Right. All this talk of monsters and past horrors… it's clearly taking a toll on him.

"Yeah, yeah… let's absolutely dive into some good old-fashioned monarch bashing," I agreed readily, eager to steer the conversation onto less harrowing territory.

Lady Isolde's eyes twinkled with a mischievous delight as she reminisced. "Ah! The glorious day you managed to make that pompous swine soil himself, Levi… I will never forget the shockwaves that reverberated through the noble circles."

Levi chuckled, a genuine sound for the first time in a while. "Ah, yes. A personal favorite tale to regale. But since I've already recounted that particular triumph… I suppose I owe you another anecdote from the annals of royal idiocy… Hm… Ah, yes. That rather… eventful day we welcomed foreign envoys. Gods, that blithering idiot of a king. He managed to insult the visiting country's deeply held religious beliefs through sheer idiocy. I and several other long-suffering council members had to issue profuse apologies to the bewildered envoys just to prevent them from immediately terminating a vital trade agreement."

"Did he ever actually grasp the gravity of his blunder, Levi? Or did he simply assume we were all overreacting to his 'charming' wit?" Isolde inquired, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

Levi snorted derisively. "That idiot? That blubbering swine? Of course not. In the immediate aftermath of the envoys' departure, I leaned in and whispered something in his ear along the lines of how he should refrain from such pronouncements lest the commoners rise up and dethrone him. A blatant fabrication, naturally; the citizens couldn't have cared less about that particular imbecile's pronouncements. According to Cassiel, however, he dissolved into a snot-soaked fit of tears. And, indeed, he was conspicuously absent from all council meetings for the remainder of that week."

So Levi just straight-up lied to his face, played on his paranoia about the commoners, just to get him to shut up.

"I have a question that's been nagging at me… how was this man, this king, so… fragile?" I asked, searching for a delicate way to phrase my bewilderment.

Levi snorted again, a sound laced with disgust. "Inbreeding, Raphael. Centuries of it. He was so thoroughly inbred, his own parents were practically siblings. Ugh," he concluded, a visible wave of revulsion washing over him.

That explains… a lot. The fragility, the potential for all sorts of physical and mental instability.

"Indeed, Levi," Isolde remarked, a wry amusement playing on her lips. "The royal family tree bore a far greater resemblance to a tangled briar patch than any semblance of a respectable lineage. It's frankly astonishing that any of them possessed the basic cognitive function required to dress themselves in the morning."

"Ah! That pompous swine," Levi interjected, a glint of mischievous in his eyes. "Clothing reminds me of something rather amusing. You see, there are different tiers of crowns, each designated for specific occasions. For mundane council affairs, the King was meant to wear the lightest, most practical crown. However, for gatherings of foreign envoys or state balls, he was obligated to don an opulent, extravagant, and heavy crown. That blithering idiot," he chuckled, "always insisted on wearing that second, ridiculously weighty crown, even for the most trivial of meetings. I wouldn't be surprised if he gave himself a permanent neck hernia."

What a peacock. Probably thought it made him look more important, more… kingly. Didn't even occur to him that it just made him look ridiculous and probably gave him chronic neck pain. The vanity of these people, even in the smallest things. It's almost pathetic.

"Did anyone ever try to suggest, you know, 'Perhaps the lighter crown would be more appropriate for this budget discussion, Your Majesty'?" I asked, a hint of incredulity in my voice. "Or were you all too terrified of the ensuing royal tantrum to broach such a sensible topic?"

Isolde chuckled. "A royal tantrum… Gods, it would have been rather amusing to witness one firsthand. To be perfectly candid, Levi likely refrained from saying anything so he could continue to subtly undermine the king's already tenuous authority. As for myself," she added, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I certainly wasn't going to say anything. The sight of him attempting to eat his meals with that gigantic, unwieldy thing perched on his head, desperately trying to prevent it from toppling over, was simply too entertaining to interrupt."

Undermining the king by letting him look like a buffoon with a ridiculously oversized crown? Subtle, effective, and probably endlessly entertaining. And Isolde just watching him struggle to eat, prioritizing her amusement? That's a level of regal pettiness I can appreciate.

