At the eastern edge of the Phaelon Empire lay the Golden Plains.
A swift bluebird sliced through the sky, circling once around Kalian before landing.
It was his messenger bird.
Vigo, a knight from the House of Florence who had been speaking with Kalian, greeted the bird warmly.
“Bell!”
Flapping its vibrant wings, Bell settled on Vigo’s shoulder. It adjusted its footing a few times before folding its wings and chirping sharply. A thin strip of white parchment was tied to its delicate leg.
Kalian untied the note and tapped Bell’s head lightly with his index finger in thanks.
Bell let out a sharp cry before turning to peck at Vigo’s cheek, demanding food as compensation for its efforts.
“Alright, alright, I got it.”
As Vigo rummaged through his coat, Kalian turned his attention to the note.
It was from Mary.
His gaze skimmed over the paper, his expression softening involuntarily.
“Good news, my lord?”
Vigo asked as he fed Bell.
“Hardly.”
Kalian replied indifferently, but contrary to his words, his eyes remained fixed on the note, unable to look away.
It was because of Mary’s handwriting.
[Y0un9 l4dy, e4t w3ll, sle3p w3ll. T0n1ght she s41d sh3 w1ll b4the.]
She had claimed to know how to write, so Kalian had asked her to send reports on Angela’s condition while he was away.
And this… this was the cryptic message he received.
Kalian smothered a chuckle.
Perhaps he should arrange for a writing tutor for Mary when he returned.
Then, he suddenly remembered—Angela was the best tutor he could ever find.
After all, no knight in the Phaelon Empire wrote a report as neatly as Kalian did.
“Here, soften this stroke a little. That way, your writing will exude a sense of ease. Nobles love to act as if they have all the time in the world, so keep that in mind.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, exactly. Well done. You really are an excellent student, Kalian.”
“And you, Angela, are an exceptional teacher. My… greatest fortune.”
The memory surfaced vividly in his mind, as if the warmth of that day still lingered at his fingertips.
Kalian carefully folded Mary’s note and tucked it into the inner lining of his sleeve, rather than discarding it.
A faint warmth spread along his wrist.
Suppressing the smile tugging at his lips, he turned back to Vigo, intending to resume their conversation.
But at that moment—
“Kiaaaah!”
A massive airborne beast, far larger than Bell, swooped down violently.
It was an Alcyon, a carnivorous bird native to northern Phaelon.
“Kalian, watch out!”
Vigo shouted in warning as the Alcyon’s beak—sharper than most swords—lunged straight for Kalian.
Kalian swiftly retreated a step and drew his sword.
The Alcyon’s crimson eyes gleamed with fury, its attack having missed its mark.
Feathers bristling, it flapped its powerful wings in a frenzy.
Kalian dodged the violent gusts and leaped into the air.
His blade sliced cleanly through the Alcyon’s vulnerable neck in a single stroke.
With an eerie screech, the decapitated beast crashed to the ground.
“Are you alright?”
Vigo approached quickly, his expression now grave—far different from when he had been feeding Bell.
Bell, of course, had already fled without looking back.
“I thought we’d cleared them out. What the hell is going on…?”
Vigo muttered with a sigh.
Kalian frowned, scanning the surroundings.
The Golden Plains were supposed to be a vast expanse of golden fields.
But instead, the landscape was covered in something dark and ominous.
The corpses of Alcyons—beasts that Kalian and his men had been fighting off just moments ago.
—
“Come in.”
Angela, soaking in warm water, looked up at Mary, who was attending her from outside the bathtub.
She gestured to the spot across from her.
“「Me? M-Me?」”
It wasn’t the first time Angela had shared a bath with her, yet Mary reacted as if she had just heard something unthinkable.
Her shoulders tensed, and she remained frozen in place, as if bracing for an argument.
“Mary.”
Angela spoke firmly.
“「Your lady hates it when people don’t listen the first time. Don’t make me repeat myself.」”
Mary was usually quite perceptive.
By now, she should have been pouting and at least pretending to undress.
But today, for some reason, she remained as stiff as a rock, refusing to move.
“…….”
Angela brushed her wet hair back and observed Mary in silence.
In that moment, her beauty was so ethereal that Mary felt as if she were looking at a water spirit rather than a human.
It was that gaze—not the command itself—that finally compelled Mary to move.
She hesitated, chewing on her lip, before reluctantly reaching for the knot of her apron.
“Ah.”
Angela, who had been waiting quietly, suddenly murmured just as Mary was about to step into the tub, having discarded her uniform carelessly onto the floor.
“Now I see why my loud little maid has been so unusually obedient.”
Her voice, laced with mockery, rippled across the water’s surface.
“Hehe.”
Mary, now submerged in the tub, let out a silly giggle.
But Angela did not feel like laughing—not even in jest.
Beneath the water, Mary’s body was riddled with scratches and bruises.
Angela didn’t need to ask to know how it had happened.
Mary, Angela’s maid, had injured Beatrice.
And because of that, Angela had been dragged away by Yvonne like a dog and punished.
It had been a humiliating display before the entire household staff—proof of how Angela’s position had changed now that Yvonne was officially the new Duchess of Bilton.
Just how ridiculous must Angela have looked in their eyes?
