Chapter 5 (5/302) #005
The identities of the monster and the man didn't matter one bit.
Catherine bolted into the mansion and raced up the stairs. Her mind was half-lost in panic from the unexpected chaos. No matter how she thought about it, that monster wasn't going to cough up compensation for damages. So who the hell's going to pay for my collapsed house?
"Huff... huff..."
Whoooosh.
A chill wind brushed her cheek, even though she was clearly indoors. Catherine stood dazed near where the bedroom had been, staring straight ahead. It had taken less than a minute to climb up here.
Yet right before her eyes, the goat-headed monster that had been bellowing so ferociously moments ago lay collapsed on the floor, crumbling into a handful of ashes.
"Tch."
A short tongue-click came from the man standing in front of it. Catherine edged forward very carefully toward him. That back of the head was definitely one she recognized. His pristine silver hair, like a mermaid's scales, was dyed a vivid red by the afternoon sky and seemed to blaze fiercely.
Catherine grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him toward her.
"Hey."
His clear cobalt eyes rolled gently toward her. It was him, no doubt. The guy who'd tossed her 100 reids and left! No, the gentleman!
"What are you going to do about my house? This is the section I slaved over like a dog for a whole week to clean!"
The man seemed to have anticipated her arrival. Without a hint of surprise, he stepped back and casually brushed her hand off.
"...Cleaning? You're saying you cleaned this entire massive mansion by yourself?"
The glass shards had vanished without a trace. He scanned the ruined bedroom—or what had been the bedroom—and muttered loud enough for anyone to hear.
"Impressive stamina."
"What about my house, you lunatic!"
All the time she'd spent pondering his extraordinary identity had turned to dust. She'd been cleaning tirelessly, eyes fixed on a beautiful future... and now it felt like all that hard work had gone down the drain. Her limbs went limp at the thought.
"Let's calm down first, Miss Panya."
But the man at the center of it all—what gave him the right to look so smug? He tossed out useless words that weren't even comforting, capping it off with that infuriatingly fresh smile.
A boil of anger and irritation bubbled up inside Catherine's chest.
"Calm down? My house just collapsed, and you're telling me to calm down?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Why don't you open your eyes wide and take a good look around? The house collapsed? Were you dreaming on your feet, perhaps?"
At first, she thought this madman was spouting nonsense. Catherine clutched her dizzy head and took a step back. She figured she'd steady herself, call the guards, and have him hauled away.
But...
"See? Your house is perfectly fine. The hallway's just as it was. The mansion you cleaned like a dog is unscathed and intact."
Why was the mansion fine?
It was definitely all collapsed before.
Catherine's bewildered gaze swept over the neatly restored bedroom. The fallen ceiling was back in place, the shattered furniture stood whole again. Even the tattered canopy that had swung like a swing.
All of it had changed in the blink of an eye.
Did I...?
Was she dreaming a dream within a dream? But no matter how she looked, everything was pristine. The canopy with its ugly holes was back to normal. The faded old carpet, the broken grandfather clock that wouldn't tick—all of it sat there as if nothing had happened.
After scanning the room, Catherine finally turned to the man. His silver hair, once red from the setting sun, had returned to its clear, silvery sheen.
Only a handful of people across the continent could wield such powerful magic.
"You... you're Duke Chezare, aren't you?"
Duke Chezare Christopher was said to be a grand archmage who could slay even evil dragons. For a man like that, this magic would be child's play. Her wild guess had been spot on, after all. Cold sweat trickled down her back from the tension.
What would he say?
'Indeed, I am Chezare, the lord of this domain!' Or maybe 'Took you long enough, you lowly commoner.' He wouldn't deny it, surely...
"No, I'm not."
What?
"You're not?"
No way. Catherine's eyes widened as she scrutinized his features. Once, twice—she knew that handsome face plastered on newspaper headlines. And his beauty was the unforgettable kind you'd recognize in a glance. But there were two of them in the world?
"Well, I do get told I look similar sometimes."
He said it casually, then pulled over a nearby chair and sat.
Is he lying?
But why would a great noble hide his identity from her? This man was impossible to read.
Catherine silently watched him poke at nearby objects like he owned the place. If he wasn't the duke, what the hell was she supposed to do with this lunatic?
"...Wait here a second."
One thing was clear: getting tangled up with him would bring nothing good. Catherine dashed to the room, pulled out the bills hidden between the bookshelves, and returned.
He hadn't vanished like she'd half-hoped; he was still sitting there waiting.
She thrust the 100-reid bill at him. A whole 100 reids.
"Take it back. I don't need tea money or whatever."
He didn't take it right away. Afraid he'd hold it forever, she dropped it on his lap.
Staring at the bill on his knee, he finally spoke slowly.
"It'd be better put toward a new mansion. I don't take back money I've given."
