DTBTHS Chapter 9

"Hm?"

"Why aren't you asking me anything?"

It was strange.

She'd thrown a tantrum insisting she follow her grandfather—whom she'd never met before—and come to her maternal family's estate. He should be curious about her reasons.

Given that her clothes had been changed, they must have discovered the scars covering her right arm.

Moreover, while in reality she'd been the one clinging to him, to outside observers it looked as though the Archmage had practically kidnapped an innocent child.

That child happened to be the Eldier Duchy's sole heir, no less.

Conflict with Duke Eldier was inevitable, and if handled poorly, it could escalate into territorial war—a gravely serious matter.

To properly assess the situation, there would be much he needed to know.

Naturally, she'd assumed he would interrogate her the moment she woke.

'He hasn't asked anything, and he told me to stay as long as I like. This is too... strange.'

The Margrave turned to look at Ariadne.

He observed her small hands clutching the blanket, then spoke in an exceptionally gentle voice.

"Child, you are very tired, and you need to rest. There's no need to dredge up painful memories just yet."

"When you wish to speak, speak. I can wait as long as necessary."

Until the Margrave left the room, Ariadne couldn't say a word.

The calculations she'd carefully assembled in her mind scattered into disarray.

This shouldn't be possible. Why was this so easy?

'In the novel, both the Archmage and the Margrave of Weaver were indifferent.'

The only deviation from the novel was her begging to be taken away. She'd done nothing else differently.

Could such a small change really alter things so drastically?

Because they were family? Because they shared blood?

'Just for that reason, they'd show kindness to a stranger without expecting anything in return?'

In her previous life, she'd had no parents. Her grandmother had raised her.

Her grandmother hadn't liked her much.

Several times, she'd tried to abandon young Ariadne in marketplaces or busy shopping districts.

Each time, Ariadne had clung desperately to her grandmother's skirts.

She'd memorized their address in advance, so she'd been returned home by police a few times.

She'd done housework with careful attentiveness, thinking that if she made herself useful, she wouldn't be abandoned.

Her grandmother told her she was unnaturally cunning for a child, disturbingly shrewd, repulsive.

She'd been the sort of woman who raged that education was wasted on girls. Ariadne had begged, pleaded, secured a full scholarship, and barely made it to university.

Not long after, her grandmother collapsed.

Ariadne tutored, worked part-time jobs, cut her food budget to pay for her grandmother's hospital bills.

She took a leave of absence and, when not working, stayed constantly at her grandmother's bedside.

Despite all her efforts, her grandmother never said a single kind word before she died.

I raised you after your parents abandoned you, didn't I? And this is all you can do for me?

You should at least repay the cost of feeding and clothing you.

Ungrateful girl.

Your parents abandoned you because you're this sort of child. I would have been healthy if I hadn't raised you. I'm sick because I suffered raising you. Oh, oh.

Those were the things she'd said until she died. Ariadne had never heard the words "I love you," not even as empty courtesy.

Almost no one came to her grandmother's funeral.

None of her blood relatives attended. Only a few who shared no blood with her came.

The only people who cried with her were those without a single drop of shared blood.

She didn't believe in blood ties.

Even in this life, her father was her biological parent, yet he didn't love her. He said he loved her, of course.

Familial affection was an illusion. The belief that family would love you unconditionally was a futile hope.

That was why she couldn't understand the Margrave.

If he could act this way toward his own child or grandchild, what affection could he possibly feel for a niece he'd just met?

'He's just being kind because I look pitiful.'

She was a poor, abused little child.

If the Margrave had seen her scars and realized the truth, if he pitied her—that would be comprehensible enough.

'If it's pity, that's fine. No, I should be grateful.'

If he pitied her, she could relax. It meant she was safe for the time being.

'But pity alone won't sustain me for long. The Duke won't let me go easily.'

Pity was a cheap emotion. It arose easily and vanished just as fast.

When people lost their emotional margin, conscience and pity were the first things they discarded. Conscience was heavy, and pity was worthless.

'When the conflict with Eldier intensifies, the Margrave will probably give me up.'

The elixir couldn't be completed with any other test subject. That was why the Duke couldn't abandon her.

"Ariadne Eldier" had been the novel's certified genius Spirit Mage, crowned with endless superlatives: unprecedented, the strongest in history, heaven-sent.

'Though in the novel, she died before ever becoming a Spirit Mage.'

The typical age to begin Spirit Magic was sixteen to eighteen. Children younger than that were fundamentally incapable of using Spirit Magic. Attempting it at a young age was tantamount to suicide.

