Chapter 198: Chapter 198

Albert dismissed his cab at the Count’s mansion, deciding to walk for a while. As he strolled through the tree-lined avenue, he spotted what looked like the Count’s horses parked outside a shooting range. Moving closer, he recognized the familiar coachman.

"Is the Count inside shooting?" Albert asked.

"Yes, sir," the coachman confirmed.

The sharp crack of gunfire echoed from within. Albert headed for the entrance, where a young attendant intercepted him.

"Excuse me, sir, but could you wait just a moment?"

"Wait? Why, Philip?" Albert frowned. He was a regular here, this was unusual.

"The gentleman currently using the range prefers complete privacy. He never practices when anyone’s watching."

"Not even you? Then who loads his weapons?"

"The tall African man?"

"Ah, then it’s definitely him. Don’t worry, Philip, he’s a friend of mine. I’m actually here looking for him."

"Oh! In that case, sir, I’ll inform him right away."

Philip disappeared inside, and moments later, the Count himself appeared in the doorway.

"My apologies for tracking you down ," Albert said quickly. "Your staff told me you’d be home for breakfast at ten, so I was just killing time when I happened to see your carriage. I hope I’m not intruding."

The Count’s expression was warm. "Not at all. In fact, I hope this means you’ll join me for breakfast?"

"Actually, I have more pressing matters than food on my mind right now." Albert’s voice grew heavier. "Though we might end up sharing a meal later... in worse circumstances."

"I’m fighting a duel today."

The Count’s eyebrows rose. "A duel? Over what?"

"I see. That is serious." The Count studied him carefully. "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to be my second." Latest content publıshed on novel·fire·net

The Count turned to his servant. "Ali, bring water." He rolled up his sleeves and moved toward the washing area, then gestured for Albert to follow. "Come inside first. There’s something you should see."

Instead of the usual targets, playing cards were pinned to the far wall. From a distance, they looked like a complete suit, Albert counted from ace to ten.

"Preparing for a card game?" he joked weakly.

"In a manner of speaking," the Count replied. "I was creating a suit."

"I don’t understand."

"Look closer. Those cards started as aces and twos. My bullets transformed them into threes, fives, sevens, eights, nines, and tens."

Albert approached and saw it was true. Each bullet hole was positioned exactly where the printed symbols should have been, perfectly spaced, as if measured with a ruler.

"Incredible," Albert breathed.

"I must occupy my time somehow," the Count said, drying his hands on a towel. "Now, come. Let’s discuss this properly."

They rode to the Count’s mansion in silence. Once inside his study, the Count gestured to a leather chair and took the seat across from Albert.

"Tell me everything," he said calmly.

"I’m perfectly calm," Albert insisted, though his jaw was tight.

"Who are you fighting?"

"Of course. Duels are always between friends, aren’t they?" There was bitter irony in Albert’s voice.

"Last night, his newspaper published something. Here, read it yourself."

Albert thrust the paper forward. The Count read aloud: "Our correspondent in Yanina reports a previously unknown fact: the fortress protecting the city was surrendered to the Turks by a French officer named Fernand, in whom the Grand Vizier, Ali Pasha, had placed complete trust."

"And this concerns you how?" the Count asked.

"What do you mean, how? Can’t you see?"

"I’m asking sincerely. Why does this article about some fortress matter to you?"

"Because," Albert said through gritted teeth, "my father is the Count of Morcerf. His first name is Fernand."

"Your father served under Ali Pasha?"

"He fought for Greek independence! That’s why this is slander, they’re twisting history!"

"My dear boy, think rationally-"

"I am thinking rationally!"

"Then tell me: who in France would connect some officer named Fernand with the Count of Morcerf? And who even remembers Yanina? That was over twenty years ago!"

"That’s exactly what makes this so vicious!" Albert’s hands clenched into fists. "They waited all this time, let everyone forget, and then dredged it up specifically to destroy our reputation. My father’s name, his legacy, I won’t let it be tarnished. I’m going to demand Beauchamp retract this statement in front of witnesses."

"Beauchamp won’t retract it."

"No, he’ll simply point out that dozens of officers in the Greek army probably shared that name."

"It doesn’t matter. I’ll fight anyway. My father was a brilliant soldier, his career was-"

"And then Beauchamp will add a correction: ’We believe this Fernand is not the distinguished Count of Morcerf, who happens to share the same first name.’"

"I won’t accept anything less than a complete retraction."

"You intend to force this with witnesses present?"

"So you’re refusing to help me?"

"You know my philosophy about duels. I explained it when we were in Rome, remember?"

"Yet I found you this morning practicing your marksmanship, hardly consistent with your supposed principles."

The Count smiled slightly. "One must adapt to society’s expectations. If I’m challenged by some hothead with a manufactured grievance, just like you with Beauchamp, he’ll bring his witnesses, provoke me publicly, and expect me to kill him or be killed. So yes, I practice."

"You admit you’d fight. So why oppose me?"

"I don’t oppose fighting when necessary. I oppose fighting without thinking it through first."

"He didn’t think before insulting my father!"

"If he spoke rashly and admits it, shouldn’t that be enough?"

"You’re too lenient, Count."

"And you’re too inflexible. Consider this, don’t be angry, but what if the allegation is true?"

"A son cannot ignore an attack on his father’s honor."

"We live in complicated times. Sometimes we must accept uncomfortable truths."

"That’s the problem with our generation, too much acceptance!"

"And you’re going to reform society single-handedly?"

"At least my part of it."

"You’re very demanding, my friend."

"Are you open to advice?"

"From a friend, always."

"You consider me a friend?"

"Then before confronting Beauchamp with witnesses, gather more information."

Albert looked confused. "Why involve a woman? What could she possibly tell me?"

"She could confirm that your father had nothing to do with the Vizier’s defeat and death. Or, if by some chance he did-"

"I won’t even entertain that possibility."

"Then you reject this source of information?"

"Let me offer one more suggestion."

"You don’t want to hear it?"

"Go to Beauchamp alone. Don’t bring witnesses."

"That goes against every custom."

"Your situation isn’t typical."

"Because then it remains between you and him. If he’s willing to retract, you should give him the chance to do so privately, you’ll still have your satisfaction. If he refuses, there’ll be plenty of time to involve others."

"But they’d be friends, not strangers."

"Today’s friends become tomorrow’s enemies. Look at you and Beauchamp."

"You’re saying I should go alone?"

"Yes. When you want someone to concede something that affects their pride, you can’t appear to be backing them into a corner."

Albert nodded slowly. "You’re right."

"I’m glad you see it."

"I’ll go alone then."

"Better yet, don’t go at all."

"Then going alone is wiser than your original plan."

"But if I must fight despite my precautions, will you be my second?"

The Count’s expression turned grave. "Albert, you know I’m always at your disposal. But this particular service is beyond my power to provide."

"Perhaps you’ll understand someday. For now, please accept my refusal without explanation."

"Fine. I’ll ask Franz and Château-Renaud instead."

"But you’ll at least give me shooting and fencing lessons?"

"That’s also impossible."

"You’re a strange man! You won’t help with anything!"

"That’s precisely the principle I follow."

"Fine. Goodbye, Count."