"It's almost a perfect metaphor, isn't it?" I mused. "The weight of his crown, that supposed symbol of his authority, constantly threatening to send him crashing down. And you two just patiently observed, waiting for the inevitable pull of gravity to take its course."

Levi smirked, a hint of pride in his eyes. "The snake was already in the process of devouring itself, dear Raphael. Our role was merely to… nudge it along. Gravity was always going to do its work; we simply provided a gentle push at the opportune moments. As I've said time and time again, I didn't inherently need to orchestrate grand schemes. Our success lay in being meticulous, thorough, and attentive to detail."

That's a hell of an understatement. But it perfectly encapsulates their approach. They didn't need to be heroes charging the barricades; they were the termites, slowly but surely eating away at the foundations until the whole rotten structure crumbled.

Isolde turned to me, her expression thoughtful. "I believe some historical context is necessary for you to fully grasp the situation. We weren't dismantling a powerful, deeply entrenched monarchy. By the time we acted, neither the nobility as a whole nor the ruling dynasty held their former sway. Their numbers had dwindled significantly, their once overflowing coffers were nearly empty, and the very fabric of society was undergoing profound changes. With Levi actively engaging with the senate, the traditional ruling class had become… well, largely ornamental. My title of Duchess held little weight when I walked among the common folk in the streets. The monarchy, in its weakened state, was on an inevitable decline, likely to crumble within a generation or two, even under the most optimistic projections. Having grown up immersed in the dance of power, control, restraint, manipulation, and the subtle art of deceit, we understood the trajectory. We knew what needed to be done."

She then turned her gaze towards Levi. "I believe I know the primary reasons why Levi didn't simply seize the throne, despite his position within the line of succession. The fundamental rejection of monarchical rule itself was a significant factor, of course. But I suspect the second, equally compelling reason was his acute understanding that becoming king at that juncture would have been akin to standing beneath a crumbling skyscraper during a cataclysmic earthquake."

Levi chuckled. "My dear Isolde, if you believe my primary motivation for not seizing the throne was merely the looming potential for societal collapse, then you fundamentally misunderstand me. While that was certainly a consideration, the far more significant deterrent was… boredom. To simply take the crown wouldn't have required the fifteen-years of manipulation and maneuvering that we orchestrated. It would have been a relatively straightforward affair, perhaps two years of planning at most, if I were inclined to avoid

bloodshed. And, of course," he added, a hint of genuine conviction in his voice, "there is the rather significant matter of my ingrained sense of justice and equality, which renders the notion of absolute monarchical power… utterly distasteful."

Simply seizing power would have been too easy, too… pedestrian for his brilliant mind. And then the genuine conviction about justice and equality thrown in at the end – almost as an afterthought, but I know it's real. Although, the sheer audacity of factoring boredom into such a monumental decision… that's peak Levi.

Isolde chuckled, almost affectionate sound. "Ah, yes, I had momentarily forgotten what a magnificent bastard you could be. Thank you for the timely reminder."

I blinked. What just happened? They were engaging in what seemed like genuine camaraderie moments ago. What sparked this sudden shift?

Levi, clearly amused by Isolde's remark and my confusion, offered a sardonic explanation. "Forgive my rather… villainous inclinations. My current state of sobriety has the unfortunate side effect of rendering me in a state of almost brutal honesty, that is, of course, unless I am actively engaged in a delightful game of deception with our dear Raphael."

Asshole. Despite all this time, I still can't reliably call his bluffs.

"Does Raphael even have a clue about half the utterly insane things you did out of sheer boredom back when you were a ferocious little terror?" Isolde inquired, her eyes glittering as she turned to me.

No, I absolutely do not. The secretive bastard never regales me with those particular anecdotes. Spill the tea, Isolde, spill it all.

"Hm…" Levi mused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He is aware of the… incident involving my incapacitation of those rather persistent kidnappers, and, of course, the two unfortunate explosions at the Royal Academia's research laboratory. But yes, you are correct, Isolde. Boredom in one's adolescence does tend to amplify one's more… creative tendencies tenfold."

