MHHC Chapter 43

Foreign Matter

The color drained from Valentin's beautiful face.

His complexion, blanched to the pallor of chalk, resembled a plaster cast—or perhaps something carved from marble and left to weather in forgotten rain. There was something almost fortunate in how utterly inhuman he appeared in that moment. It meant she need not measure the depth of his pain, need not hesitate before asking questions designed to wound.

"And what exactly did you mean earlier by 'original evil'?"

"......"

"Will you tell me eventually, even if not right now?"

"......"

"Do you..."

Her voice trembled, thin as spider silk, unable to hold back the surge of emotion rising within her. A cold light flickered in Adelheid's eyes—eyes that had been so gentle only moments before, now hardening like frost spreading across glass.

"Do you care for me at all?"

"I, care. More than, anything in this, world. Adele. That is... don't doubt it. Please..."

The words tumbled out in ragged fragments, as though he were choking on air itself, gasping for breath he couldn't quite catch.

All trace of his characteristic arrogance had vanished, leaving his exquisite face crumpled in anguish—a child's grief carved into an angel's features. How could he not cherish her? his expression seemed to plead. Tears spilled from those beautiful, distorted eyes, dropping one by one down his cheeks.

Drip. Drip.

"I'm, I'm s-sorry. Must look, pathetic..."

Those innocent eyes—the eyes of an abandoned child—pierced her heart like a blade sliding between ribs. Which made it all the more maddening.

He could sob with such theatrical sorrow at the mere question of whether he cared, yet in the end, he would share nothing with her. Nothing that mattered.

The more affection she poured into this vessel, the more certainly it would blind her—seal her eyes shut forever in willful darkness.

Eventually, she would tell herself that his devotion alone was enough...

"Adele, please... I won't, never again..."

This kind of relationship was poisonous.

Not because he was a monster and she was human, but because they existed on parallel tracks that could never converge—two lines stretching toward infinity without ever touching.

She wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks with fierce determination and climbed down from the bed.

He startled violently, scrambling after her to the floor in an ungainly rush.

"Adele, no, don't..."

He lurched forward, blocking her path with clumsy desperation.

His hands rose as if to grasp her—then froze in mid-air, trembling, unable to complete the gesture. He dared not touch her.

Adelheid had flinched, her shoulders drawing inward the moment his hands moved. Slowly, he curled his fingers closed and withdrew them.

She glanced at his face with arctic indifference, then stepped to the side to go around him. Immediately, he moved to block her again.

"Let me pass."

"J-just, a moment... If you'll, answer this one..."

Even that small request seemed to drain what little color remained in his face—as though he'd committed some unforgivable transgression merely by asking.

His clenched fists trembled with some nameless emotion, shaking like leaves in a gathering storm. Adelheid observed it all with calm, clinical eyes—cataloging each detail as one might study specimens preserved in glass.

"Am I... Tell me if I'm, pitiful to you... If I still seem, to you..."

"......"

"If you find me... pitiable..."

Ah. A short, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Even as tears continued their relentless descent as though her tear ducts had malfunctioned entirely, the question was so absurd she couldn't help but laugh—couldn't contain the sound rising in her throat.

She fixed him with wide, unblinking eyes. Her face was surely as ruined as his, but she no longer cared how she appeared to him. That concern had burned away like morning mist.

"You refuse to answer any of my questions, yet you expect answers from me."

"Please..."

"Why would such a simple question require you to beg for an answer? Very well. I'll tell you."

Hope kindled in Valentin's eyes—desperate, fragile hope. Adelheid looked directly into that flickering light as she spoke.

"I don't find you pitiable."

If he'd asked whether she loved him, she would have said she didn't know.

If he'd asked whether she liked him, she might have admitted that perhaps, once, she had. But pitiful?

In a situation like this, no question could be more ridiculous than that.

How could he ask such a thing unless he still regarded all of this as some kind of game—some elaborate entertainment at her expense?

"Not even a little."

And why should that simple denial cause his face to collapse as though the entire world had crumbled beneath his feet?

Adelheid swept past Valentin—who stood frozen, no longer even attempting to stop her—and strode quickly from the room.

Ah. So there you are.

Did you enjoy yourself? Did you taste that sly, stolen pleasure? Did sitting atop the head of a god make you feel like something more than the foreign matter you are?

How pitifully you tremble now. If you dared to gaze into the abyss, you should have been prepared for the abyss to swallow you whole.

Don't come near? Remember that Adelheid wished for your soul? Ah, yes. That's right. My wife did make such a request. I nearly forgot—nearly made a terrible mistake.

But what to do...

I've already devoured your head.*

The seasons turned with relentless momentum.

Snow that seemed eternal melted away. The bone-cutting wind subsided into whispers. The skeletal branches of winter trees began to show pale green tips, tentative and new.

