IHHLU Chapter 40

“This looks pretty nice.” Franz said, gesturing toward the painting in front of me.

 

The commoner, who appeared to be the artist, gave a sheepish smile and expressed his gratitude a bit too eagerly.

 

Perhaps amused by his reaction, Franz flicked him a silver coin with his thumb.

 

The man hastily caught it as if it were a hot potato, then bowed politely to Franz.

 

“Don’t you think so?” Franz asked.

 

“…No,” I shook my head.

 

Then, I turned my gaze to the people standing nearby. There weren’t many left whose faces I hadn’t checked, but from a distance, none of them appeared to be Erschein.

 

I had no regrets. I wasn’t desperate.

 

After all, much had changed since I first decided to come here. I needed someone who knew the geography of this place well—someone who could help me escape, someone with no ties to Roam.

 

That was what I had thought before I knew what kind of person Franz was. But the situation had changed, and the help Erschein could provide no longer felt as crucial as before.

 

I could have left at any moment, but what kept me rooted was the wound I had seen on him at the ball. He was hurt. Knowing the kind of hell he must be living in; I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.

 

There was someone suffering because I was here.

 

Someone who wasn’t receiving the salvation he deserved.

 

The weight of responsibility for his misfortune held me back.

 

As I searched for him, I suddenly realized something I had forgotten.

 

Erschein painted on weekdays and displayed his artwork in the plaza on weekends. No wonder he wasn’t here.

 

…What a waste of time.

 

Shaking my head, I absentmindedly walked past the people standing next to the paintings.

 

“Aren’t you going to look?” Franz asked, but I was no longer in the mood to admire art.

 

Right, my husband said he was attending a Privy Council meeting at the imperial palace today… So that means today must be a weekday, not the weekend. How foolish of me.

 

I let out a deep sigh and reconsidered.

 

Perhaps it was a good thing that I hadn’t run into Erschein after all.

 

“I neither want to cause unnecessary misunderstandings, nor be caught up in one,” A voice echoed in my head.

 

Erschein had seemed pretty intent on keeping me at an extreme distance. Of course, he had paid me compliments, but that might have merely been a gesture of courtesy towards the hostess of the ball—the mistress of Roam.

 

It’s only natural since I’m not the heroine…

 

Given that this was a world from a book, perhaps fate had already been set in stone.

 

He was meant to fall for Diana and dedicate to her the purest form of love. So, it only made sense that I would be completely irrelevant in his life.

 

It worked out for the best.

 

Today wasn’t a complete waste of time either. Through this experience, I learned that Franz had a solid understanding of the capital’s geography, was favorably inclined toward his sister, and that his magic was powerful enough to break through Roam’s barrier.

 

Therefore, I could entrust Erschein’s salvation to Diana. She didn’t actually need the Roam surname to recognize a talented painter.

 

And luckily, the heroine is single!

 

“I neither want to cause unnecessary misunderstandings nor be caught up in one,” His words echoed in my head again.

 

Well, with Diana, this won’t be an issue, which is a relief! I cheered inwardly and quickened my pace.

 

If I hurried, I might be able to stop by the tart shop to satisfy my hungry stomach before heading back.

 

Just as I was about to weave through the crowd—

 

“Milena.”

 

As Franz spoke, the wind whistled sharply, almost as if by magic, rustling the hem of my dress hidden beneath my hood.

 

“Did you see that?”

 

At his words, I turned my head in the direction the wind was blowing.

 

The person standing next to the easel was, of course, not Erschein, just as I had seen earlier. He was an ordinary man with black hair and black eyes, the kind of face you could find anywhere.

 

But what caught my attention wasn’t him—it was his painting.

 

I found myself staring, as if spellbound, at the woman in the artwork. It was an exceptionally well-done painting. I had seen many other remarkable works here today—this place was a gathering of dazzling talent after all.

 

But what truly made me stop in my tracks was…

 

“That’s…”

 

Me? I swallowed the last words.

 

Franz, too, held back his words, as if he was thinking the same thing.

 

My gaze, as if entranced, delved into the lines of the painting. In the past, I couldn’t quite grasp the idea that emotions could be conveyed through art, even when I saw the works of famous painters in my previous life.

 

But this…

 

This….

 

I stood still for a long time, staring at the painting. Then, my gaze cautiously shifted and met the eyes of the man standing beside it. Only then did I realize that, unlike the many people here, he was dressed in a fine suit.

 

Though his appearance was nothing particularly special, the suit caught my attention.

 

The moment our eyes met, he visibly flinched.

 

Why?

 

…And how was he able to capture my face so accurately?

 

Wait, that painting style…

 

I’ve seen it before.

 

At Jane’s debutante, I murmured the thought to myself.

***

 

That same morning, golden sunlight streamed through an old window, pouring over a painting set on an easel.

 

The canvas held the face of a pale, fragile woman. With the final stroke complete, the charcoal slipped from the man’s fingers, and he stared blankly at what he had just created.