Therefore, Ariadne, who died at sixteen in the original story, had never actually practiced Spirit Magic herself.

Instead, the item created from her as raw material—Glamus—had proven her innate talent.

All the countless praises describing the original Ariadne's talent had actually been directed at that item.

Sentences explaining how useful, rare, and extraordinary the protagonist Axel's item was. Sentences that simultaneously emphasized the protagonist's skill in wielding such an item so well.

'At any rate, it means my talent is genuine.'

Tolerating the incomplete elixir reasonably well, instinctively utilizing what she'd absorbed to drive out the Taint—these were impossible for anyone but Ariadne.

Other test subjects couldn't endure even the incomplete elixir, let alone the Taint.

'At first, he'll probably search for a replacement test subject. Then, realizing it's useless, he'll try to get me back somehow.'

The Duke, who would wage territorial war to reclaim his irreplaceable test subject, versus the Margrave, who felt only pity.

The Archmage likely felt casual pity as well, so it was a fight the Duke would inevitably win.

'I need to finalize the deal before the pity wears off.'

They'd only refrain from abandoning her if keeping her proved more advantageous. That was what Ariadne believed.

Don't worry about anything? Her "uncle" would protect her so no one could hurt her?

Words were easy. The Duke had also spoken kindly.

Father wouldn't do anything dangerous to you. Father loves you very much.

While stroking her cheek, while injecting her with Blighted Essence, Father had said exactly that.

'I can't trust it. I mustn't trust it.'

Ariadne forcibly shook off the warmth the Margrave had left behind when he'd patted her comfortingly.

'This is inside a novel where even the protagonist was constantly betrayed. In the ending, even his regression ability betrayed him. To survive in a place like this, I have to stay cold.'

If you don't expect anything, you won't get hurt.

She steeled her resolve. Yet despite being under blankets in a warm room, she felt oddly cold.

She pulled the blankets over her head. She closed her eyes and called the name like an escape.

"Pie."

The darkness inside her closed eyes was erased, replaced by a familiar landscape.

A room made of glass, golden bookshelves, and in front of them, a small white-haired child sitting with a book as large as their body spread open.

"Ariadne!"

The child beamed at her with the brightest smile. They set down the book they'd been reading and rushed over, throwing their arms around her.

"Welcome!"

This child had initially only mimicked her words and hadn't known what names were, yet could read books.

Their rapid progress in expressing their own thoughts seemed to be thanks to self-directed learning through the library's books.

"Anxious, waiting, longing, missing..."

However, whether as a side effect of that learning or because they were a library spirit rather than human, they had the odd habit of listing words rather than speaking properly.

"Welcome, joy, glad, greeting..."

The more urgent their feelings, the more pronounced this habit became. Pie poured out words in an excited tone.

Ariadne's expression softened as she returned the child's embrace.

In this illusion, there was no need to be tense, no need to be suspicious.

"You waited a long time? Happy to see me after so long?"

"Mm-hm!"

Pie nodded vigorously while clinging to her, carefully examining her complexion.

"Pain? Hard? Today, experiment?"

"No, I didn't come here because of pain today."

She'd fled here whenever she was in agony, so Pie seemed to assume it was the same this time.

When she shook her head, the child's face brightened.

"Ariadne, not hurt. Relief, happiness, glad. Feel good."

Lovely, pure goodwill. She smiled comfortably.

"Thank you."

When she smiled, Pie grinned broadly too. Ariadne ruffled the child's hair and said:

"The things I left with you before—you still have them safely, right?"

"Sparkle yellow, dark red, stored. Safe. Need them?"

"Yes, bring them here."

Pie dashed toward the bookshelves and returned carrying small glass vials that had been hidden among the books.

The vial containing incomplete elixir, and the vial with magic circles drawn on it containing Blighted Essence.

Things she'd secretly smuggled out of the study.

She'd discovered by accident that objects could be stored in the Phantom Library.

During a meal, aftereffects had suddenly struck, and while thrashing, she'd called for Pie and entered the Phantom Library—only to find the spoon she'd been holding had come with her.

She'd left the spoon on a bookshelf and exited; in reality, the spoon had disappeared.

She'd experimented in various ways afterward and reached a conclusion.

The Phantom Library was more useful than she'd anticipated.

She could enter the Phantom Library alone, but calling Pie made the transition slightly easier. When she called their name, it felt as though Pie responded.

When Pie helped like that, she could bring along whatever she was holding.

Taking things out worked the same way—just hold them and return to reality.

'This confirms it: Pie really is a spirit born from the Phantom Library.'