I Stole The Duke - Chapter 111

“Your Grace!”

That robe… It belongs to the Tower Master.

A physical confrontation with the Magic Tower was a matter that must never be made public.

Click.

Ladis, quickly grasping the situation, calmly locked the door to the adjutant’s office.

“His Grace is still breathing. It seems he lost consciousness temporarily.”

Ladis moved on to the next step, placing a finger beneath Michalis’s nose to check his breathing.

“He’s the same.”

It seemed the Tower Master’s life wasn’t in danger either.

Michal… Why did you fight the Tower Master alone?

Eliana’s heart felt like it was being torn apart at the sight of Michalis collapsed on the floor. She had guessed the green-haired man was a mage, but she never imagined he was the Tower Master himself.

This is all because of me… He didn’t even tell me, afraid I’d worry…

Eliana blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. Even without words, she could feel what Michalis had been thinking when he chose such a reckless battle.

“My lady, I’ll remove the Tower Master’s robe.”

Ladis continued calmly, knowing they had to hide the Tower Master’s identity at all costs.

Eliana kept a sharp eye on the robe as it was removed. Even the air this vile man breathed seemed too good for him.

“I’ll use the robe to create a false trail—make it look like the Tower Master escaped safely from the capital.”

The Duke’s House must never be linked to the Tower Master’s disappearance. Ladis was already devising a deception plan against the Magic Tower.

“Do it.”

Eliana gave a curt response, glancing down at the Tower Master’s clothing under the robe. The shoulder was torn and stained with blood, but there were no visible wounds—he had likely used healing magic on himself.

“Sir Ladis, is there any device that can stop someone from using magic?”

If he woke up and started causing trouble, things would get out of hand quickly.

“As a matter of fact, His Grace had something like that made in advance. I’ll go retrieve it from the office.”

Something suddenly clicked in Ladis’s mind, and he stood up at once. When the lord had first ordered the item, he’d thought it was part of a new weapon prototype—but now he saw it had a far more specific purpose.

“I’ll leave the inner door open. If he shows any signs of waking, call out immediately.”

“Understood.”

…

“I found it.”

Ladis returned shortly with a heavy, metallic collar in his hands.

“Sir Ladis, what is that?”

Eliana asked, raising an eyebrow at what looked like a dog collar.

“It’s a mana-restraining collar.”

Her husband had secretly and thoroughly prepared for a confrontation with a mage.

“I see… Put it on him.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The bulky collar snapped shut around the Tower Master’s neck with a sharp click.

“I’ll hold on to the key. Now, what would you like to do with him?”

With the most urgent steps complete, Ladis finally asked for her decision.

“For now, lock him up. We’ll decide what to do after he wakes.”

“Yes, understood. There’s the noble detention wing in the inner fortress, or the underground prison in the outer fortress. Where shall I place him?”

“The underground prison.”

That arrogant green-haired man didn’t deserve the warmth of the noble wing or its good food. Eliana felt she wouldn’t feel even a little better unless he suffered.

“I’ll call for someone to move His Grace to his bedroom now.”

“Hey! Get up, it’s mealtime.”

Michalis stirred at the sensation of something poking into his side.

“Ugh…”

Well—he tried to stir. His eyelids were too heavy, and his eyes wouldn’t open easily.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

Even in that fog, something hard kept jabbing at his arm.

“Hey, Number 1018! I said get up!”

Number 1018? What kind of name is that? Is he talking to me?

Michalis forced his eyes open and barely managed to sit up.

“Where… am I?”

A wave of dizziness hit him hard, making his vision spin. After about ten seconds, things began to come into focus. The first things he saw were a cold stone floor and thick, black iron bars.

“You awake now?”

A man in guard uniform stood in front of him, still prodding him with a long stick.

“Right now…”

Michalis snapped his eyes open.

To think someone dared to poke a duke with a filthy, grime-covered wooden stick… In his entire life, he had never been treated like this.

“You. Did you just poke me with that thing?”

“Yeah, I did. What, got a problem with it?”

“Hah!”

A hollow laugh escaped Michalis’s lips. Yes—he had a big problem with it.

“Name and rank.”

“What?”

The guard flinched. For a moment, he almost shouted his name and rank out of habit. This prisoner had an overwhelming presence.

“I said: state your name and rank. Now.”

“Damn it, you scared me! Number 1018, you bastard—do you have a death wish?!”

“Judging by your uniform, you’re a guard assigned to the outer fortress’s underground prison. And from the badge on your shoulder, you’re a third-class general staff officer.”

A low-ranking post usually held by commoners—someone Michalis would never have interacted with up close.

“Well then, if you’ve got the time to examine my uniform, maybe take a look at your own.”

The guard, clearly flustered by the sharp observation, suddenly became a lot more polite.

“……”

Michalis followed the guard’s gaze down to his own clothes. A worn, blue prison uniform. Stitched in large letters over the left chest: 1018.

Unbelievable… I’ve become a prisoner in my own domain.

“What’s the charge against me?”

“Attempted murder of the Duke.”

“……”

Ludicrous. A lord, imprisoned in his own fortress—on the charge of attempting to murder himself?

What the hell is going on here?

Michalis slowly tried to recall the events leading up to this. His last memory was of a failed confrontation with the false Tower Master.

“…If you’re done freaking out, eat.”

