Chapter 3: The First Arrow of Revenge

Between our masks, so close I could have felt his breath, his chilling voice froze my senses.

“Who are you?”

My heart plummeted. A faint scent of steel and cold frost emanated from his jet-black uniform. But more than anything, it was his deep blue eyes, which seemed to pierce right through me, that made me understand. The moniker ‘Mad Dog of the Empire’ was no exaggeration. The old me would have suffocated under this overwhelming pressure and likely confessed everything on the spot. But I was not that Eliana Bester anymore. I was a ghost, forged from the hatred I held for those who had stolen everything from me. I instinctively took a step back and began the most perfect performance of a frail, noble lady. I made my voice tremble, coloring the end of every word with a touch of fear.

“Who… who am I…? I-I don’t know what you mean…”

I hunched my shoulders and lowered my head. He couldn't see my face behind the mask, but my entire body was screaming, ‘I am weak and harmless.’ His blue eyes glinted with suspicion.

“The information. About the Marques pigment. Where did you hear it?”

“A book… I read it in a book. A long time ago, in an old book I found in a corner of the Academy library.”

I racked my brain, desperate for the most plausible lie, an excuse that no one could verify.

“I just… saw the auction item and the passage suddenly came to mind. My words just slipped out. Is there a problem? I truly don’t know anything.”

The end of my voice trembled and trailed off. The frightened act was perfect. So perfect I almost admired it myself. Rixian de Valois continued to stare, as if trying to see through me. His silence pressed down on the entire corridor. His eyes, much like my own ‘Eye of Truth,’ seemed to be peeling back my lies, one layer at a time. A cold sweat trickled down my back. It was at that moment that several nobles, having heard the commotion, began to peer in our direction with curious eyes. The head of the Special Investigations Unit, cornering a masked woman. To them, it was nothing more than an interesting scandal.

‘Now.’

I struck precisely at his weakness. his extreme mysophobia, which I had only heard about in rumors. His pathological aversion to contact with others. I began to tremble more pitifully and pleaded.

“People are watching. Please, let me pass.”

My final words seemed to have struck a nerve. His brow twitched almost imperceptibly. While still looking at me, his gaze swept contemptuously over the nobles who were whispering about us. A flicker of revulsion crossed his eyes. not aimed at me, I guessed, but at the bothersome and unclean situation itself. He finally took a step back. It was a tiny movement, but for me, it felt like a great castle gate swinging open.

“…”

He said nothing, but his eyes spoke clearly. I’ll let you go tonight, but I will find you again. I didn’t miss my chance. Whispering,

“Thank you, thank you!”

I bowed my head, turned, and disappeared into the nearest crowd. I shoved my way desperately between people’s shoulders and the hems of their dresses. I didn’t have the courage to look back. But I could feel his gaze, branded on my back like a hot iron, refusing to let go.

***

In the carriage on the way back to the Academy dorms, I finally let out the breath I had been holding. The city’s nightscape passing by the window felt unreal. My heart was still pounding wildly, but it was no longer just from fear.

I survived.

In front of the Rixian de Valois. Not only that, I had completely deceived him and escaped. A thrilling sense of exhilaration trembled at my fingertips. This was power. The power to read an opponent and manipulate a situation—something the old me could never have imagined. I pressed my forehead against the carriage’s cool glass window, trying to cool my heated mind. This chaos is the perfect opportunity. The forgery scandal at the Aurelian Auction House would be the talk of the capital by morning. People would wonder about the truth, but the truth didn’t matter. What mattered was who was to blame. A target for all their anger and suspicion. And I was going to create that target myself. The moment I arrived at the dorm, I headed straight for my workshop. A private space given to students in the Department of Restoration. Filled with countless tools, chemicals, and old tomes, this place was my sanctuary and my armory. I sat at my desk and pulled out parchment and ink. I began to summon every memory from my past life, all the knowledge and experience I had accumulated as a genius restorer. The first arrow of my revenge. It had to be cunning, fatal, and so meticulously crafted that no one could refute it. My target was Cassian de Argen, and his family. The esteemed Marquisate of Argen, known as the masters of painting. The foundation of their honor and pride rested on a secret technique passed down through generations. What would happen if that very technique was suspected of being used for forgery? A cruel smile touched my lips. I picked up my pen. I would take last night’s forgery of the first Emperor’s document and weave a story around it—a story that would tie it to the Argen family in a way no one could ever imagine.

