Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Translation: godsn
After sending his party ahead, Matthias halted his horse at the center of a wide path cutting through the forest. Removing his hat, his disheveled hair tumbled over his forehead. The forest, swept through by a crimson commotion earlier, felt quieter than usual.
Today's hunt had been quite enjoyable. Matthias had hit every target he aimed for, and those moments were as thrilling as ever. Yet this lingering dissatisfaction likely stemmed from that one desperate bird that had managed to evade him.
Matthias slowly turned his horse's head, his gaze fixed in the direction of the cabin. The young girl who lived on his hunting grounds would always come sobbing into the woods after each hunt to bury the dead birds. He remembered it clearly because it was such an absurd sight.
But what about the girl who was no longer so young?
Chewing over this peculiar curiosity, Matthias raised his gun and aimed at a small bird perched at the tip of a branch.
Bang.
With a crisp gunshot, the bird dropped to the ground with a soft thud.
Leaving his prey where it fell, Matthias slowly urged his horse forward.
Once. Then again.
Aiming and firing, he advanced through the forest as evening descended. And along his path, one by one, bloodied birds fell from the sky.
She hated him.
With every grave she dug and every bird she buried, Leila repeated those words to herself.
She hated Duke Herhardt and his twisted tastes. She truly, utterly despised him.
Wiping her sweat-drenched forehead, Leila swallowed the sorrow rising in her throat. Just when she thought it was over, another bloodied bird lay a few meters away. Steadying her breath, she gripped her shovel and approached.
She didn't condemn all killing. Uncle Bill had hunted for food, and Leila herself had raised livestock. But this—this casual slaughter for mere amusement, this careless abandonment—she couldn't begin to comprehend it.
When would this summer finally end?
With a long sigh, Leila prayed for her favorite season to pass quickly as she buried yet another bird. A red-breasted finch, its beautiful patterns now lifeless.
It wasn't until she had ventured deep into the forest that she realized something was amiss. Duke Herhardt had always enjoyed hunting, and Leila had always buried the birds, but she didn't recall ever creating such a methodical trail of graves before. It was almost as if the dead birds formed a path.
Perhaps she should turn back now.
A foreboding premonition gripped her, and Leila stopped in her tracks. The sky above burned a vivid red. Following the crimson light, her gaze dropped to the thicket beyond the shrubs—and there she saw him. Duke Herhardt, seated on a felled tree trunk, watching her intently.
Her mind went blank as she swayed slightly, and he greeted her with leisurely ease.
"Hello, Leila."
Matthias von Herhardt's voice was as soft as the feathers of the birds he had shot dead.
"Speaking of which, Matthias is running late. The rest of his party has already returned."
Elise von Herhardt's eyes narrowed as she set down her cards. The card game was growing dull, and it might be nice to start dinner a little early—but Matthias still hadn't returned from the hunt.
"He said he'd take a stroll through the woods before coming back."
Claudine answered with a gentle smile, her expression radiant despite having just lost the game.
The noblewomen at the card table, well aware that her loss had been deliberate, regarded Claudine with approving smiles. The future Duchess, possessing tact, grace, and dignity—Claudine knew better than anyone the admiration reflected in their gazes.
"Anyway. Matthias is quite fond of that forest, you know."
As Elise von Herhardt lightly rang the bell, maids approached and began clearing the table.
The bored noblewomen, having gathered around the reception table once more, exchanged idle chatter while enjoying light refreshments. Trivial and predictable, yet delivered with the most elegant decorum.
"Oh, Claudine. Why don't you invite your friends and throw a party?"
At Elise von Herhardt's suggestion, Claudine's eyes widened in surprise.
"Me? Here at Arvis?"
"You must be bored entertaining us every day. Wouldn't you like a change of pace?"
"Oh no, not at all. That's not the case."
"My, how surprising. I'm joking, Claudine."
Her leisurely laughter revealed a face so youthful and beautiful it was hard to believe she was the mother of a son about to be engaged. She bore a striking resemblance to Matthias.
Even Elise von Herhardt, the Duchess whose beauty once captivated the empire and received universal acclaim, had failed to monopolize her husband's affections. Thinking of this made Claudine find women who clung desperately to love all the more ridiculous.
Like any man of his station, the previous Duke Herhardt had kept a mistress, but he'd avoided the folly of muddying the succession with illegitimate children. Though they might not love each other, the Duke and Duchess of Herhardt respected one another and remained faithful to their duties. A refreshingly uncomplicated family, free from the gnawing bitterness of meaningless hopes and desires. What Claudine wanted from Matthias wasn't so different.
"Don't feel pressured, Claudine. Think of it as a rehearsal. It would be delightful to have the mansion lively with young people for once."
Elise von Herhardt's smile grew even brighter.
"Wouldn't you all agree?"
Everyone present knew the question wasn't truly seeking their opinions.
"How truly generous and considerate of you."
