My Arrogant Shadow

10 years. The time during which dozens of seasons bloom and fade.

It’s enough time to forget someone’s face, even their name.

Then why are you standing before me?

Why are you calling my name?

Standing there with such a different body. Yet with the same face.

***

Imperial Year MCCXV.III.I.

So, it was 10 years ago, when I first met Cassian Blanchet.

The small village of Alphonse, far from the capital, was a small town with few residents, which could be called peaceful in a good way, and monotonous in a bad way.

If you stood under the sky that always flowed the same way, your daily life would flow just like that.

Still, this place was known for its quite beautiful scenery and had many sights to see.

The serfs themselves had no leisure to enjoy such useless things.

TL’s Note : “Serfs” refers to a class of laborers who are tied to the land they work on and are under the control of the landowner or lord.

Most serfs followed the lord’s orders, clearing vast farmlands and shoveling under the scorching sun until their bodies turned black.

The immigrants who came in from other places and settled here were comparatively wealthy and had more leisure.

Those who owned fishing boats went out to sea, observing and catching fish, and were the envy of many serfs.

Those who aligned themselves well with the lord and got their names on the merchants’ guild list were also admired.

But, after all, they were all the same people here.

In the end, they were all people who had to pay huge taxes to the lord and work all day just to scrape by.

I was one of those serfs.

The only difference was that my mother had to work twice as much as others to raise me alone.

She was an immigrant who had settled in this village, bringing her young child along.

There were other immigrants in this village, but what set my mother apart was her truly noble appearance.

A rare sight in the village, with her white face, delicate hands that seemed untouched by water, sleek hair, and delicate features like those of a noblewoman from a capital city in a fairy tale…

My mother was conspicuous enough to attract the villagers’ attention at once.

Sometimes, when curious villagers asked about her husband, my mother would answer with a slightly flushed face, like reciting a script.

“The child’s father was a commoner knight who loved me very much. He went to the battlefield to protect the Empire and died bravely.”

This pattern repeated many times.

Older men would glance at my mother and ask her lowly questions.

Afterward, their wives would visit my mother and dig up the weak spot of her husband.

At those times, my mother would give the same answer.

Her eyes would tremble along with her reddened eyes.

The curious eyes that looked at her, as if expecting something new apart from the same answer, made me resent the nosy villagers.

Because my mother would be sad after talking about my dead father.

She seemed to hate being caught crying by her young daughter, so she would cry secretly.

But in our small house, it was inevitable for me to witness it.

From a child’s perspective, my mother seemed to miss my father.

At those times, I would hide by the door and wait for it to pass, as she intended.

That was all I could do as a child.

Such lowly interest continued for quite some time.

A delicate woman who looked like a “princess from another land” was enough to captivate the village’s men.

Whenever their eyes fell on my mother, knowing what would happen, I would often confront them.

Acting beyond my age, I would tell them, “We don’t need people like you,” and soon I became known as a rude child in the village.

That was better. My mother cried less and became braver after that.

With a determination to protect me, my mother began to actively participate in the village’s work.

Some sympathetic villagers would bring her work.

Since she had to work twice as hard to take care of her daughter, it was routine for her to leave for work at dawn and return late at night.

From odd jobs at the guild to farm work and restaurant work, she never ran out of tasks.

Her once delicate hands grew rough, and her white skin tanned.

The stranger who came to the village with an exotic atmosphere gradually became a part of the village.

Yet, her unique atmosphere never faded, so she still looked like a noblewoman from the capital among the villagers.

As I grew up, I gradually realized why my mother’s eyes trembled when she spoke about my father.

She trembled when she lied.

That led to the certainty that not all of her words about my father were true.

Of course, I never brought up my father because of that.

It was obvious. To me, he was a nonexistent person.

Since birth.

I didn’t particularly miss my father.

It was absurd to miss someone I’d never seen, and I assumed he wasn’t a good person.

If he were a good person, he wouldn’t have abandoned someone as good as my mother, who had his child.

My mother would hide her growing wrinkles on her hands and buy me delicious things and read me books.