"Gods, Isolde, you absolutely have to tell me at least one story," I pleaded, vibrating with anticipation.

Isolde sighed dramatically, a hint of fond exasperation in her voice. "Where does one even begin with young Levi's boredom-fueled escapades? His elaborate schemes were practically on a constant loop. One month it was his 'social experimenting' phase, where he'd subtly manipulate the social dynamics of the court just to observe the fallout. Then he'd move on to deliberately provoking fiery debates between his unfortunate tutors, just for the intellectual sparring and the ensuing chaos. He even went through a rather intense obsession with disguises at one point, becoming so adept he could seamlessly blend in with the household servants. Apparently, he'd use this anonymity to gleefully badmouth the butler he disliked, expertly turning the lower staff against the poor man. And his interest in state affairs? Not driven by any sense of duty, mind you. Oh no. He'd study the rules of governance purely to identify their breaking points, then he'd gleefully push those boundaries, causing utter pandemonium between the various noble houses and the palace staff. And then," she added, a slight shake of her head, "he'd simply sit back and observe the ensuing drama with this tiny smug smirk on his face. He was doing all of this when he was… what? Fifteen years old, maybe sixteen at the most."

The 'smug smirk' – I can just picture it. A prodigy of chaos, a miniature puppet master pulling strings just to see the world dance. The little shit.

"Excuse me, that particular butler was an insufferable tyrant and thoroughly deserved any minor inconveniences he experienced. Furthermore," Levi continued, fire returning to his eyes, "my tutors were mind-numbingly dull men who insisted on making me reread texts I had already memorized. And lastly, yes, indeed, I derived a certain… intellectual stimulation from pushing the established rules to their absolute breaking point. Though, in that instance with the noblemen, it wasn't just about intellectual curiosity; they richly deserved to snivel in fear when they realized I had documented their rather creative approaches to tax evasion. I cannot deny a certain… satisfaction in that particular endeavor. And Isolde, as you very well know," he added, his gaze turning slightly more serious, "these were also the formative years during which my more… ambitious plans began to take root."

Well, there you have it. Levi's teenage rampage had purpose. In his own twisted way, teenage Levi was enacting a form of vigilante justice, fueled by boredom and a burgeoning sense of… well, his kind of justice.

"While I can appreciate that it was, in part, your rather… unique method of learning manipulation, do spare me the sanctimonious pronouncements about justice, Levi," Isolde retorted, a playful sharpness in her tone. "We both know a significant portion of your teenage chaos stemmed from boredom. Ah! Speaking of delightful individuals, what about that old harpy, your mother's particularly odious friend?"

Levi visibly recoiled, a look of genuine distaste crossing his features. "Ugh. How can you even bring her up? That woman was the very embodiment of ingrained, suffocating sexism. How many times did she feel the need to offer her unsolicited and frankly offensive opinions on your 'waistline'?"

"Oh really? The 'waistline' commentary was the catalyst for the… shall we say, unforeseen digestive distress she experienced at dinner?"

"Well," Levi replied, a picture of innocent nonchalance, "she was expressing such… concern about your weight, so I merely took steps to assist her with hers. Justice, is it not?"

"Oh my god, Isolde," I exclaimed, utterly captivated, "the 'ferocious boy' description was a colossal understatement! Please, you absolutely must tell me more."

Levi turned his face towards me, and that smug smirk spread across his lips. Yep. That had to be the exact same smirk that adorned his youthful face as he wreaked havoc.

"Ah, yes," Isolde continued, a chuckle bubbling up from her chest. "This particular little bored boy found immense pleasure in tormenting the other young noble heirs. As you know, every single noble boy undergoes rigorous self-defense training from a young age. However, since Levi was tutored by that monster, the Conqueror himself, his skill level simply dwarfed that of every other boy. Inevitably, these puffed-up young lords would seek to spar and even duel with Levi, eager to test their mettle. And this perpetually bored Levi," she emphasized, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, "would always, without fail, prolong the duel to an excruciating degree, all while unleashing a torrent of verbal insults upon his hapless opponent. He would never initiate an attack, content to merely block and effortlessly deflect every strike, patiently waiting for his opponent to exhaust themselves. Then, with a swift and utterly disdainful single strike, he would disarm them, leaving them utterly humiliated and panting on the training grounds."

