COARV Chapter 40

I'm not an endlessly good, sweet-natured person. But I want these people to live. And if I know a way to save them and keep my mouth shut anyway—isn't that just foolish, stubborn pride?

It wasn't something I needed to agonize over for long. I made up my mind at once.

"Your Highness. I've been looking into it, and I think I've found a way to purify it."

Lesche's hand, which had been stirring the embers with the fire poker, went still. He turned to look at me, poker still raised in that same position.

"You found a way to purify it?"

"Yes. The Saint should definitely be able to—"

"Enough."

"...What?"

"The Saint's out of the question. Anyone else? Can't you do it, my lady?"

I stared at him blankly for a moment, wondering if I'd misheard, then shot up half a beat late.

"I can't. Your Highness. But—wait—"

I swallowed against a dry throat and asked again.

"Your Highness, is it possible you don't trust me? The Saint can absolutely purify these shadows."

"I have no intention of bringing any woman but the Grand Duchess into Laurel Manor. And I can hardly hire the Saint as a servant."

"If it pleases Your Highness, she could be temporarily employed as a Stern's guard-priestess. I have my own dedicated knight, so I haven't used that authority yet."

"I suppose I'll have to say this more plainly."

"Say what?"

"I have no intention of bringing any woman other than the Grand Duchess into this manor. Into this house."

"...."

I shut my mouth. Confusion had gotten the better of me. I hadn't known Lesche Berke had this kind of fidelity in him. And when he himself said he didn't want it—could I really push harder? I wasn't confident I could. My gaze dropped, and I happened to see the yarn flower Susan had given me.

The slippers, too. The blanket, too. Even the warm milk, brought to me.

"I know it's not my place to say. I know that, but I want the people here to be all right."

"So you want me to bring the Saint here."

"Yes."

"Do you have no pride at all, my lady?"

"Pride?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Ha."

"What is it you want me to say right now, Your Highness?"

Lesche looked at me with cool eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't easily read his expression.

"You seem to pity the people of this house."

His voice was somewhat rough.

"Perhaps you should look at yourself first. Aren't you afraid I might become like the Marquess of Haneton?"

Afraid he'd turn into Kallis?

Afraid he himself might go running to Lina?

The words stabbed like a blade. Or—was this mockery? I lifted my chin and glared at him.

"Not likely. Marquess Kallis Haneton was a man I chose. Unlike you, Your Highness."

"Ah, right. I'm not some man you picked out yourself."

"You understand perfectly well. Don't put that much meaning into me."

"You misunderstand what meaning is placed on the 'Grand Duchess.'"

I glared at him.

"How presumptuous of someone in my position, to have mistaken Your Highness's intent."

Lesche didn't answer. I tore my glare away from him and spun on my heel. Clutching the yarn flower from Susan and Masha in one hand and the cup of warm milk in the other, I rammed the Grand Duke's bedroom door open with my shoulder and stormed straight out.

God, this is so annoying.

My mood hit rock bottom in an instant. Did he think I enjoyed calling for Lina? Did he think those words came easily out of my mouth? My damned fiancé had already failed to give Lina up the way the original story said he would—how could that man, Lesche Berke, possibly know how deep that wound ran in me?

This beautiful, pastoral, quiet manor.

I'd worried that calling Lina to this snowbound estate, set apart from the rest of the world, would turn this place too into the female lead's world. Honestly, I'd been jealous too. But there were people here who'd been so good to me—people breathing, alive, right now—and I knew full well they were all going to die at once.

How many people, knowing a way to save them, could simply pretend not to? He's the cold, cruel one—so why was he looking at me like that?

'I have no intention of bringing any woman other than the Grand Duchess into this manor. Into this house.'

Lesche Berke's explanation had been unkind. But hadn't Linon already told me? Why Masha was bound to this house. There'd been a former Grand Duke who openly favored his illegitimate child, so Lesche's mother, the previous Grand Duchess, surely hadn't had things go well for her either.

So if I unpacked what Lesche just said, it probably meant this: letting a woman who wasn't the Grand Duchess into Laurel Manor once already had led to this ruin—and he had not the slightest intention of doing it again.

I know. I know that much, but it still didn't give that man, Lesche Berg, any reason to mock me. In this world built from the original novel, I was the only one who ever spared a single thought for Seria, that infamous villainess. So even if it's only me, I have to be the one to cherish her.

I bit down hard on my lip, then took a sip of the milk, still faintly steaming. My throat burned all the way down. I held the empty cup and stared for a moment at the Grand Duchess's bedroom. If I slept here out of spite, in a room with no fire lit, I might actually freeze to death.

