Antagonized Bachelorette Enjoying a Simple Life - Chapter 68
Chezare closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if recalling the very meaning of the word weakness. Watching him, Catherine was forced to confront anew just how fragile she truly was.
Percival is a knight representing the Papal Court, and from what he said, even Belial's contractor didn't seem weak.
But what about her? All she could do was borrow Chezare's mana to summon a queen. Just a few days ago, she'd thought that was enough to protect herself. If things got dicey, Chezare was there—he'd handle it in no time. But that only held true against humans or ordinary demons.
"What are you thinking so deeply about?"
Catherine snapped out of it and looked up. Chezare was resting his chin on his hand, gazing steadily into her eyes.
She didn't dodge the question and shared her honest feelings. "Just... I feel like I'm too weak."
"All humans are weak." It was Chezare's version of comfort.
"Out of curiosity—could great figures like His Majesty the Emperor or His Holiness the Pope take on an archdemon?"
The answer was merciless. "No."
So does that mean I really have no choice but to run for my life or hide behind Chezare?
Seeing her face fall, Chezare hurriedly added, "They could manage to drive one out of Eden, at least. By dealing with the contractor. Even we can't use half our power without one. We'd get thoroughly thrashed by the transcendents and chased back to the fires of the Abyss."
In other words, his power had been unleashed by contracting with her.
Then...
A level of power where she could face their contractors—not the archdemons themselves. Power she could wield alone, without Chezare's help. If she had that much, wouldn't he worry less?
And I wouldn't be shocked by the idea of being his weakness anymore.
Catherine made a vow to herself. She'd borrow all the wealth and power she wanted, but when it came to protecting herself, she wouldn't be a burden to Chezare!
"I'll get strong, Chezare."
She gathered his loosely clasped hands and patted the backs and fingers firmly—even though they wouldn't all fit in her grasp.
"I'll get strong enough to protect you."
Protecting herself was protecting him, after all.
Chezare's expression grew subtly complex at her words. It wasn't displeasure—quite the opposite...
"Becoming strong is no easy task, Catherine. To grow, you'll inevitably have to expend your lifespan."
"I'll do it anyway. When I set my mind to something, I make it happen."
Chezare let out a soft chuckle, flashing a picture-perfect smile. His face was completely relaxed, without a trace of wariness. It was a smile that almost seemed childlike. He looked so delighted that she couldn't even imagine he was mocking her.
He stared at her hands enveloping his, then spoke. "That's a fine declaration. So I just need to wait patiently until you can protect me?"
Well...
"That might take too long."
"Didn't you just say you make things happen? Or are you planning to get strong in about a hundred years?"
In a hundred years, she might really end up as the earthworm mage he'd joked about. To avoid that, she needed a concrete goal right now.
"For starters, I'll aim for Percival Benedict Parhenrine. He's around my age—if I push myself to the brink of death, maybe I can catch up?"
"Somehow your goal has skyrocketed."
Bonk. Chezare leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. His clear cobalt eyes curved beautifully right before her nose. She could make out every detail of his long, densely lashed eyelids, like threads of silver.
Catherine involuntarily dropped her gaze and swallowed. Her heart pounded so fiercely she feared he might hear it.
His low voice brushed lightly against her ear. "No matter how long it takes, I'll wait."
For some reason, she'd half-expected a kiss on the cheek, but thankfully, it didn't happen.
...Thankfully?
I had that delusion and now I'm calling it a relief?
Catherine calmed her racing heart and looked up. Chezare had risen and was standing by the door.
"On the day we head to Busperfield, come to my study. We're going together, so don't even think about sneaking off alone."
With that, his figure vanished behind the door.
Left alone, Catherine rolled on the bed and punched the pillow. Her heart itched unbearably from the inside.
The next day at lunchtime, the table groaned under dozens of dishes—so many it was impossible to take them all in.
Catherine, overwhelmed by the endless array, asked the Panya Marchioness, "Is someone coming today?"
The marchioness replied with a look that said, Isn't it obvious? "You're here, aren't you?"
"There didn't use to be this much food..."
"You're all grown up now, so you need to eat more and move more. You can't learn proper magic studies with that scrawny body. Stamina is essential even for mages."
Every word rang true. Catherine sampled dishes from nearby, each one flawlessly delicious.
"Black Lion."
Demian, who had been rapidly clearing his plate, looked up at the Panya Marchioness's call. "Y-yes, ma'am."
