The Peaceful Life of a Maid Who Hides Her Power and Enjoys It

<Episode 64>

 

[Wow, that’s so mean, Andert!]

[To reject her highness! Do you know how lucky you are?]

 

In an old pub filled with wounded people, some were crying while others were laughing. It was like a melting pot of confusion and complication.

 

However, this divide was precisely the way we endured the war. 

We could not move forward if we were stuck wallowing in despair. 

We had to look at what remained with us, not what we’d lost.

 

Then one day, while we kept this up… the war would end.

On the day Natasha got drunk, which was considered rare, all the soldiers gathered in the pub, united in spirit, playing small tricks on each other.

 

“Andert, the owner wants to take a picture. Shall we?”

 

I began to rub my right arm, which had begun to ache again, and looked out the window. The moon was shining.

 

“All of a sudden? It’s not like we’re taking a drunkard certification photo.” 

[They say it’s for the newspaper article. They want to boost morale, so do something about that messy hair, ey?]

 

 “If I appear in an article like this, I won’t be able to show my face anywhere anymore.” 

 

After almost being dragged by them, I stood in the pub’s entrance. Even Natasha, who had been talking about marriage for a while, stood by my side with a bright smile in that moment.

 

[I like this city. I like the people. And I’m glad you came back…]

“Everything looks good when you’re drunk.”

[Cold Andert. You cold-hearted guy. Let’s come back here when the war is over. Together. We can do that, right? Let’s do that…]

 

Raphael, who chugged a glass of alcohol, stood at my other side.

[The reinforcement units have arrived, Andert. Come out as soon as you click that photo.]

“Yes.”

Oh, that was a relief. I thought I’d have to live the rest of my life as a one-armed swordsman.

The owner of the pub and the soldiers discussed this and that and decided the photos would be taken of 8 people at a time.

 

And of course, everyone had to have a glass in hand. The picture must smell of alcohol.

[Sir Andert! Hold the glass higher!]

I raise my hand higher on the owner’s request.

 

[Don’t.]

 

Higher. I tried, at least, but Raphael blocked me.

Instinctively, I turned my head. A large hand, covered in lingering scars, was gripping my left arm. 

 

[Don’t. Andert. Don’t reach out any further.]

 

I was just trying to take a single photo. His red eyes were so fierce that it sent shivers down my spine. I wanted to ask why – what the problem was, but no words came out.

 

 It wasn’t just my voice. My ears closed off, and my vision grew dark. The pub and the people melted away. All my senses seemed to be submerged in water. In the flickering world, only Raphael’s voice echoed slowly and spread.

 

[Absolutely do not reach out your hand.]

When I opened my eyes again, The first thing I saw was my left hand reaching towards a dirty bookshelf. Just a few inches above my fingertips was an old, green book sticking out. If I had reached out my hand a little further, I could have easily touched it.

 

“Absolutely do not reach out your hand.”

I slowly walked back, reflecting on Raphael’s warning.

The cloudiness in my mind cleared at once. As the narrow field of my view expanded rapidly, I recognized the space I stood in.

 

‘This is the vault of the royal treasury in Westwinterre.’

And I was…

 

“Did I get caught in a mental magic trap?”

Ah, that’s why I’d suddenly become stuck in the memories of the olden days.

I took a moment to breathe and looked around.

 

It wasn’t as dark as before. I could see furniture such as desks and chairs scattered around.

‘I walked all the way here while caught in that trap.’

The structure of the trap I got caught in was unusual.

Unrelated to the lever or the exit, it seemed to be designed to immerse the target into their memories by pulling up fragments of the past. The target, trapped by nostalgia, would naturally lose control over their body.

 

They would be drawn towards the direction the trap was pulling them to, likely attempting to press this green book. And the moment they pressed it. 

 

The trap would activate and kill them.

“…The smell of blood.”

Sure enough, in the distance, right in front of my nose, there were unrecognizable scraps and stains spread out on the bookshelf. There seemed to be a method of periodically disposing of corpses that had been kneaded like dough by the trap.

 

‘It seems that the traps developed by Mephisto’s army have been modified for protection of the vault.’

 

This was definitely a place guarded by the swordmaster.

At first glance, it had no special traps, but that’s why it was easier to be caught off guard.

To think that death awaited me if I’d moved just a few more steps while being immersed in my memories.

 

It was perfect for dealing with intruders exhausted from overcoming hardships. However, it seemed that Raphael in my memories didn’t want me to rot away trapped in this dark and gloomy vault.