Would Masha, or Ben, or Linon—would any of them notice Lesche and I had fought?

I hope, if they do notice, they'll pretend not to.

I'd heard that because the hardened demonic shadow made firewood dry out and crumble fast, the green mansion didn't keep much of it stocked. So after dinner and baths, to conserve wood, they put out every fire except the ones in each person's own bedroom. The servants' quarters were on the fourth floor, same as the sorcerers.

The first floor, where no one would be, was decidedly dark. Barely enough light to make out shapes. The only places that always kept an ember alive were the kitchen and the dining hall. I pictured the dining hall's plush chair and decided to sleep there instead, in front of its hearth fire.

Walking carefully toward the dining hall like that—

"...?"

Thud. Something strange caught against my foot with a dull, blunt sound. I'd nearly tripped. Frowning, I looked down, and what the sparse light along the wall showed me was—

"Masha...?"

Masha was lying collapsed on the floor.

"Masha!"

I rushed and dropped to my knees in front of her.

"Masha! Masha! Wake up!"

I shook her arm, and something warm smeared onto my hand. My eyes went wide.

"Blood?"

Why was blood flowing from her stomach? Someone had clearly harmed her. And the only outsiders in this manor were—

"Le—!"

My shout never made it to the end. A hand clamped hard over my mouth. My whole body went rigid. I moved only my eyes, straining to see who'd grabbed me from behind. But I didn't need to look.

Grass that stunned people with holy power. The faint, telltale smell of scorched brand-grass.

"Gensha. As a final offering to God, a fine star—"

A familiar voice. That bizarre, insolent-looking sorcerer who'd badgered me for answers earlier. He pressed a handkerchief, reeking dizzyingly of scorched brand-grass, against my mouth. An unpleasant snicker slid into my ear at that exact moment.

He choked and went flying sideways.

I caught myself with both hands against the floor and coughed, harsh and rasping.

"Miss! Miss Seria! Are you all right?"

Holding a lamp in one hand, Susan hauled me up with startling strength. Ben came running close behind, calling "Masha!" and immediately began checking her wound.

I turned my gaze to the sorcerer, sprawled against the wall.

"H-help—" He gagged.

The sorcerer tried to flee, but Susan grabbed him by the throat and he thrashed. I glared at him and walked closer—one step, two steps. The sorcerer trembled as though he'd seen a nightmare.

"What were you people after, coming here."

He gagged, throat straining under the grip.

Veins bulged along the sorcerer's forehead as his throat was gripped.

"I thought it was strange. It didn't make sense that you didn't know I was a Stern. Hair this color isn't exactly common."

"Gensha. Who—who exactly is the miss?"

Seria's green hair was never a common color. Frankly, I was also a stunning beauty, if I do say so myself. Most of all, I remembered a line from the original novel:

"They say word of just how vicious the green-haired Stern is has spread even to other continents."

That's the talk I'd heard.

Of course it might be exaggeration. But if these were sorcerers afraid enough of the Inquisitor to have already gathered rumors this thorough—then playing dumb about me being so obviously a Stern?

"Tell me. Now."

Still pressing him, I yanked a handkerchief from my clothes and rammed it into the sorcerer's mouth. Susan spoke, her voice admiring.

"Sounds like the miss has done some torturing before."

"No.... I just saw it in a book."

I answered sheepishly, but it wasn't a lie. This vicious yet meticulous method of preventing suicide before torture was something the original novel's Seria had actually used. Why had I used it, again?

Ah, right. I used it when torturing that Berg knight: the one who had protected Lina, the one who’d hidden her away...

The original Seria really wasn't in her right mind. What unsettled me more was that—probably because it was a method the original Seria had genuinely favored—every motion fit my body perfectly, like it had stuck there all along. I pushed the thought away and looked over at Susan for no particular reason. Susan was glaring at the sorcerer with a murderous expression.

I looked at Susan, glaring at the sorcerer with that same murderous expression.

She really was a knight, after all. Good thing I'd asked her to patrol at night.

I'd already guessed as much, from how hard Susan's hand had felt when she escorted me earlier—hard like Abigail's. But all of a sudden, real fear crept up on me.

"Why didn't Joanna and Linon come with you? The fourth floor's still dangerous—"

"They'll be fine too. Joanna's—Miss!"

Susan shouted, looking past me. I turned around. My eyes went wide. Under cover of the dark, a sorcerer with a dagger was lunging straight at my back.