Oh, this is just perfect. Teenage Levi, the ultimate bored bully. The image of them panting and humiliated while Levi just stands there, probably looking bored, is priceless. And the fact that he never attacked first? That's just adding insult to injury. The little monster.

Levi shrugged. "I never once initiated a duel, nor did I strike the first blow in any of those… spirited exchanges. Hm… what was my tally? The exact number escapes me… perhaps somewhere in the vicinity of thirty-seven wins, zero losses?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"What?" Isolde exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "When did the last seven of those happen? I wasn't aware of any recent… impromptu sparring sessions."

"Ah, you missed those delightful encounters?" Levi replied. "Apparently, for reasons that remain baffling to me, certain noblemen would practically beg for a duel within the very grounds of the Royal Palace. I would often find myself there, ensuring that the aforementioned monarch swine was adequately distressed and tearful, only to emerge and be accosted by these eager young lords, shoving their swords into my hand."

"Wait a minute…" I interjected, genuine concern in my voice. "Like… actual, sharp swords?"

"Ah, as teenagers we were limited to the relative safety of wooden practice swords," Levi clarified. "However, upon reaching adulthood, yes, we did graduate to metal swords, though rest assured, my dear Raphael, they were kept blunt for these… displays of masculine inadequacy. Grown men, flailing around with oversized metal toys… Ugh, the sheer imbecility of it all," he concluded with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The sheer absurdity. A society clinging to outdated and frankly stupid customs, even as the world around them was changing. He participated, but he clearly saw it for the pointless, testosterone-fueled nonsense that it was.

"Oh my god," Isolde groaned, a visible shudder running through her. "A truly disgusting memory just clawed its way to the surface the moment you mentioned 'masculine inadequacy.' Ugh! Do you even remember those… festivals?"

Levi winced, rolling his eyes. "Do not even begin to recount those horrors. No. I have absolutely no desire to revisit that barbaric mating ritual. I witnessed it firsthand, and the experience was far more scarring than any blunt sword could ever be. Then, quite obviously, I took myself directly to the King and subtly suggested that the exorbitant costs associated with the festival preparations were becoming… concerning. He, predictably, panicked and promptly cancelled the entire affair. Yes," Levi concluded with a distinct air of self-satisfaction, "I ended that entire revolting spectacle through sheer spite. Nothing more."

"Guys… please don't do this to me," I pleaded, my curiosity reaching a fever pitch. "If you're going to hint at something this bizarre, you can't just leave me hanging!"

Levi waved my concerns away with a flick of his wrist, scrunching his nose.

Isolde, sighed, a look of discomfort on her face. "So, there were various festivals, ostensibly celebrations for the common citizens, but in reality, they served as yet another platform for the nobility to… demonstrate themselves. Traditionally, these demonstrations involved activities like jousting, grand hunts, displays of horsemanship, that sort of thing. However, given the rather significant decline in the competence of many noblemen, and their drastically reduced numbers, they were forced to… adapt their methods of self-promotion. Then," she continued, disgust creeping into her voice, "I genuinely have no idea who even conceived of this utterly bizarre plan, but they switched to… wrestling. Imagine, if you will, these pampered young lords, stripped down to little more than their small clothes, half-naked and awkwardly grappling with one another in front of a large audience. The underlying purpose of this entire spectacle was, as Levi put it, practically a mating ritual. The noblemen were meant to showcase their… physical prowess, I suppose, to an audience comprised primarily of eligible noblewomen, all in the hopes of initiating courtship. Gods…" she shuddered visibly. "It was so utterly disgusting. I mean… we were all practically related to each other by some convoluted thread of kinship. I genuinely wish I could excise that entire memory from my mind."

"Oh my god, that's repulsive!" I exclaimed, my face contorting in sympathetic disgust. "And Levi, did you actually have to attend those… displays?"