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Taking back what you've given looks cheap."
Cheap? His pride? Catherine, who'd always scraped by, couldn't comprehend.
"Sorry, but I'm not planning to leave this mansion."
All her labor was too precious; she'd live here till she died, coffin and all.
"Might want to reconsider. You won't want days like this happening over and over."
"Didn't I tell you a few days ago? One more uninvited visit like this, and I call the guards."
At her threat, he quietly closed his eyes. It was nothing much, but tension choked her throat anyway. An unintended silence wrapped the bedroom.
When those long, lush lashes lifted, revealing blue eyes, they weren't looking at her.
"If you died, you wouldn't even be able to report it, let alone speak."
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Since when? The dead clock was ticking again. Catherine glanced at the steadily moving second hand, then at the man's face staring at it.
A mystical purple glow swallowed his eyes, then vanished.
"Of course, I'm not saying I'd do that. You saw them earlier, didn't you, Miss Panya? Those hideous monsters that weren't even human-shaped. They're after this mansion—or more precisely, the land it's built on. Meaning, situations like today could happen anytime."
His voice was leisurely and calm, but Catherine couldn't focus on his words. Something far more important dominated her mind.
That fleeting, iridescent purple in his eyes.
As far as she knew, vivid purple eyes weren't a color humans were born with.
No way.
To hide her trembling hands, Catherine quickly clasped them behind her back.
Impossible. That man's true nature was that?
He seemed to notice her agitation, but chalked it up to his threat.
"This is all advice for your sake. What would I do with a rundown dump like this? Mansions like it are a dime a dozen on every street corner."
Catherine hurriedly averted her eyes. The purple flicker in his eyes had settled back to cobalt.
Does the color only change when he uses magic?
The man fell silent for a moment. When she calmed her pounding heart and faced him again, his expression was as cold as a glacial wind.
She lacked the courage to ask why the monsters wanted her land. After great effort, she thawed her frozen tongue just enough.
"...Yeah, it's definitely worth thinking about."
She'd gotten the message; now she just wanted him gone ASAP.
"Glad you see reason."
He flashed that signature smile—eyes dead, lips curved.
After the man left the mansion, Catherine stood blankly in place for a while.
A mage with purple eyes.
Her heart grew heavy, and long-buried memories resurfaced.
...That's why races born with immense mana can be identified by eye color alone. And the most dangerous by far is purple. Catherine? Ignore the other colors—never, ever trust anyone with purple eyes. They are...
But it had only flashed briefly; normally, his eyes were blue. Meaning he disguised them as blue usually.
Exactly the kind of being her mother had warned her about so vehemently.
Now that she knew his identity, there was no more room for hesitation. Catherine had finally tasted freedom after years escaping Orleans. Sticking around just because she'd invested cleaning time was idiotic; who knew what tragedy awaited?
His true nature was that terrifying and shocking.
"Yeah, that's the rational choice. The most rational. So let's pack up."
She'd find an even better place soon anyway. He'd left her 1,000 reids total—100 plus another 900. Clearly a "take the money and scram" gesture.
This time, she'd accept his offer. 1,000 reids would snag a nice house in Christopher city for solo living.
She'd eat and leave, as he wished.
First, she grabbed the box hidden under the bed. It held her mother's relics—priceless to her.
Next, the bookshelf. With no real friends, reading was one of her few hobbies. Catherine knelt and gathered her old novels and poetry books.
"...Huh?"
Suddenly, her hand brushed something stiff. Something was stuck to the underside of the bottom shelf.
She set the books down and peeled off the paper. It was a drawing, not too old.
A portrait of a woman in antique attire sitting in a chair in this very bedroom, facing forward. A woman Catherine knew well.
"...Mother?"
Her fingers gripping the picture turned white.
I know this woman.
Catherine's mouth slowly fell open. She couldn't believe it. The previous owner of this bedroom had been her own mother—dead, or rather missing, for ten years.
That night, she couldn't sleep. With a lantern by her bedside, she stared endlessly at her mother's portrait until dawn broke and the sun rose.
Considering everything, it looked freshly drawn within the last ten years.
She'd long suspected her mother's death was a lie. But to confirm it like this, in this place?
Mother.
Her mother had been Catherine's everything. Time with her by her side felt radiant even in memory—like the world was hers, fearless.
Everything Catherine knew, she'd learned from her mother.
Why did you leave me?
For ten years, she'd repeated the unanswered question hundreds, thousands of times. Even free from Orleans, she couldn't escape her mother.
Catherine resented her endlessly, yet missed her so achingly it stung her nose. She wanted to see her, hold her, sob in her arms.
This mansion, bearing traces of that mother.
The purple-eyed mage who wanted to own it.
"...Haa."
Everything had its priorities. And Catherine's top one had been singular since the day her mother vanished.