Raphael had always been like that, afterall.

 

‘Thank you, Raphael.’

Natasha was a bonus, too.

 

“As expected, the answer is grit.”

Grit can overcome even mental traps.

 

Afterwards, I walked along the wall, reflecting on the structure shown in the blueprint. Inside the showcases with iron bars enchanted with traps, there were various objects. They were so diverse that they didn’t feel like treasures at all. 

 

Starting from a wooden chair where a seemingly noble figure had peacefully passed away (I don’t understand why it’s considered a treasure), to a garden chair that the founding emperor favored (similar case).

 

“This is the toenail clipper used in ancient rituals…”

 What an extraordinary item, indeed. 

 

Passing through the perplexing treasures, I came across one that would make anyone that looked at it gasp.

“The Leleria Meter.”

 

 It was here. 

 

The Leleria Meter was a magical device that measured the combat power of the target being measured. It was known for its accuracy, and since there is only one item left, it is considered a treasure.

 

Should I steal it?

 

‘…Let’s hold it in.’

 

What was the point of measuring combat power anyway? I wasn’t crazy about it like Jean.

“…….”

 

I used Rue’s trap dismantler to neutralize the magic detector surrounding the bars.

Then, I bent the sturdy bars and stuck in my hand, stealing the meter. 

I couldn’t help it.

 

 ‘It sounds like it’ll be fun.’ 

 

Now, I only had one use left for the trap dismantler. I checked the remaining treasures in an indifferent way, fearing that I would be tempted to steal them.

 

‘They have a lot of Rogue’s stuff too.’

And finally, I arrived at a small and compact iron bar. 

The item stored in this very place was my final destination.

 

“Hmm?”

Dian Cecht’s Diary!

Why was there nothing in there when it was supposed to be there?

I thrust my face closer to the cage, and examined it closely. Again, nothing.

 

‘It’s definitely this one.’

 

There’s no way they’d cast an invisibility spell only on the Diary.

“As expected, the swordmaster got his hands on it first.”

 

Then I didn’t have to explore anymore.

The agony was short-lived.

 

Without looking around the remaining iron bars, I immediately descended the cliff. According to the blueprint, this vault consisted of a total of four floors, but I never went up to the upper floors.

 

‘Staying in a space like this for too long can be dangerous in many ways.’

 

 What I felt while surveying the iron bars was that the recorded locations of the treasures on the blueprint were slightly different. Perhaps the structure was designed so that the location of the treasures would change slightly each time an intruder entered.

 

The map itself was probably a trap. 

 

‘The diary might be stored on the second floor, but… the higher I go, the more dangerous it will become.’ 

 

Vaults were usually designed to lure intruders deeper and to make it more difficult for them to escape. Following the direction marked on the map for the exit, I moved and formulated the next plan.

 

In truth, however, there was no real next plan.

 

‘For now, it’s much better to let the swordmaster have the diary.’

And then I’d steal back the diary from the swordmaster who stole it.

Although I’d found the next best solution, the current plan had ultimately failed.

 

I had to move without rest through the gap behind the pillar untouched by any light for 10 minutes, and squeeze my body into the crack between rocks, advancing through the narrow gap for 20 minutes.

 

 Shoo-ahhh. Finally, I heard the sound of the waterfall.

I walked towards the cascading waterfall, basking in the faint morning sunlight, with stars melting down. 

 

When I would pass through the curtain of water, the quiet birch forest would appear. 

At that moment. 

 

Swoosh.

 

 A sword emerged, cutting through the pouring water.

The blade, lying horizontally, narrowly passed between my left earlobe and jaw, coming to a halt. If my reaction had been even slightly delayed, it would have pierced my lower jaw and lodged itself in the rock on the side.

 

 ‘The numbers are…’

 Shoo-ahhh. 

 

The sound of the waterfall made it hard for me to gouge out the presence. No, what was more important was that the opponent was not an ordinary person. 

I touched my right ear reflexively. I could feel Rue’s magic tool.

 

In that moment,

 

 “Ugh.” 

A dark hand reached out from beyond the waterfall and grabbed my face. 

With the strong grip pulling my face, icy cold water poured over my head. The Milky Way in the sky beyond the waterfall came into my view. 

 

In the midst of it all stood a large man.

---

 

This is why Daisy was so angry about the pub not being a safe place in earlier chapters. because they were a space safe to her.