, but Grace beat him to the chance.

“And for that reason, I cannot love this man.”

Her singsong voice carried to everyone in the chapel. The archbishop closed his eyes and sought his god.

Oh, my lord. Why do you visit this suffering upon me?

“I cannot love a single hair on Jack Jaxen’s body,” she said, driving her point home.

The aggression latent in the man whom everyone knew so well to be a lout exploded outward. “You can’t love me? That’s rich! You’ve been unfaithful to me already, and we’re not even wed!” Jack screamed.