"Absolutely not," Levi replied, a look of utter disdain still lingering on his face. "I swiftly feigned a rather dramatic onset of illness. I may have strategically induced vomiting – a rather convincing mixture of banana milk and pulverized biscuits, as I recall – right in front of a particularly influential group of nobles. Their fear of contracting my 'disease,' whatever they imagined it to be, proved remarkably effective in securing my absence."

"What?" Isolde exclaimed. "I actually thought you were genuinely ill that day, Levi. You weren't discreet about it either; you managed to… expel your stomach contents directly in front of a group of elder nobles. I genuinely believed you had succumbed to some particularly nasty stomach bug."

"Delightful," Levi purred, a smirk playing on his lips. "It appears my performance was even more convincing than I had anticipated. My manipulation worked flawlessly, even on your usually perceptive self."

"You staged that… performance in front of archdukes and counts, Levi," Isolde emphasized. "Honestly, what elaborate drama was unfolding in that theatrically inclined head of yours at that moment?"

Levi offered a dismissive shrug. "Archdukes? Counts? Please. They were nothing more than geriatric relics, practically mummified in their own self-importance, who probably get tucked into bed by their starched nurses with soothing bedtime stories of past glories. I merely provided them with a new narrative for their evening contemplation. Ah, their faces…" he mused, a hint of wicked glee in his eyes. "The sheer shock, the utter horror… some of the kinder ones even patted my back with trembling hands and offered me their embroidered handkerchiefs."

"Let me ensure I've grasped this correctly," I reiterated, a mixture of disbelief and morbid fascination in my voice. "Your elaborate ruse to evade semi-nude wrestling involved pretending to violently expel the contents of your stomach onto some of the most powerful and influential individuals in the entire realm? And… they bought it?"

"My dear Raphael," Levi replied, a pride in his tone, "you have yet to witness the full majesty of my thespian talents. I was even prepared to… embellish the performance with simulated gastric expulsion onto their tailored attire, but I deemed such a bold move too risky, potentially exposing the illusion. And yes, of course it worked, my dear. Me, the grandson of the legendary Conqueror, succumbing to a violent illness before their very eyes? In their minds, I was simply the sensitive, perhaps even fragile, grandson they all secretly wished they had – a contrast to their own boorish, wrestling-obsessed progeny."

That's a level of social manipulation I didn't even know existed.

"I am… officially and utterly speechless…" I finally managed, shaking my head in disbelief. "I have absolutely nothing to say. Your audacity, Levi… it has genuinely rendered me devoid of words."

Isolde took a leisurely sip of her wine, a smile playing on her lips. "Ah, yes, Levi's elaborate and often unnecessarily dramatic schemes for alleviating his youthful boredom. He could have simply declined to attend the wrestling match, perhaps citing a sudden onset of delicate health. But no, that would have been far too pedestrian. Instead, he opted for the far more memorable approach of expelling a rather chunky mixture onto the polished footwear of the highest-ranking nobility." She chuckled softly, clearly still amused by the memory.

"Oh my god…" I breathed, utterly floored by Levi's teenage delinquency. "What else did he get up to?"

Isolde sighed dramatically. "Ah, the stories are truly endless, Raphael. You could fill entire tomes chronicling the various manifestations of Levi's adolescent boredom. But, aside from the constant manipulating, elaborate scheming, and intricate plotting, he also began to take a rather intense interest in the more… volatile subjects of chemistry and botany. That, was when the truly rebellious teenager era truly blossomed. He never had any particular fondness for his tutors, and he quickly learned their various weaknesses, including their allergies. Ah, that particularly pompous tutor with the beak-like nose… Levi truly loathed him. As it happened, the man suffered from a rather severe allergy to orchids, specifically to their pollen. So, whenever this tutor was scheduled to visit the mansion, Levi would feign an innocent enthusiasm, declaring, 'Oh, esteemed tutor, I've become utterly engrossed in my botanical studies! Perhaps we could postpone our lessons for today?' Naturally, the tutor, by this point already succumbing to violent fits of sneezing, his eyes watering profusely, would have no choice but to excuse himself and flee the pollen-laden premises."

"I'm starting to think 'ferocious boy' was less about physical violence and more about a relentless campaign of psychological and… allergenic warfare against anyone who dared to bore him," I concluded.