The garden trees that had worn thick coats of frost, the river that had frozen solid as stone—all of it thawed as though the winter had been nothing but collective delusion.

The upper road regained its bustle and life. In the stables, lambs and foals were born. The wooden boards that had sealed the windows against winter's teeth were removed and stored away.

And through the passage of winter into the fullness of spring, Adelheid did not seek out Valentin. Nor did he seek her.

It was a day when spring rain fell in persistent, whispering streams.

Ever since the imperial messenger had arrived several days ago, Ansgar Castle had been in controlled chaos—packing with the fervor of a household preparing to relocate entirely.

From Yanik to Hermann, the servants attacked the task as though they intended to transport the castle itself, filling two entire carriages before requisitioning a third.

The schedule demanded they remain in the capital for a full month—victory celebrations, commemorative hunts, balls stretching across weeks like beads on an endless string.

"What about this cape? You'd look magnificent in it during the hunt." Margaret lifted a splendid cape trimmed with fox fur from the wardrobe.

Adelheid smiled wanly and shook her head. "We've already packed several capes, Margaret."

"But... you haven't packed one with fox fur."

"The capital isn't nearly as cold as it is here."

"This white fox is extremely rare—only found in the north. When Her Grace wears it, no one will dare look down on Ansgar as poor barbarians."

Margaret was generally compliant with her mistress's wishes, but once she set her mind on something, she became immovable as granite.

Rather than argue, Adelheid nodded. "All right. But don't forget we need to pack plenty of other things besides my capes. The star of this event isn't me—it's Valen..."

"......"

She bit her lip sharply, cutting off the name before it could fully form.

Her face fell into dejection so quickly that Margaret busied herself unnecessarily with the luggage, rummaging through bags with exaggerated attention—a kindness made all the more touching for its subtlety.

Adelheid was grateful for that unobtrusive consideration.

"......"

That she had been unilaterally ignoring Valentin since that day was hardly a secret anymore.

Everyone in Ansgar Castle knew. How could they not, when icy wind practically howled between them whenever they crossed paths in the corridors?

Of course, the cold treatment flowed entirely in one direction. His Grace's face dripped with regret and longing, yet he dared not approach her.

He would simply stand rooted to the spot, not moving a single fingertip until the lady of the castle had completely vanished from his sight...

No matter how partial the servants tried to be in their thinking, they could only draw one conclusion.

"He must have committed some terrible wrong, mustn't he?" Margaret asked quietly.

Adelheid looked up. It was the first time this quiet, thoughtful maid had asked about that day—whether directly or indirectly.

From the moment Margaret had decided to serve her as lady of the house, she had been unfailingly loyal. She wasn't warm and attentive like a family member the way Greta had been, but whenever Adelheid needed someone, she could look around and find Margaret there.

So to Margaret, at least, Adelheid could answer honestly.

"I don't really know, to be truthful."

"You must have been hurt so deeply you don't want to think about it..."

"......"

Was she? Had the hurt been that profound? She'd deliberately severed her thoughts from that day so thoroughly that now even the emotions she'd felt then had faded to watercolor impressions.

Only the dried residue of bitter resentment remained—a stain on fabric—and its aftermath still made looking at him uncomfortable.

"Forgiveness would be difficult, wouldn't it?"

Adelheid neither confirmed nor denied Margaret's words, simply gazing out the window in silence.

Perhaps. If he had just explained himself properly that day, she might have forgiven him long ago.

No matter how difficult the explanation, if he had persuaded her convincingly, tried again and again until she understood. If he had been that persistent.

Instead of giving up on everything like this—abandoning it all. Now she was angry about that too.

"Your Grace."

Someone's call pulled her from her reverie.

Yanik stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms full of ledgers sent by the head butler, frozen under Margaret's ferocious glare. He seemed to understand the unspoken rebuke: You interrupted at the exact moment I might have gotten her to talk about what happened.

"Should... should I come back later?"

"No. What is it?"

"The head butler sent next month's budget. We need to commission new weapons, so the iron order is particularly large. And springtime brings monster activity, so we need to request new consecration of the barrier from the priests—expenses have increased somewhat."

Yanik spread the thick ledger on the table, adding brief explanations. Adelheid nodded.

"Ah. Thank you. Leave it there and I'll review it later."

"And below that is the list of knights who will escort Their Graces to the imperial palace. He requests you review it by today."

"...Aren't the knights under His Grace the Grand Duke's purview?"

"Well..."

At her observation, Yanik trailed off as though the answer pained him.

Translator Note:

*I've already devoured your head. It's literally head (머리), and not Valentin's soul. My interpretation is that the shadow is claiming to have consumed the original evil (that unwanted presence)—or a portion of it—that had infiltrated Valentin's mind. Not his soul.