Since they no longer had to adjust to the child's slow, faltering steps, they moved noticeably faster through the corridors.
Ryder, pressed close to the butler and covering his mouth with one thin hand to stifle a cough, was the first to break the silence. He had already learned that the ability to introduce a conversational topic at the right moment was part of the responsibility of one in a higher position.
"About Lady Rohanson... are all aristocratic ladies like that?"
The most natural thing to discuss now was the woman he had just seen. Lady Rohanson struck him as strikingly strange. Every strand of hair, every eyelash, seemed crafted with a frightening, almost excessive precision.
This refinement reminded him of the transparent glass angel figurine that decorated his room. That same lady, as though shaped from frozen glass, had bowed elegantly to him.
"And I should become like that too?"
There had seemed to be nothing random in her movements. Even the angle of her fingers appeared deliberate and calculated, her posture impeccable. Ryder was genuinely amazed by the precision of her bow—as though it had stepped straight from the pages of an etiquette manual.
"...I don't know."
The butler answered quietly, softening the end of his sentence.
Over his many years of service to the Marquis's household, Luck had encountered countless aristocrats, but he had never met one quite like Evangeline. His experienced eye told him immediately that something was unusual about her—but for Ryder, it was different. The boy simply had no experience interacting with other young nobles.
Typically, children of noble families grew up among their peers from an early age, accustomed to each other's company. But Ryder had been denied this. He probably no longer remembered, but when he was very young, the Marchioness had once invited the children of a Countess with whom she maintained a close friendship. It had seemed a natural and appropriate step—an attempt to give her son companions his own age.
But everything had gone wrong. The Count's children had told Ryder that "the curse is contagious." It wasn't hard to guess where they had picked up such words. The Marchioness had sternly reprimanded the children and immediately severed relations with the Countess.
The woman's final words had been the height of arrogance. Amidst a stream of indignant protestations, one sentiment rang clear: how dare the Marchioness be angry and reject her "good will" when she had merely sent her children to play with someone she believed had been rejected and cursed by God himself?
After that incident, guests at the Marquis's house became rare. When Ryder's health deteriorated further, visits ceased altogether. And so Evangeline Rohanson had become the first guest to cross the threshold in three years.
"You don't have to become like that."
_You won't live long enough to reach Evangeline's age anyway._ Luck swallowed the words, not allowing them to escape his lips.
Yet, deep down, he felt a vague unease. Rumor had it that Evangeline Rohanson had been sickly since childhood, bearing a curse that even holy water couldn't cure. And yet here she stood—alive and unharmed, as if she herself had proven those stories wrong.
What if Ryder one day managed to overcome his innate weakness? What if he, too, changed as radically as she had? The thought was unpleasant, disturbing, and Luck had no desire to pursue it further.
The cursed child, unaware of the thoughts tormenting the butler, continued to speak with carefree enthusiasm, as though there was still room in his world for easy words and simple questions.
"I thought Lady Rohanson was an angel who came to take me away after death."
Luck mentally clicked his tongue. Evangeline Rohanson had no business being associated with holy beings, and the fanciful notions the Marchioness had instilled in Ryder were to blame for such delusions.
_Angel? How can you, cursed as you are, ever fall into God's embrace?_ It was a shame he was still just a child, but even in death, Ryder would never find peace.
"And you, butler—did you think so too?"
"I was frightened."
"Frightened?"
"Yes. I would never want to meet her again."
Luck felt not merely rejection, but genuine fear. Perhaps its source lay in the vague but persistent thought that Ryder might one day grow up to become something like her.
Evangeline's words returned to him unbidden. She had spoken calmly, almost mockingly, but that only made it worse. She had noticed that he was overly invested in the Marchioness de Toten's affairs—that he had so unhesitatingly shared all the inner workings of the house with a guest he had never met before.
In that moment, his heart had trembled painfully. It felt as though she had effortlessly peered into his hidden, forbidden thoughts, and fear had risen naturally, almost instinctively.
Had she truly grasped something from a few phrases? Or had she gone further and conducted her own investigation? Or perhaps the Marchioness herself, suspecting his hidden intentions, had asked this lady to uncover the truth? These tangled conjectures swirled through his mind, refusing to grant him rest.
Fearing that the Marchioness might actually discover something, Luck had decided to act preemptively. He had informed Ryder that a guest had arrived and arranged a meeting between the three of them. As long as the child was alive, the Marchioness would not dare take any drastic steps. Luck was certain of this.
He looked at the boy pressed against him, at his weak, uneven breathing, and something inside him tightened.
Evangeline's remark about someone mistaking him for the true master of the house echoed in his thoughts again. He didn't even dare entertain such notions. Luck sincerely considered himself a mere servant. Something else irritated him far more deeply. In the Marquis's house, which he had loved and served his entire life, there lived proof of divine rejection.
The Marchioness was a wise and caring ruler. For the sake of her cursed son, she had donated enormous sums to the temple, depleting her fortune. She had already been living in the capital for four years, leaving her lands unmanaged. Luck was convinced that Lord Raufos, the Marchioness's brother, should inherit the house—not this dying child. It would be wiser and more beneficial for everyone.
