My Contract Husband is Going Crazy Because of My Iron Wall - Chapter 58.1
Chapter 58.1
“Where did she go?”
“I… I don’t know. She vanished after teatime in the garden.”
“I have so many eyes and ears here, and no one knows where the Grand Duchess went?”
“I-It seems so.”
Reinhardt’s icy gaze bore down on the maid, who trembled under the silent weight of his fury.
“I-I apologize…”
“Leave.”
As the maid fled the study, he summoned Jade.
“My wife informed me of her intent to divorce and then ran away. Find her quickly. Check the stables for missing horses and question anyone who saw her leaving.”
“I’ve already begun inquiries, Your Grace.”
Jade, whose competence alone justified his often-irritating presence as Reinhardt’s secretary, continued.
“No horses are missing, and no one saw the Grand Duchess depart. Remarkable, considering the number of people you have placed here.”
“She must have help. Likely, she stopped somewhere discreet before making her escape…”
“I’ll compile a list of everyone who entered or exited the estate today.”
Jade quickly returned with a list of potential suspects: two off-duty soldiers, a maid, and a deliveryman. A witness reported seeing the deliveryman leaving with a large sack.
“Him.”
“But, Your Grace…”
Jade hesitated.
“Is it certain the Grand Duchess ran away?”
“What do you mean?”
“If she were fleeing, she would have at least told me. Her disappearance is so sudden… I wonder if she’s been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? And she’d tell you before me? Since when were the two of you so close?”
Reinhardt’s chilling glare made Jade instantly regret his words.
“I-I promised her a lifelong loyalty since she saved your life.”
“Is that so?”
Jade felt a flicker of relief, thinking he’d gotten away with it, but Reinhardt’s expression remained glacial. He stiffened again.
“I, too, am sworn to her loyalty. Why would she confide in you alone?”
“W-Well…? Haha.”
“You’re hiding something, Jade Mute. Tell me the truth.”
Jade’s loyalty was pledged to three people: Camilla, Reinhardt, and Irovel. Reinhardt was far more intimidating than Irovel, so he had no choice but to revert to being Reinhardt’s faithful hound.
“The Grand Duchess mentioned she would soon be living apart from you. She asked for my help when the time came. Her sudden disappearance is what I find strange.”
“…Indeed.”
Reinhardt’s gaze darkened considerably.
* * *
The employee of the Information Guild greeted Reinhardt with palpable nervousness.
“I’d like to know how to make myself look ugly.”
“…I don’t understand.”
Since his previous, utterly inadequate response, the employee had endured relentless mockery from his less-attractive colleagues, driving him to thoroughly research the art of ugliness. Now, he spoke with confidence.
“I’ve been expecting you, Your Grace. Today, I can provide a comprehensive guide to achieving a truly unattractive appearance.”
“…What nonsense is this? Does this situation seem like a joke to you?”
Reinhardt snapped.
‘But Your Grace, you asked about becoming ugly even when the Tartars breached the barrier! That was a serious situation!’
The employee felt a surge of injustice, but he dared not voice it.
“I-I apologize… I wanted to redeem myself for failing to provide you with information last time…”
“Forget that. Find this man.”
Reinhardt slammed several sketches based on witness descriptions of the deliveryman onto the table. Had he drawn them himself, they would have been useless, but thankfully, a professional artist had been employed, allowing the guild member to identify the man.
“Mario Gold. A low-ranking member of the Assassins Guild.”
“This man is suspected of kidnapping my wife. Can you find him?”
“Of course. Circulating these sketches to the checkpoints in each region will quickly pinpoint his location.”
“How long will that typically take?”
“About a week.”
Reinhardt’s face contorted in displeasure. The answer clearly fell short of his expectations. The employee hastily amended his estimate.
“Perhaps five days, at best…?”
“Too slow.”
‘What am I supposed to do if even the fastest option is too slow?’
The employee was aghast.
“I’ll go myself.”
“You, Your Grace? But you don’t know if he went south or north!”
“South. The suspected client headed in that direction.”
“That narrows it down considerably.”
The employee marked the common criminal routes on a map for Reinhardt.
“Follow this route. This man, Mario, travels with someone named Paul, who has a habit of stopping the carriage for frequent roadside urination. They shouldn’t be far. I’ll give you a portrait of Paul as well.”
* * *
“Paul, you son of a b*tch! Are you stopping to piss again? All the plants in the world are going to die from your piss!”
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