"You sparred with Panya's knights early this morning, didn't you?"
"Ah... haha! Yes. Word travels fast."
"How did it go?"
No wonder sweat beaded on Demian's forehead. He responded with cheerful gusto, as if he'd been waiting for the question. "It was awesome, no joke. I'd only heard rumors, but Panya's knights are on par with the Imperial Guard. Especially Sir Karl—he's a monster who could crush even our captain's massive ego..."
His praise continued unabated. From the sound of it, he was quite taken with Panya. And as fellow knights, he seemed to click well with the marchioness too. Catherine thought she'd been smart to bring him along.
"Will you come to Panya, then?"
Cough, cough! Demian, slurping pasta, pounded his chest. "Pardon?"
"I'm asking if you plan to join Panya, Black Lion. You seem to get along with Catherine... and if Duke Chezare deems you worthy to guard his pupil, you're surely untainted by politics."
Demian stared at Catherine in a daze.
Grandma wouldn't spill family secrets to just anyone.
The Panya Marchioness must have taken a liking to him from their first meeting. Catherine had sensed as much, which was why she hadn't shooed him away during the family revelations. The marchioness had always favored young talent. Demian's foolishness was a minor drawback, apparently dismissed as charm.
Catherine pretended not to notice his plea for help and speared some distant octopus. Mmm. The sour tang is perfection.
"Your Grace, I... I'm the illegitimate son of Prince Chebok... in other words, a bastard..."
"I'll ask Prince Chebok to hand over the Black Lion."
"...Is that possible?"
"What's impossible about it?"
The marchioness elegantly sliced lamb as she continued. "You've given no aid to your father, Prince Chebok, or the Seifran Crown Prince he backs."
Demian's face visibly darkened.
"Imperial knights usually leave the order upon reaching age—to inherit houses or take key palace posts. But you? What can a bastard swinging a sword for the palace achieve?"
Classic grandma—her words cut like a whip. (For reference, Sir Karl had once been reduced to tears by her verbal thrashing years ago.)
"Imperial Guard Captain? Bloodline issues make it impossible. Imperial guard? Even a bastard of royal blood can't protect fellow royals. And you're high in the succession?"
At least twenty royals would need to die for Demian to claim the throne.
The marchioness popped lamb into her mouth, dangling the bait. "Stay put, and Prince Chebok will use you predictably: ship you off as a son-in-law to some backwater house with an empty title, to rot away. Is that the life you want?"
This time, Demian countered. "What could I even do if I came to Panya?"
"Anything you want. Would adopting you as my heir offer less than life as Prince Chebok's bastard?"
Cough, cough! Demian pounded his chest again. "Y-Your Grace's adopted son?"
"That's the pretext needed to claim a prince's bastard. Did you think I meant to use you as a mere retainer?"
This could drag on through the entire meal. Catherine set down her utensils and cut in. "Grandma, I have something to say—may I share it and excuse myself?"
The marchioness, mid-bait, nodded.
Catherine wet her throat with juice and spoke. "I'm heading to Busperfield this afternoon. Not alone—Demian and Duke Chezare will come too. Just giving you a heads-up."
Better to warn about risks in advance. Hiding it to avoid worry, only to run into trouble in a tiger's den, would be far worse.
The marchioness's gaze sharpened. "Busperfield? What business do you have in that dangerous place?"
"It's where nephilim like me gather. Things to look into."
"With the duke accompanying you, I won't worry... but..."
Her face was incredulous as she continued. "How on earth did you meet the duke? I can't believe he'd go to a crude place like Busperfield for you."
Even to grandma, Busperfield was "crude." Explaining her full history with Chezare would take a day. Catherine glossed over it. "Nothing grand. I got lucky."
"Hmph."
After a moment's thought, the marchioness pulled a small glass orb from her bosom and handed it over. "This is—"
"A location-marking magic tool. Top-grade imperial issue—you can use it even if they pull some cheap tricks."
"How?"
"Smash it if trouble arises. Your position transmits to me. I'll inform His Majesty, then lead the border guard to rescue you."
Unbeatable backup. Catherine tucked the orb carefully into her ever-present bag. No need to use it, but one never knew.
Before she could rise, the marchioness added one last warning. "If anyone tries to harm you, invoke this old woman's name first. Any sane fool won't dare touch you. The insane ones... they'll pay the price."