 

What lay before him was a beauty so vivid it felt alive—the very same beauty he had had meticulously observed with his own eyes the previous night from the railing. His blackened fingers hovered near the painting, stopping just shy of where the sunlight touched, before pulling back.

 

Erschein set the painting aside and quietly returned to his daily routine. Then, he walked through the back door of the grand Lambert estate and began his day as a servant.

 

His favorite part of the day was polishing the dishes in silence. More often than not, the gleaming surface of the plates reflected the very landscapes he longed to capture on canvas.

 

The task was repetitive and simple, and that was precisely what he liked about it—it allowed him to lose himself in thought.

 

The sharp light of the silver-white chandelier reflected off the plate, causing him to pause for a moment. He scolded himself for indulging in unnecessary thoughts and quickly resumed moving his hands. Yet, he remained deeply immersed in the afterimage he had seen earlier.

 

As if trying to scatter his fleeting thoughts, Erschein moved the hand holding the cloth rapidly, only to pause again and slowly wipe the tray. It was as though he was chasing after something elusive.

 

Beneath his thick lashes, his tormented red eyes were reflected in the tray. As the intensity of his gaze softened and shifted, his eyes seemed to lose their sharpness, changing from a deep red to a lighter hue, like a fading sunset. He quickly moved the plate aside and grabbed something else.

 

Even after switching the tray, the same face surfaced in his mind—someone he shouldn’t be thinking about. His hands, which had been wiping the dishes, gradually slowed, and Erschein bowed his head deeply. At that moment, the sound of clicking heels approached from a distance. In an instant, the woman’s face reflected on the plate was replaced by that of another.

 

“Are you having trouble concentrating?”

 

When a hand touched his shoulder, Erschein bit his lower lip to suppress a pained groan. The wound from being whipped, inflicted when he became the target of his master’s anger, hadn’t yet healed.

 

“…Madam,” he said as he stepped away from the woman who had approached him, looking at her from a distance.

 

She was the mistress of the house where he worked–Countess Lambert.

 

When their eyes met, she smiled softly at him.

 

“So, you paint?”

 

Her gaze briefly ran over Erschein’s sleeve. It was clean now, but it hadn’t been the case yesterday when she had seen him at Jane Roam’s debutante.

 

When her husband had flown into a rage then, she had thought, what’s there to be jealous of someone like that? But now that her estate’s servant had become “The artist at the railing,” and the topic of conversation among the noblewomen, the Countess found herself consumed by an unexpected sense of possessiveness.

 

It was midday. There was nothing to stop her from playing an amusing little game that no one would ever know about.

 

“Portraits are quite the trend these days, so you must need a good model.”

 

She took a step closer to him as she spoke, trying to touch him again.

 

Erschein politely pushed her hand away and was about to speak when she suddenly grabbed his cravat.

 

“Your hands are far too delicate for menial chores.”

 

As one of her hands gripped his cravat, the other one sensually caressed his hand.

 

“Let go of me,” Erschein forcefully shoved her hand away, and Countess Lambert stumbled back, falling to the ground.

 

“Grab that bastard!”

 

At the sharp command, he was cruelly beaten by Countess Lambert’s servants. The beating was especially harsh because those servants particularly admired the Countess’s beauty.

.

.

.

“Ugh.”

 

Lying on a worn-out bed, Erschein slowly opened his eyes.

 

I’m home.

 

The familiar ceiling above him seemed to blur, the images splitting into two, then three, before finally merging back into one.

 

As his vision cleared, he saw a figure standing over him, their face filled with youthful impatience and concern. At the sight, Erschein let out a faint chuckle.

 

“Is this really the time to be laughing…?” Benjamin frowned, both understanding and disapproving.

 

When Erschein pushed the nagging face away, his bloodstained arm slipped out from beneath the blanket.

 

His crumpled shirt had been loosely rolled up, partially exposing his arm, and beneath it, a bandage was clumsily wrapped around the wound.

 

Clicking his tongue, Benjamin glanced at the blood seeping through the bandages before shifting his gaze to the worn-out drawer. Several whiskey bottles sat on top; most of them were strong, and judging by what was left, his friend had likely used a few to disinfect his wounds.

 

The light passing through the bottles cast flickering shadows on the peeling wooden surface.

 

“Whiskey?” Benjamin muttered, glancing at Erschein’s dry lips.

 

As the man gave a slight nod and pushed himself upright, the blanket slipped down, revealing bloodstained sheets—the exact spot where his back had been pressed against the bed.

 

Benjamin frowned, trying to imagine a pain he had never experienced. In contrast, the wounded person’s face himself serene.

 

“Nice suit. Haven’t seen that one before,” Erschein said casually, his large hand gripping the whiskey bottle’s neck.

 

And Benjamin couldn’t help but think that only his moronic friend could look so effortlessly refined while drinking cheap whiskey, in a cheap room.

 

“Starting today, I’m working as a docent at the Royal Museum. The suit was a gift from Baron Renell,” he replied.

 

The suit, though, didn’t quite match his plain features. If he were to walk into a crowd on the street, he’d stick out like a sore thumb.