One need only compare the family's situation now with how it had been ten years ago, when the Marquis was still full of strength, for the answer to become painfully obvious.
---
While they exchanged impressions of Evangeline Rohanson, the corridor led them to Ryder's room. Luck tucked the boy into bed and was about to leave when he felt a child's hand grasp him—weakly but insistently—by the hem of his robe.
"Butler. I want a lullaby."
He meant the lullaby the Marchioness always sang him before sleep. Normally, Ryder would never have been so demanding with the butler, but tonight he looked especially exhausted.
"I cannot sing as well as Madame, but if you permit me, I will try."
Luck stroked the child's head and began a disjointed lullaby. His wrinkled old hand moved across Ryder's hair, as though wanting to absorb all the boy's remaining life force.
"...Are you sleeping?"
The child had already drifted off, his breathing shallow but even. Luck brought his hand close to the boy's nose, felt the warmth of his breath, then slowly withdrew it.
That aged hand traveled from the soft tip of the child's nose to his thin, vulnerable neck. It lingered there, caressing the sleeping boy's throat.
The cowardly old man could not bring himself to act. He could only pray that God would claim the child's life quickly.
"Please die soon."
He offered his prayer to the merciful God. Then, holding his breath so as not to disturb the child's rest, he quietly departed from the room.
The door closed with a soft creak of its hinges. In the ensuing silence, the even breathing that had previously synchronized with the ticking of the clock suddenly became ragged—as though it had absorbed moisture.
**_The child knew perfectly well that in this world, only his mother truly loved him._**
---
It had been quite some time since my visit to the Marquis of Toten's house. The debut was just around the corner. Counting the days, I suddenly realized there were only three remaining.
Three days. Seriously—just *three*?
The thought seemed unreal. Time appeared to have accelerated, rushing past and leaving me no chance to catch my breath. I sat there, sighing about how mercilessly it slipped away for everyone around me—and somehow especially quickly now.
That day, Gabriel stopped by the Rohanson estate again. At my request. He had warned me beforehand that he'd been overwhelmed with work and wouldn't arrive until late. In the end, he was several hours delayed. I had already concluded he wouldn't appear at all, grown weary of waiting, and fallen fast asleep. Just when my slumber was at its sweetest, I was awakened by the announcement of his arrival.
_What treachery—to disturb my sleep tonight of all nights!_
I had dreamed of a woman in a white dress. She had gently stroked my head. I couldn't make out her face, but for some reason, in the dream, I had called her *mother*. I hadn't experienced anything so warm and peaceful in a long time, and I certainly hadn't expected the vision to be cut short so unceremoniously.
However, I had asked Gabriel to come, so there was no one to blame but myself.
When I emerged, he was already waiting in the drawing room. The butler, as always, had demonstrated impeccable care. Gabriel sat calmly, without the stiffness he'd shown on previous visits. The first time he'd come, he had been tense—as though entering some unfamiliar lair—but now, after several visits, he seemed almost at home.
I couldn't help but notice the generously laid table. The food appeared abundant, even excessive. The servants, who had previously been scurrying about and clearly uncertain how to react to a holy knight visiting the home of the infamous lady, now conducted themselves with restraint and quiet confidence. They had finally grown accustomed to Gabriel's presence.
Noticing me, he immediately rose and straightened, as was proper.
"I apologize, Lady Rohanson. I'm late."
_You're late, you disturbed my sweet sleep, and you think an apology alone will suffice?_ Of course it would! Did I have any right to complain about such a flawless protagonist?
"Were you occupied with official duties?"
"If you're looking for an excuse, then yes. We of the Order of Paralos are providing security at the celebratory reception in honor of His Highness the Crown Prince's birthday."
Gabriel seemed slightly self-important—deigning to visit me despite being so busy. Although, as a taciturn protagonist, he would hardly have spoken so pointedly.
After Dolline's eloquence lessons, all the words in the world now seemed laden with hidden meaning and irony. It was a disaster. Because of this, I might even misinterpret a compliment and take offense. That would be the moment I truly became a villain.
"Did you meet with the Marchioness de Toten without incident?"
"Haven't you heard from her?"
"Since then, the Marchioness hasn't appeared at the temple. I sent a letter, just to be certain, but there was no reply."
Given her connection to Gabriel, I had assumed she would have already passed on any relevant messages. But it seemed the Marchioness Toten hadn't visited the temple since our meeting. I hadn't heard from her either.
"Perhaps something happened?"
The words were soft, but it was essentially an interrogation. _Oh._ Gabriel, are you suspecting me? Do you truly believe I threatened her into avoiding the temple?
It seemed the scales were slowly falling from his eyes due to those strange rumors. Today, then, it was time to be a little charming—to reliably lure him back into my net.
"It seems Lord Toten doesn't have much time left."
"The Marquis's heir?"
I would have to tell him everything as it was. If I began vehemently denying any wrongdoing, there might be a second investigation later.
"The Marchioness asked whether there was a way to cure a sick child—like I once was."
"And what did you tell her?"
"That it was impossible without sacrificing a life to a demon."
In short: absolutely impossible. Gabriel knew about my possession, so he understood that no one could be cured the same way.
"...There truly is no way?"
But contrary to my expectations, Gabriel asked the question with a note of doubt in his voice.