#014
"You bastard, are you trying to tarnish the pride of a holy knight even further? Don't you dare use such vulgar words in front of us, bearers of a sacred mission!"
"Yeah, no thanks. I'm gonna use them anyway."
It seemed like childish bickering like this had been going on until Catherine arrived. For knights of all people to argue so loudly that passersby had stopped in their tracks to gawk at the spectacle.
Fortunately, Percival was nowhere in sight. She needed to shoo these holy knights away before things escalated further.
"Sir Demian."
"...Miss? What the hell is with that getup?"
"Shut up and come here first."
Demian, turning his head, widened his eyes at the sight of Catherine with a paper bag over her head. She pulled him back and addressed the holy knight.
"What's your business at my house?"
"Hm. So you're the owner of this mansion? You're dressed in quite the incomprehensible fashion."
Catherine's eyebrow twitched at the arrogant tone. This guy's talking down to me like we're equals.
"And?"
She shot back in the exact same tone, and the holy knight's face twisted in clear offense.
"Fearless, aren't you! But I commend your courage in facing us without fleeing, you sly devil worshipper!"
Devil worshipper? What?
"A mansion cloaked in such dark shadows right in the middle of the city! Good call setting our return route through Christopher. Did you think hiding on the duke's land would let you evade our eyes?"
Honestly—truly, brutally honestly—there were more than a few things that hit too close to home. But Catherine kept her face a perfect mask of utter confusion... well, hidden as it was, so she matched it with her voice.
I know nothing. I'm just an ordinary citizen of Christopher.
"You show up in broad daylight, and I have no idea what you're even talking about."
"You vile worshipper. Pretending ignorance in front of me is useless!"
Demian, who had been silently watching, whispered in her ear.
"The holy knights think you're a devil worshipper, miss. Probably because of that underground magic circle."
Figures. That damn magic circle was nothing but trouble her whole life.
What do I do?
The crowd of onlookers was already growing rowdy. Three or four holy knights clustered together like they were some grand show, surrounded by gawkers at a distance.
Guess it's that method after all.
No helping it now. She'd have to risk the awful rumors that would torment her later.
"Oh my god, marriage? A romantic propoooosal? I'm shocked! To think you'd propose to me!"
Let the whole world hear! Catherine bellowed at the top of her lungs, then quickly whispered to Demian.
"Do you know that guy's name?"
"Uh... Carlos Benzen."
Classic arch-rival tradition. Even remembering the name of a random passing holy knight.
Ignoring his bewildered face, Catherine shouted her nonsense again—this time aimed at the onlookers behind Carlos, not him.
"Oh, my love Carlos! Proposing the moment you return from your subjugation... Just how much more can you make my heart flutter?!"
Carlos, wearing an incredulous expression, coughed dryly and glanced around hurriedly.
"What the hell is this lunatic woman—"
"But Carlos, I can't accept you. I know you already have a lovely lover you've even shared a bed with. Doing this to me is betraying her!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder. Even the knights on their white horses, who had been facing straight ahead, rolled their eyes sideways to sneak peeks at Carlos.
Catherine covered her cheeks with a heartbroken voice and bowed her head. Not that it mattered much with the paper bag hiding her face.
"I even covered my face to hide my tears from you... But Carlos! If you want, I'm willing to run away with you! Away from the Papal Court, to our own paradise..."
"Damn it, shut your mouth!"
She'd noticed from how he kept falling for Demian's taunts earlier, but this Carlos Benzen was the type who couldn't tolerate even a hint of insult. His face flushed with rage as he gripped the iron gate.
One of his fellow holy knights, unable to stand it, grabbed his shoulder.
"Calm down. Raising your voice won't help, Sir Carlos. We should report to the temple and await orders."
"Don't make me laugh. That crazy bitch is trampling my honor, and you want me to calm down?"
"More people are gathering. Causing a scene on the duke's land..."
Screeech.
That was when it happened. The door of the white carriage swung open. The sound was barely audible, but the two chattering holy knights' mouths snapped shut in an instant. Their stiff faces turned toward the carriage, drenched in unmistakable fear.
"Haa..."
It was a languid, composed sigh. Or perhaps, to some ears, an irritated one. Catherine felt her hair stand on end—a sensation she hadn't had in ages. All thanks to the arrival of none other than Percival Benedict Parhenrine.
"Boring."
He hadn't changed much from before. The soft dark brown hair, the gentle eyes flickering with a fiery aura—they were all the same. He looked like he'd walk the path of righteousness, but Catherine knew the truth: his core followed the exact opposite.
She knew. Those kind eyes and spring-breeze voice of Percival's were all fake.