First, I established the premise that the ‘red pigment of the Marques Mountains’ was not a single pigment. I defined it as a ‘compound pigment,’ one that could only be created by mixing several ingredients in a specific ratio. This much was in the realm of what any expert could guess. The real trap came next. I wrote that the key ingredient in this compound was ‘red vine berry oil,’ an item exclusively imported by the Argen family from the eastern forests. In my past life, I had discovered the existence of this oil while restoring an old Argen family portrait. They had used it for generations to enhance the gloss and preservation of their paintings. It was their secret, handled only in the deepest corners of the Argen workshop. ‘When the Marques pigment and red vine berry oil are combined, they create a special ink that does not fade over time.’ I described the chemical reaction between the two materials and the resulting product in detail, as if I had witnessed it myself. I even added a specific recipe: the two ingredients had to be mixed in a 7:3 ratio and aged at a low temperature for over 48 hours. Of course, it was all a sophisticated lie I had fabricated. But it was so plausible that even the best authenticator in the empire would find it difficult to disprove the claim outright. To prove or debunk this lie, the Argen family would have to reveal the components and inventory of their secret ‘red vine berry oil’ to the Imperial family. It was a demand their pride would never allow them to accept. I added one final piece of evidence: the portrait of ‘The Weeping Duchess,’ painted by the previous head of the Argen family fifty years ago. When I restored that painting in the past, I had noticed a minute degradation in the pigment used for the red dress. At the time, I had dismissed it as simple chemical corrosion, but now, I turned it into my weapon. ‘…the same components as the Marques pigment have been detected in the red pigment used on the dress of The Weeping Duchess. This is strong evidence suggesting the Argen family has known of this mixture for a very long time.’ After writing the last sentence, I put down my pen. A perfect detective story, and a fatally poisoned article, was complete. Perfectly concealing my handwriting, I left a single signature at the end. ‘One who seeks the truth, Veritas.’ I let out a hollow laugh at my own hypocrisy. I had vowed to take revenge using the truth as my weapon, yet my first arrow was forged from a lie that merely resembled it. But it didn't matter. If it could bring them to ruin, I would gladly become a devil. I sealed the finished article with wax and slipped out of the dorms through a secret passage in my workshop. Leaving the Third District where the Academy was located, I headed for the dark alleys of the Fourth District, the ‘Gray Maze.’ There, you could find errand boys who would do any job for the right price, no questions asked. I found the sharpest-looking one, pressed a few silver coins into his hand, and gave him the envelope.

“Deliver this directly to the editor-in-chief of the ‘Imperial Gazette,’ the most influential newspaper in the empire. You must not, under any circumstances, say who sent you.”

The boy nodded and disappeared into the darkness. The first arrow of my revenge was finally loosed.

***

The next morning, the Academy was in an absolute uproar.

“Elly! Elly, look at this! My goodness, all hell has broken loose!”

Chloe Perron, her face flushed with excitement, stopped me on my way to the dining hall for breakfast. She was the first friend I’d made after my return. As the top student in the Department of Sculpture, she was a loyal friend who couldn't stand injustice, and she had brought a tiny spark of warmth to my heart, which had been frozen by betrayal. In her hand was the front page of today’s ‘Imperial Gazette.’ And there, the contents of the article I sent last night were printed under a much larger and more sensational headline. [First Emperor’s Relic Confirmed a Forgery! The Shadow of Marquis Argen Behind It All?] Chloe grabbed my arm, practically bouncing as she exclaimed.

“Can you believe this? They say some mysterious authenticator showed up at the auction last night and exposed it as a fake, and now this article is saying the technique used for the forgery is the same as the Argen family’s secret technique! The paper is going crazy, suggesting the Argens sold their secrets to a forgery ring because of financial trouble!”

I took the newspaper, feigning a look of calm surprise. The impact was far greater than I had anticipated. The newspaper had quoted my article almost verbatim, adding details about the Argen family’s current financial status and past suspicious activities to bolster the story’s credibility.

“That’s… truly shocking.”

Chloe nodded vigorously at my soulless reply.

“Right? All the students in the painting department are in a panic. Especially Cassian…”

Chloe trailed off, pointing toward someone. At the end of her gaze, standing frozen at the entrance to the dining hall, was Cassian de Argen. In that instant, our eyes met. Clutched in his hand was a crumpled copy of the same newspaper Chloe and I were holding. His sun-like smile was gone, and his face was so pale that he had lost all semblance of his noble composure. His amber eyes found me. When we’d met at the auction last night, his eyes had held a cool indifference and a hint of curiosity. But not now. There was no longer any suspicion or curiosity in his gaze. It was pure enmity. A cold, sharp killing intent directed at the one who sought to destroy his everything. He knew. He had realized, instinctively, that I was behind all of this. Cassian’s lips moved without a sound. ‘Eliana… Bester.’ I read his lips and gave him a faint, deliberate smile in return. I watched, satisfied, as his eyes blazed with hatred. It was a dangerous signal—a signal that the true curtain on my revenge had finally risen.