And if she had seemed pathetic, then how much more vulnerable had her young maid appeared?
Heat coiled in Angela’s stomach, an unpleasant churn of emotions.
The peacefulness she had felt in recent days twisted into something dark and bitter.
“I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt at all!”
Sensing her mistress’s darkening mood, Mary raised her voice, as if trying to lift the heavy atmosphere.
“Don’t worry about me!”
Her bright voice echoed through the bathroom. Angela stared intently at her freckled face.
As she fixated on Mary’s plain features, an unseen scoff tugged at the corner of her lips.
Worry? Worry, you say. That sickeningly sentimental emotion—this was nothing of the sort.
What Angela felt was a searing, relentless fury, one that she couldn’t stop even though she knew it would only bring her pain.
“Sprout. Bloom. Bear fruit.”
“If you wish to live.”
“If you do not wish to die.”
But what did that mean? How could she be expected to act rationally when she was this angry?
Angela, unable to fathom the answer that the light claimed she already knew, pressed her fist hard against her burning heart.
—
“Rita, Lady Angela is looking for you. She wants you in your room.”
At those words from a fellow maid, Rita dropped the rag she was holding.
It had finally come.
Ever since she had witnessed Angela being dragged away by Yvonne, she had known this moment would arrive.
She had only prayed, however futilely, that it wouldn’t.
“It was deliberate. I saw her walking perfectly fine, but the moment she noticed Lady Beatrice, she pretended to stumble.”
Rita wanted nothing more than to sew her lying lips shut.
If it meant she could undo what she had said, she would do it in a heartbeat.
What had she been thinking? How could she have been so reckless?
She had been too focused on tormenting Mary to consider the consequences.
And now, she was certain—Angela was going to kill her.
Still, there was always a rat hole to escape through, wasn’t there?
Clinging to that sliver of hope, Rita rushed into her room, threw herself before Angela, and bowed so deeply that her forehead nearly touched the floor.
“Y-You called for me, my lady.”
Her voice was as polite as she could manage. She could feel Angela’s icy gaze settle upon her. Her hands, clenched tightly at her stomach, trembled violently.
Rita squeezed her eyes shut, her chin nearly touching her chest. She looked as if she were trying to retract her neck like a frightened turtle.
How long had she stayed frozen like that?
“Rita.”
The devil’s summons arrived without warning.
“Y-Yes, yes!”
Rita responded reflexively, snapping her head up—only to lock eyes with Angela.
Startled, she immediately looked back down.
She was the very picture of guilt. But at this moment, Rita wasn’t composed enough to carefully calculate her reactions.
“I’m telling you this just in case you don’t already know. Listen carefully.”
“…….”
“No matter who holds the title of mistress in this household, there’s no one who can stop me from having a maid flogged and thrown out.”
I know, my lady. Of course, I know. I know all too well. And I know that I am the maid you’re talking about.
Rita desperately held back the urge to say those words aloud.
Instead, she focused on listening. But Angela said nothing more.
Instead, a fine silk pouch landed at Rita’s feet with a soft clinking sound.
“!”
The moment she heard it hit the floor, Rita had a hunch about what was inside.
Startled, she lifted her head abruptly.
Why was she being given money instead of a beating? Why was this fierce young lady handing her wealth rather than punishment?
“I hope you understand what this means without me having to explain it.”
What does it mean?
Rita wanted to ask, genuinely confused. But she feared that if she did, the real punishment would begin. So instead, she bowed her head in silence.
The one saving grace was—
“I won’t tell you to get along, but don’t bother her anymore.”
Angela was actually explaining herself. She was talking about Mary—her young maid, and Rita’s roommate.
“Yes, my lady. I understand.”
Rita answered automatically, without even thinking.
Only afterward did she realize something was off. She had assumed she was being called here for punishment.
Her lies had led to Angela’s suffering—shouldn’t this have been a scolding? But suddenly, Mary was the subject?
“You must understand. Next time, it won’t be a pouch of gold—it’ll be something far worse.”
But then again—what did it matter?
“Of course, my lady. I will never trouble Mary again. Please believe me.”
Rita’s only concern was surviving this terrifying ordeal unscathed.
“The money should cover your father’s medical treatment for a year.”
Angela nodded toward the pouch at Rita’s feet before turning away without hesitation.
Rita remained in a deep bow, barely daring to breathe until Angela had fully left the room.
If she so much as twitched and gave Angela a reason to reconsider, her fate might change instantly.
—
“…Hic!”
A short while later, alone in the room, Rita cautiously opened the pouch Angela had left behind. Her breath caught.
Just as Angela had said, the pouch contained an overwhelming sum—more than enough to cover her sick father’s treatment for an entire year.
“How… how did she know?”
Rita murmured to herself. How did that self-absorbed lady know about her ailing father?
Angela had never been the type to care about a mere maid’s personal affairs . She had always been indifferent, dismissive.
Then Rita remembered—Angela had come all this way, into this lowly maid’s room, because of Mary.
And with that thought, another memory surfaced.
“……!”
Rita gasped, dropping the pouch. Clink! Clink!
Several gold coins rolled out, spinning noisily across the floor. The sound dragged Rita back into the past.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