Levi shrugged, a flicker of something dark crossing his features. "I hated that particular man with a singular intensity, Raphael, because he was the one tasked with my… sex education. As I've already explained, those lessons were nothing more than glorified endorsements of marital rape, dressed up in the guise of tradition."

"Ugh. Those textbooks… They were…" She trailed off, clearly unable to find adequate words to express her revulsion.

"Do you… feel up to explaining more about that, Isolde?" I asked gently, sensing the depth of her discomfort.

Isolde took a slow sip of her wine before speaking, her gaze distant. "Marriage in noble circles," she began, her voice low, "is less like a blossoming of affection and more akin to cultivating a predetermined crop. The moment the seed of your lineage is planted, the nature of your eventual 'fruit' – and by extension, who that 'fruit' will be grafted onto – is already decided. As that 'fruit,' you possess no true choice, no agency whatsoever, no control over your own body or its future. From the instant of your birth, your family has already mentally bartered you away, and given our intertwined bloodlines, that transaction invariably involves one of our cousins. Those grotesque parodies of sex education weren't intended to promote health, prevent disease, or foster intimacy between committed partners. Their sole purpose was to indoctrinate women into a state of utter submission and obedience, to systematically erode any notion of bodily autonomy, and to effectively forbid them from uttering the word 'no,' regardless of the circumstances. Aside from the vile content itself, imagine, if you will, being barely fourteen years of age, with a stern tutor looming over you, drilling these disgusting, revolting, insulting ideas into your young mind. And if you dared to voice your discomfort, to suggest that any of it felt inherently wrong, that tutor would either punish you directly or, more likely, lodge a complaint with your family. And as we both know, Raphael," she concluded, a bitter edge to her voice, "we know precisely how that went for me."

"Thank you for sharing that, Isolde. It's… deeply disturbing, but it's crucial to understanding everything. The weight of that tradition, the lack of choice… it explains so much," I said, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air.

Levi lifted his gaze to the ceiling, a weary expression clouding his features. "We were all simply groomed for the altar from childhood. I was formally engaged at sixteen, married off at eighteen. At least," he added, a hint of dark satisfaction in his voice, "I managed to extricate myself from my mother's influence by banishing her to a remote island. But you, Isolde, you had to endure that ritual not once, but twice."

"Grooming sounds… utterly inadequate to describe the systematic dismantling of a person's autonomy," Isolde replied, her voice tinged with a bitter weariness. "To be candid, my ducal status did afford me a small mercy: the right to separate bedchambers. The vast majority of women within our circles were not granted even that meager reprieve."

Gods… separate bedchambers as a small mercy.

How could I, someone who has always had the basic right to choose my own life, truly comprehend that level of systematic control? Levi's bitter question from five days ago echoed in my mind, Do you know what grooming entails?

No, I didn't. Not even close. Childhood innocence stolen, futures predetermined before they even had a chance to form.

Now, hearing it all laid bare, the insidious, suffocating reality of their upbringing, the shame and guilt are rising in waves. To think, I was nagging Levi about the human cost of dismantling the nobility… 'Idiot' doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of my profound ignorance. I had absolutely no right to sit in judgment of them. I, as an outsider, had absolutely no right to cast stones. But I did. Repeatedly. No wonder Levi's anger flared so intensely five days ago. He was right. I was being nothing but a judgmental, sanctimonious piece of shit, viewing their complex, trauma-ridden lives through the rose-tinted lens of my own privileged, fantastical morality.

His accusations… they reverberated in my skull.

"Empathetic observer."

"Moral high ground."

"Abstract principles."

But it's his question about the noblewomen that pierces me most deeply.

"Their choices weren't born of some abstract philosophical debate, Raphael. They were forged in the crucible of unimaginable suffering."

Gods… the truth of his words hits me like a physical blow. I had no right. No right to judge their actions during the revolution, their manipulations, their betrayals. The twenty-five-year-old, high school graduate foreigner, whose attention span rivals that of a goldfish, the fucking idiot, I sat in judgment of Levi's manipulations, completely oblivious to the lifetime of manipulation they endured.