But it was truly difficult for a woman to work alone and raise a child.

My mother began to fall ill gradually from the year I turned thirteen.

Even the few villagers who helped couldn’t overlook the fact that she couldn’t work properly.

The cost of medicine was exorbitantly high, and she seemed to hide her pain to save money.

She didn’t stop working until she collapsed.

Finally, bedridden, she had to stop working.

From then on, I took on whatever work I could find.

I replaced her odd jobs and sometimes got introduced to small jobs in the village.

As I gained a reputation for doing good work despite my rough manners, my workload increased.

In the capital, it would be unthinkable for someone my age to work like this, but in this distant Alphonse, it was normal to work regardless of age to avoid starving.

Washing dishes until my hands were raw, picking herbs, and doing transcription work with my limited writing skills, I returned home under the dark night sky.

Sometimes, like a rudderless boat, my aimless resentment would reach the nonexistent father.

But such feelings were a luxury I could only afford in my spare time.

For someone who had no time to look up at the sky, emotional labor was just another obstacle to getting work done.

That day was one of those days.

Standing at the beginning of spring, which marked the end of the cold, harsh winter, I moved busily.

It was to do part-time odd jobs.

<Cleon Leaf Alphonse 13th Street>

A huge sign at the entrance marked the grand mansion, befitting the lord’s residence, endless even after a long walk.

It was the first time I’d entered this mansion, usually kept closed.

Though I took on almost any job, I couldn’t enter the grand mansions of noble families because even the servants had to undergo strict status verification, which I couldn’t pass.

My mother had warned me repeatedly not to reveal our status.

Maybe my father was a criminal.

Or perhaps my mother was truly a princess of a fallen kingdom.

I concluded in favor of the latter and stepped forward, feeling the pleasant sensation under my feet.

I must do well this time.

This job’s pay was incomparable to any other.

If I did well and got hired permanently, it would greatly help pay for my mother’s medicine.

Mary, who recommended me, came to mind.

“Do you know a dying young master came here for recuperation?”

Cassian de Blanchet.

The noble guest of the mansion, his name was elegant and beautiful from the start.

The commotion in the village when the heir of the Blanchet family came was so loud it even reached my uninterested ears.

A person of immense power who could make everyone kneel with just his name.

Even our lord, whom we couldn’t dare look at, was like an ant before him.

They said the mansion’s servants were in an uproar when he decided to visit Alphonse for recuperation.

They cleaned the paths he’d walk on for a whole month, not leaving a speck of dust.

I vividly remember Mary, who was always in a bad mood, lamenting,

“Why come all the way down here from the fine capital and make everyone suffer?”

“They say he’s terminally ill, so his temper is very nasty. He dismissed all the servants shortly after arriving.”

What use is having so much when life is limited?

Mary’s muttered words lingered in my ears.

Her voice, treating it as if it was none of her business while saying it was a sad story.

I also briefly thought that he might be more pitiful than I was.

“No one has lasted a day. The lady of the house insists that bringing in someone his age might change things. El, can you manage for a day?”

Mary said the nasty lady often threw things.

If they couldn’t find a replacement this time, Mary would have a hard time.

For the lord, who spent years in the capital aiming for a central noble position, this was a great opportunity.

There wouldn’t be a better chance to rise by catching Blanchet’s eye.

But what if that picky heir said something wrong?

The lady, dedicated to her husband’s success, must have been driving the servants hard, believing that serving him well was her duty.

Mary called me affectionately, but I didn’t budge until I heard the pay.

It can’t be helped if I’m seen as a servant.

For someone like me, every day is urgent, and nothing is more important than daily wages.

After all, like Mary, who spoke as if it were someone else’s business, I wasn’t interested in his terminal life.

And I felt a fleeting pity.

Hypocritically.

Mary, who pushed me in, didn’t expect me to last long.

Contrary to her thoughts, I believed I could handle any man easily.

I could match anything if it paid.

But the grand atmosphere of the mansion overwhelmed me as I entered.