Countess Brandt was the first to offer praise. Soon, the other noblewomen joined in with slightly exaggerated compliments.
Claudine lowered her head slightly, a shy smile playing on her lips. As she mentally listed friends she might invite, her gaze drifted unconsciously toward the window. Seeing the forest beyond the sunset-lit garden, a certain child came to mind.
Leila, that pitiful orphan living in the woods.
So polite, so aware of her place, yet somehow infuriatingly presumptuous.
"Would it be all right to invite Leila too?"
At Claudine's cheerful question, the noblewomen's brows furrowed.
"You can't possibly mean that orphan the gardener is raising?"
"Yes. That child—Leila Lewellin."
"Goodness, Claudine!"
Countess Brandt gave her a warning look, but Claudine remained unperturbed.
"That poor girl has likely never attended a proper party in her life. I'd like to give Leila one good memory."
Even while making such bold suggestions, Claudine never lost her ladylike grace and dignity.
"Now that I hear it, there is some merit to that idea."
A pleased smile appeared on the lips of Katharina von Herhardt, the family matriarch, as she observed Claudine.
"Do as you wish, Claudine."
Leila turned to look back at the path she'd walked while burying the bird. Then, when she turned to face him again, there was only one conclusion she could reach.
A madman.
No other words could possibly explain this situation.
Cold sweat broke out on Leila's palms inside her bloodstained gloves. Her chest pounded violently with a mix of fury and fear.
I have to run. The moment she turned to obey her barely coherent thoughts, his voice reached her again.
"Leila."
His expression was calm as he slowly called her name.
"Leila Lewellin."
Once more, the name he murmured softly sounded almost like a song.
Leila straightened her posture, using the shovel in her hand like a cane. She pressed her lips tightly together and steadied her legs.
Running would be pointless. If the Duke so much as willed it, he could easily catch her. The moment she acknowledged that fact, her mind grew strangely calm and clear.
Bowing her head in a stiff greeting, Leila lifted her trembling eyes to meet his gaze. As their silent stare stretched on, the rustling of the forest grew louder in the wind.
"Continue."
It was Matthias who broke the silence first.
"You have work to do."
He gestured with his eyes toward the underbrush, where what seemed to be the final prey of the hunt lay—a bird.
Leila trudged toward it, step by heavy step. The bird's bloodied ankle was tied with a red thread. It was the same thread she had fastened last year to the fledglings hatched by the river Schülter.
The bird, having wintered in some distant southern land and returned, had ultimately lost its life in the very place it was born. All for the sake of this man's fleeting amusement.
Without a word, Leila dug a hole and buried the bird. It was a task she had grown accustomed to—thanks to the slaughterer of those beautiful creatures standing behind her.
"That thread—did you tie it?"
He watched her, as if observing some sentimental scene, before speaking.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I wanted to recognize them if the migratory birds ever returned."
She answered as she covered the grave with soil.
"Though this wasn't the reunion I had hoped for."
When she exhaled a shaky breath and lifted her head, Duke Herhardt stood there, his expression unreadable.
"Do you want to scold me?"
He crossed his legs as he spoke. The smirk that flickered across Matthias's lips in that moment frayed the last of Leila's patience.
"...I can't say I don't."
"What's the issue?"
He raised a brow lightly.
"It's my land, my hunting grounds, and my birds. I merely hunted them."
"But Your Grace, the birds don't know that."
Think of Uncle Bill.
Even as the command echoed relentlessly in her mind, Leila finally opened her mouth.
"To them, it's just the forest. The place where they were born, grew up, and lived. A place they'd return to, no matter how far they flew."
"Am I supposed to understand the hearts of birds now?"
"That's not what I—"
Leila pulled off her bloodstained gardening gloves, gripping them tightly as she steadied her breath.
"But surely, you don't need to hunt them so cruelly?"
To force those words out, she had needed more courage than the day she boarded the train as a child with nothing but an address in hand. Regret surged belatedly, but the Duke showed no anger, no displeasure. That eerie calm only suffocated her further.
"Leila Lewellin, who understands the hearts of birds so well."
Matthias spoke at last, after a long silence.
"What exactly do you think hunting is?"
"Pardon?"
"Did you want me to hunt them kindly?"
His mocking tone scraped at her heart. Leila twisted the hem of her skirt in her hands, enduring the humiliation.
"...Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. Please pardon my rudeness."
"Why do you love birds so much?"
"I doubt it would interest Your Grace."
Unable to bear looking at him any longer, Leila lowered her eyes. The Duke said nothing.
"I've finished my work. I'll take my leave now."
She bowed deeply. Again, he remained silent.
Relieved, Leila turned to leave—but the moment she took her first step, a cold gunshot rang out.
She spun around, her face deathly pale. The Duke lowered the rifle he had aimed at the treetops and stared at her, unblinking. Between them lay yet another bloodied bird.
"What a shame, Leila."
He settled back onto the tree stump as if nothing had happened.
"Seems your work isn't done yet."