Because he was...
"Boring doesn't even begin to cover it, Carlos. Pouring cold water on this already dull play? No fun and no tact? Haha, even a dog wouldn't be this doggish... He's a disgrace to holy knights in every way, right?"
...a hedonist and a scoundrel unfit for the title.
"Why the silence? Cat got your tongue?"
Stepping down from the carriage with a lazy stroll, he slung an arm over Carlos's shoulder. His smiling face brimmed with annoyance and boredom.
"Haha! Sir Percival, I..."
Both were holy knights under the Pope, but their standings were worlds apart. As the Pope's favorite and a royal heir, Percival was one of the top five power players in the entire Papal Court.
"Carlos."
"Y-yes, sir."
"Thanks to you, I'm dying of embarrassment. How about we head out?"
"Of course. Right away."
The moment Percival lifted his arm from his shoulder, Carlos spun around like he'd been waiting for it and mounted his horse.
Who knew that guy could be useful sometimes.
If they'd just slink away quietly now, it'd be perfect.
"Funny thing, isn't it."
Unfortunately, Percival wasn't the type to oblige. As he took one step, then two closer, Catherine furrowed her brow. She was glad she'd worn the bag over her head.
Leaning his forehead against the gate, Percival stared at her intently. His rose-red eyes felt like they pierced the paper, scrutinizing her eyes, nose, and mouth.
Catherine gripped the bag and stepped back.
"To think there's another girl out there as crazy as her."
No doubt the "her" he meant was Catherine herself. She'd thought he'd forgotten her existence, but to be mentioned like this...
A needless sense of crisis washed over her.
"Hey, what's your name?"
There was a strange curiosity in Percival's voice. She realized his tastes were consistent, after all.
No way in hell was she giving her real name, so Catherine blurted out the first random thing that came to mind.
"Goat shit."
Percival merely twitched an eyebrow, showing no real reaction. Instead, he peeled away from the gate and backed off slowly.
"You should watch out, Goat Shit. My friend Carlos here has nothing but his bloodline, so he's narrow-minded with a long grudge."
With a playful chuckle, he climbed back into the carriage. And just like that, the Papal Court's holy knights kicked up dust as they vanished toward the city center.
"Haa."
Forget the aftermath—for now, it was over, and that was a relief. Mingling long with Percival would bring nothing good.
Catherine yanked off the paper bag and headed back into the mansion.
Dinner ended, and one by one, they gathered in the drawing room as if on cue, taking their seats. In front of the flickering fireplace, Roze fanned herself with a handkerchief, while Demian nodded off drowsily. Everyone looked a bit worn out.
"Hold on, pay attention."
Demian, who had been dozing hard, slowly lifted his eyelids. Seizing the moment with all eyes on her, Catherine spoke up.
"Mr. Demian? This is Miss Roze. She's our mansion's maid, valet, and butler all in one."
Roze, blinking in bewilderment, flashed a bright smile and greeted him.
"Ah, finally introductions? Nice to meet you, Mr. Demian! A young, handsome gardener like you is a first. Hehe! A pretty miss and a handsome gardener—guess I'm pretty lucky."
"And this is..."
Suddenly, Demian widened his eyes and stared at Catherine. His gaze was sharp now, no trace of sleep—clearly demanding she not mention his identity.
It was a hassle to explain anyway, so it worked out for her.
"...Mr. Demian, hired as our gardener. He'll be with us for just ten days."
"Yes. Pleased to meet you, Miss Roze."
"Oh, just ten days? Such a shame."
Roze pouted, draping her handkerchief over her knee.
"Anyway... what do we do now? That pig of a holy knight won't let this slide easily..."
"Hmm."
"What's to worry about? You're... well, Chezare's, aren't you?"
Demian waggled his pinky finger solemnly in front of Catherine.
"No matter how cocky they get, they'd shut up in front of Lord Chezare. Tell him what happened today, and those guys'll end up like me for sure."
Ask Chezare for help? On what pretext could she even do that? Their relationship wasn't lovers, friends, family, mentor and student—not even casual neighbors.
Asking him to watch her back in that situation would be beyond shameless—buried six feet under.
Catherine didn't want to owe him anything. Especially thinking of that brazen face of his.
Staring silently at the fire in the hearth, she felt a sticky gaze on her cheek.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Unable to take it, she spoke up, and Demian immediately fired back.
"Can I ask just one thing?"
"No."
As expected, Demian ignored her refusal effortlessly.
"I've been dying to know since earlier—my mouth's been itching. How'd you snag Lord Chezare? That guy's... not even acquainted with the letter 'L' in love."