Antagonized Bachelorette Enjoying a Simple Life - Chapter 38
Catherine's first instinct was to duck behind Demian. Vanishing from sight felt like the top priority, so she'd moved without thinking—but then it hit her. Hadn't Percival Benedict Parhenrine and Demian already crossed paths at her mansion?
"Anne? Magi?"
At Chancellor Col's worried call, Catherine peeked out.
"Your face suddenly looks pale... Is the food here not agreeing with you?"
Catherine shook her head vaguely.
"No, no. The empire's cuisine is hearty and familiar, just like back home. It's just... I get seasick."
"We're anchored right now, though."
"Th-that's the kind of seasickness that hits when you're anchored."
"There's such a thing? The world truly is wide, full of strange ailments."
Even as she bantered with Chancellor Col, Catherine's nerves were locked on Percival.
'Did he recognize me?'
If he had—and worse, if he approached—things could get messy. Sure, she never planned to see these people again, but Chezare was different. Slipping away seemed the wisest move.
"Chancellor."
"Yes?"
"Sorry, but I think this is where our paths part. It's that time of the month—standing here's getting tough. The party's just starting, but I need a rest."
"That time of the month? What...?"
She'd blurted it out deliberately, awkwardly. No face left to save anyway, and she just wanted him to let her go quick.
Col stroked his chin, suspicion flickering, then nodded firmly.
"Ah! I get it. Must be rough. My daughter went through the same a few weeks back with her blessing. Thinking of her ordeal..."
No. I don't care about your daughter.
At this rate, she'd be stuck listening to his chatter till dawn. Feigning agony, she finally escaped.
"Chancellor Col's infamous for his talkativeness, even in the capital."
Demian whispered from right behind her, assuming that's why she'd bailed.
"That's not it. Didn't you see, Demian?"
"See what?"
"Percival."
Pffft! Champagne surged back into Demian's glass from his throat.
Damn, gross.
Coughing, he shook his head with a sour grimace.
"Shit. Come to think of it, this passenger ship's owner is Jenan Parhenrine, right? No wonder the holy knights detoured through Christopher."
"Are all those holy knights from back then here too?"
"You mean that Carlos whatever? Probably. Holy knights aren't special—they're all rotten with worldly fame and greed."
His fierce scowl suggested he'd tangled with that sort more than once.
'Fair enough. A knight like Demian isn't exactly common.'
Narrow it to the imperial knights, and he was one of a kind. Content playing gardener at a rundown mansion over chasing glory? Yeah, only Demian.
They wove through the crowded deck to the railing. Away from the central throng of bigwigs, breathing got easier.
That's when they paused to gaze at the pitch-black sea darker than the night sky.
"Well, well. If it isn't Demian Rodria?"
The voice from behind made Demian stiffen. His thoughtful expression soured like he'd bitten dung—not a friendly vibe.
"Demian Rodria, right? Our First Knight Order's little bastard!"
He had to turn at the second taunt. Two tall knights eyed Catherine and Demian up and down.
'Handsome faces, but they give off a bad vibe right away. Rare feat.'
Catherine scanned them right back.
"Heard you got punished for screwing up. Now playing bodyguard to some foreign miss?"
"What a disgrace to the Iterana Empire... Not ashamed of that imperial crest on your chest?"
Demian openly grimaced at the barrage.
Catherine leaned over the rail and spat.
"Demian, your friends look like bad news."
"The one on the right? That's the guy I shaved bald two years back."
"Ah. The one who cried?"
They'd overheard. One knight's smug face twisted.
Like hyenas scenting blood, they whirled and beckoned someone.
"Hey, you lot! Over here—got a familiar face!"
Group bullying, huh? Catherine felt an odd familiarity.
'Knight orders or high society—people are the same everywhere.'
Demian was top-tier in the order, yet enduring this? Hard to believe.
"Let's just go."
Demian shrugged casually, tapping her shoulder. No big deal to him.
But it grated on her. She started walking as he wanted.
The knights weren't having it.
"Tch! Lowborn trash can't even show basic manners. Hey, Demian! If you're gonna act like that, just drop the sword!"
"That shameless prick gonna quit? Best gig for scum like you—keeps your throat greased."
"Who knows? Sell that body of yours like now, and life gets even easier."
Loud enough for all to hear. Irritation boiled into anger.
Tsk. Demian smacked his lips, scratching his neck awkwardly.
"Sorry, miss. My fault... Head back to the cabin? Not all knights are like that. These guys are extra twisted."
"Doesn't it piss you off, Demian?"
He shook his head firmly.
"Hell yeah. If I were alone, I'd have grabbed collars by now—full brawl."
Even to Catherine, his meek retreat felt off.
"But I'm in Duke Chezare's debt now. Gotta hold back."
'...Debt?'
Was that the word? Seemed more like brainwashing.
Demian, you're not in debt—you're a slave.
Abused at work, mind-controlled, mocked by thugs? Swallowing this was for suckers.
Catherine decided to step up for her gardener.
"Wait here, Demian. I'll ask my master if it's okay to go wild."
"Huh?"
Thumping her chest confidently, she bolted to the party center.
Ignoring Percival felt secondary to smacking these jerks—and getting Chezare's blessing would ease her mind.
Chezare stood out from afar, towering frame and silver hair gleaming like the Milky Way.
She grabbed his arm without hesitation.
"Master."
For a split second, Catherine forgot to breathe.
The moment his gaze turned—cold as an ice vault, sharp as a blade—it thawed instantly upon meeting her eyes.
It happened so fast she stammered.
"C-can I beat up the guys hurting my pride?"
He was surrounded by admirers, but his radiant smile blinded her to their stares.
Silent at first, he draped an arm around her shoulders and led her away.
Then, low-voiced: "You came all this way to ask that? No need. Do whatever you want."
So very him—she couldn't help retorting.
"Why? You don't even know what I'll do."
"Then what do you want to do that you're growling threats?"
"Not threats... Fine, set a line then. So I don't go too far."
She didn't want regrets later.
"If you insist... Hmm. Just don't yank down the crown prince's pants in public. That work?"
No clue.
But she got the gist: he'd back whatever she did.
Nodding, she returned to Demian at the rail—expecting him chilling with a drink.
But today's Demian ignored her predictions.
She arrived to pure chaos.
Kyaak!
Demian's swift fist cracked across a man's cheek. Hard enough to drop the knight flat.
"Kuh...!"
"Hey, buddy. Missed my fists, huh? Only way you'd keep yapping."
She'd overestimated his patience.
Right—Demian didn't take hits lying down.
"Demian, you psycho! Know where you are before swinging?"
"Fucking bastard can't even tell up from down..."
Ptoo. The knight spat blood-mixed saliva, hauling himself up.
Experienced, clearly.
"Bastard" reignited him? Demian, dusting his knuckles, mounted the rising knight.
"Hey. Don't wanna choke on stew forever? Bite down."
"Guh, w-wait!"
Catherine had no urge to stop their "chat." More like, should she?
The knights' trash-talk included her—satisfying payback clashed with worry for Demian.
But a mediator arrived first.
"Sir Demian."
The voice belonged to a slender yet sturdy female knight.
"Eyes everywhere. Release that fool's collar and stand down."
Surprisingly, Demian complied, rising reluctantly. Grumpy still.
The knight stood ramrod straight, declaring like an edict.
"Your foul temper doesn't excuse breaking order rules. Tarnishing the imperial knights externally demands severe punishment. This incident goes to the captain."