Even the way he moved, breathed, or spoke exuded a strange nobility. An aura of dignity wrapped around him like a cloak.

Why the hell would they put a noble in here? Dammit.

From his composed posture to his delicate features—there was no mistaking it. This man was a noble.

“Appreciate the effort. It’s well past mealtime, and you still remembered to feed me.”

Afraid of some form of retaliation through Michalis’s family, the guard, now visibly nervous, shoved a bowl of food through the bars with his stick and quickly scurried away.

What am I supposed to do with this?

Michalis scoffed, eyeing the bowl. It was a miserable serving of oatmeal porridge—something even the lowest soldiers would turn their noses up at.

I don’t even want to look at this.

He reached out to shove the bowl aside, but froze.

This isn’t… my body.

He opened his hand wide, then slowly clenched it into a fist. There were no calluses—none of the hardened skin earned from years of wielding a sword. His palm stung just from that simple motion.

“……”

There wasn’t a mirror nearby, but he had to be sure. He quickly plucked a strand of hair from his head and held it up to the dim light of the underground prison.

Damn it!

Under the poor lighting, he had to squint to make it out, but it was unmistakable: olive green.

The exact same color as the false Tower Master’s hair.

Then this means…

He brought his hand to his neck, finally acknowledging the discomfort that had been bothering him since earlier. He felt it—a thick metal collar.

A mana-restraining shackle.

An artifact secretly acquired just in case they ever had to detain someone like him. If anyone tried to use mana while wearing it, it would deliver a painful electric shock from the heart outward.

My body has been swapped. My identity and physical form have become his.

At last, Michalis understood the situation.

“Urgh!”

He instinctively tried to stand but was forced back by a jolt of pain.

No… Eliana.

The pain didn’t matter. The thought of Eliana being near that man made his vision go red with rage.

I have to get out of here. Now.

If he had a sword—or even just a metal rod—he could have sliced through these bars with aura. A single loose bolt might be enough to break through.

Eliana, please… Don’t fall for that imposter.

Determined, he began inspecting the cell bars for any weak points, shaking each one. But the prison was surprisingly well-maintained. All he earned was sore hands.

“Damn it!”

Gripping the bars in frustration, Michalis realized just how weak this body truly was. With no strength or training, even if he had a sword, he wouldn’t be able to channel aura.

First… I need to regain my strength.

Coming to terms with the harsh reality, he gritted his teeth and pulled the bowl of food closer. Carefully, he scooped up a spoonful of the grayish porridge and tasted it.

Disgusting.

He’d always considered himself to have a simple palate—accustomed to military rations—but this? This tasted like shredded paper soaked in water.

Still… oatmeal is nutrient-dense.

His spoon began to move faster.

They could at least salt it properly.

As he wolfed down the rest, Michalis even found himself making mental notes about improving prison meals.

There’s not a single trace of training in this body.

Setting the empty bowl near the bars, Michalis stripped off the prison uniform to assess his condition properly.

But… the body is young. The proportions are balanced.

Michalis still felt lightheaded and tingling all over his body, likely from the blood loss. But he knew he would recover soon enough. With a month or two of proper training, he believed he could start using aura again.

One… two…

Without hesitation, Michalis dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups. Who knew what Eliana might be going through right now? He couldn’t afford a single moment of weakness.

“Huh!”

Just then, a guard arrived to collect the empty food bowl—and froze in place, his mouth hanging open at the sight.

What the hell did this guy used to do?!

The underground prison was suffocatingly hot, even just standing still. Yet there he was—this delicate, scrawny-looking man, stripped down to his underclothes, doing push-ups like a soldier.

Then again… No sane person would have tried to attack His Grace with a body like that.

A madman, clearly of noble birth, had arrived in the cellblock.

Thud.

Olive stirred as the cool touch of a damp towel met her forehead.

“Mmm…”

The moment she opened her eyes, a splitting headache tore through her skull.

“Michal? Are you awake?”

Hovering over her was the very image of a fairy from her dreams—Eliana, looking down at her with deep concern.

The spell worked.

Finally, Olive felt like all the pain, the effort, the grueling hours of magical study—even tormenting her teacher—had been worth it. She’d successfully cast an ultra-high-level spell so dangerous, she’d never dared test it before.

“……”

Now I just need to adjust to this body.

Without saying a word, Olive slowly raised her hand, opened and closed her fist. A dull ache shot through it, and her head was still spinning.

“Michal?”

Eliana watched, puzzled, as Michalis just stared silently at his own hand.

“……”

What kind of tone did the Duke use again?

Olive hesitated. She should’ve paid more attention to how the Duke and his wife spoke to each other.

“My head… hurts a little.”

Forcing her heavy body upright, Olive leaned gently against the headboard, cautiously choosing her words.

“You should lie down a bit longer. I’ll call Dr. Taineno.”

Still full of worry, Eliana didn’t hesitate—she reached for the cord beside the bed to summon the physician.

“More importantly… what happened to the Tower Master?”

Yes—that was how the Duke spoke. Olive tried to mimic Michalis’s formal tone as naturally as possible.

“You were both unconscious. The Tower Master was sent to the dungeon, and you were brought here to your bedroom.”

Eliana’s voice remained steady, but her tone hinted at unease.

He had been wearing the Tower Master’s signature robe, after all… and yet, the treatment he’d received was surprisingly harsh.

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