How could I have been so blind? Levi's world, Isolde's world… it wasn't a stage for my moral grandstanding, a backdrop against which to measure their actions with my flimsy yardstick of right and wrong. It was an unforgiving reality, a cage built of tradition, abuse, and the systematic denial of basic human dignity. And they didn't just survive it; they fought back, with whatever weapons they had at their disposal – manipulation, secrets, even their own pain.

The systematic violation, the complete lack of agency… it paints a picture so far removed from my later life, it feels like trying to grasp smoke. And I dared to judge? To impose my flimsy, black-and-white morality onto a world painted in shades of brutal survival? My empathy, my so-called understanding, has been nothing but a thin veneer over a chasm of ignorance. I, saw only the betrayal, not the calculus of their suffering.

As Levi and Isolde continued to share anecdotes from their childhood, and recollections of the tumultuous revolution, a common thread wove through every story: their deep-seated and unwavering hatred for the nobility. Even Isolde, with a candor that surprised me, confessed to having once relished the power and privilege that came with her ducal title. Yet, she admitted, now stripped of that rank, she felt a profound sense of liberation and well-being, her spirit lighter and her life healthier. In a surprising turn, she even revealed that her earnings in the past three months, had surpassed her entire income from the previous year as a duchess.

With her father now languishing in prison and her impecunious older brother no longer able to leech off her ducal coffers to fuel his gambling addiction, Isolde found herself liberated from those draining obligations. However, her brother's newfound state as a jobless and deeply indebted man presented a different challenge. Isolde offered him a cleaning position within her thriving textile company. Yes, she was undeniably a force to be reckoned with.

Then, turning his attention to the younger generation of noblemen, those untainted by direct criminal involvements. According to Isolde, they were largely adrift, like fish yanked from water. Bereft of work experience, lacking practical life skills, facing empty coffers and the seizure of their ancestral lands and assets, they were struggling to adapt. While a few of the more astute among them had managed to establish their own businesses or secure managerial positions, a significant portion, rendered useless by their privileged upbringing, were reduced to begging for funds from their increasingly resentful wives. These same wives, were actively pursuing divorces, and, quite rightly, suing their former spouses for years of abuse and violence, successfully securing alimony payments. Isolde, leveraging her thriving saloon and the support of her network of like-minded former noblewomen, was actively involved in providing refuge and employment opportunities for these less fortunate women.

While there were instances of domestic violence involving the displaced noble families, these were being swiftly and decisively handled by Isolde. The fundamental difference in their approaches to justice became starkly apparent: Levi held no personal enjoyment in enacting vengeance through violence, whereas Isolde did. Her method involved discreetly hiring bodyguards for the vulnerable women, stationing them strategically around their residences. These bodyguards served a dual purpose: to act as irrefutable witnesses to any further acts of domestic violence and to provide immediate protection for the women. They also, quite effectively, administered a thorough beating to the offending men.

Yep. Formidable is the only word for her. Using bodyguards as both silent witnesses and then… well, hired muscle delivering a well-deserved beating. You can't exactly fault the logic, can you? Good riddance to those monsters. Levi, offered his resources – money, a veritable army of lawyers. But Isolde's refused.

"Feels better to handle our own business, without relying on anyone but each other."

Isolde, perhaps perceptive enough to discern the tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions swirling within me – the lingering shame, the gnawing guilt of having so readily blamed and judged them, the visceral disgust at the horrors of their past, followed by a deep ache of sorrow for the victims, and finally, a burgeoning admiration for these resilient women – offered me an invitation to visit her saloon and meet the women there.

I… found myself hesitant. It felt as though I hadn't truly earned the right to stand in their presence. And, if I were brutally honest with myself, I was also deeply afraid of my clumsiness, terrified that I might inadvertently blurt out some clumsy, misogynistic remark, further compounding my already considerable failings.

That perceptive Levi, smirking, all-knowing bastard, placed a warm hand on my back. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting against my ear, and murmured something pointed about my not having even read the "yellow files" yet. Isolde, didn't press her invitation, but handed me her card with the saloon's address. After our goodbyes, she departed.