Alibi Secured, Inquisitor Intimidated
It was hard to keep staring into the deadly eyes of this heretic inquisitor who might kill me at any moment. I tucked the napkin I'd used to wipe my mouth into my pocket and quietly closed my eyes. 'Father, I'm sorry.' I'd promised to visit someday, but I hadn't expected to see you so soon. Is Mother doing well? I miss Grandfather and Grandmother too. I might be able to drop by today...
"Master."
The elf's voice cut through like a blade, making me cough awkwardly as I opened my eyes. The situation hadn't changed a bit, but now that I'd accepted the possibility of death, my mind felt as calm and still as a clear mirror over placid water. It was do or die anyway. And wasn't I born into a noble house, trained in countless arts of survival? This setback... no, even this level of crisis—I could find a way through it.
"You, Master..."
If I let the elf keep talking, she'd seize control of the conversation. Losing that would lead straight to my doom, so I couldn't just sit there silently.
"Shut up."
I clicked my tongue and set down my utensils. "How long do you plan to snivel in front of me looking like that? Or is this some scheme to ruin my appetite?"
"N-no, I just wanted to let you know someone tampered with your midday meal..."
"Then get out if you've said your piece. Don't loiter around like some slave expecting a reward."
A question mark seemed to float over the elf's face. My brazen attitude must have made her think, 'Maybe he's not the culprit?' Perfect. Now was the time to drive the point home.
"Head chef!"
I bellowed, and the head chef from the kitchen next to the dining hall flung open the door and hurried in. The portly middle-aged man rushed to my side and bowed deeply.
"You called for me, family head?"
"Yes. There's an uninvited guest at my meal. See to it that he's removed."
"Uninvited guest, you say..."
The head chef turned to the elf and flinched. Her charred clothes barely covered her chest—it was an odd sight at a glance. Besides, the elf was skilled in the kitchen and occasionally assisted him as a sous-chef. It was only natural for the kind-hearted chef to look worried.
"A-are you alright?"
At the chef's question, the elf turned her gaze. The chef shuddered under that icy stare, his shoulders trembling.
"Chef, do you happen to know when Master started eating?"
Her voice was like cracking ice, and the chef broke into a cold sweat, glancing at me for permission. I nodded calmly. That was precisely why I'd called him in.
With my approval, the chef swallowed hard and parted his thick lips. "About ten minutes ago, I'd say. That's when I brought out the food."
"Ah, ten minutes ago."
The elf's eyes shifted to the plate in front of me. To dodge her suspicion earlier, I'd shoveled food desperately, so the meat and salad were already half gone. The chef's testimony bolstered the credibility.
"Yes, Master must have started eating ten minutes ago."
Then who could it be? The elf shivered and let out a low chuckle. It was so chilling that both I and the chef fell silent for a while. After about a minute, the elf stopped laughing and smacked her lips.
"Sorry, Master. For barging into the dining hall looking like this. As punishment, I won't eat tonight. That's only fair, right?"
Had the elf ever expressed her will so stubbornly? Whatever it was, she was clearly more furious than usual, so I didn't argue.
"Y-yeah. Go on, then."
"Yes. Enjoy your dinner, Master."
The elf bowed at the waist to me and exited through the dining hall door. I maintained perfect posture until she was out of sight, then yanked at the brooch on my collar, gasping raggedly.
'I... I survived...'
Thank goodness my prepared alibi and quick thinking had worked. Otherwise, I would've been her dinner tonight.
"Haa..."
As the tension drained from my body, nausea surged up belatedly. Clutching my mouth, I groaned for a while before slumping against the chair's backrest.
"I feel like I'm gonna puke..."
At my mutter, the chef gasped and widened his eyes. Wondering what was wrong, I looked over—now tears were welling up in them.
"I-I'm sorry! If even you, family head, are saying you feel like puking, my cooking must have deteriorated terribly... I have no face to show!"
Misunderstanding. "No, that's not what I—"
"I'll handle fresher ingredients and redouble my efforts in culinary arts! Please don't fire me...!"
"Chef?"
"Right. This is no time to slack. I'll develop new recipes right away. Trust me—I'll make the finest dishes to satisfy you!"
With teary eyes full of resolve, the chef bowed to me and strode off. I felt a pang of guilt for the needless misunderstanding, but since he was recommitting to his craft, there was no need to stop him.
Smacking my lips, I raised my left hand and tapped the ring on my index finger. I wanted to check on the elf's current state.
Whirr—
A blue glow emanated from the ring, forming a rectangular window showing the elf's room. She'd already returned and was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly ahead. No clue what she was thinking.
—Who could it be?
She didn't move for a long time in that pose, then spat irritably. Her eyes narrowed sharply, brows furrowing.
—Who's targeting my toy?
Toy? Did she think the magical bomb in the courtyard wasn't my doing, but some assassin under orders targeting me, and she'd accidentally triggered it? A ridiculous guess, but to the elf who'd bought my innocence, it might seem logical enough. Either way, I was off the suspect list—relief.
—Annoying. Tsk.
The elf clicked her tongue and flopped onto the bed. Her alluring silver hair fanned out like a peacock's tail, absorbing the moonlight spilling in. I watched her gaze at the ceiling, blinking her blood-red eyes lost in thought, then deactivated the surveillance object. No need to watch anymore.
'Good that she doesn't think I'm the culprit.'
But her mood had turned stormy. Best to minimize encounters until it blew over. Proposing "consolation torture" to cheer her up might get my neck snapped.
'And the heretic inquisitor's coming.'
Doing anything like that beforehand and getting witnessed would hand the inquisitor ammunition for heresy charges. Better play it safe until then.
'I'll ask the head butler to assign her front courtyard cleanup.'
The distance from my office to the front courtyard was quite far; if I was careful, I could coast through a few days without issue. With a rough plan in mind, I sighed and picked up my utensils.
'He seemed to misunderstand, but eating it all will make the chef happy.'
My appetite had vanished thanks to the elf, but I couldn't waste food prepared with such care.
* * *
Three days later.
"Hm."
The heretic inquisitor, dispatched to the Deharm Viscount's mansion on the bishop's orders, lifted his head. A sharp sword hung at the waist of his black priestly robes.
"What a grand mansion at first glance."
Its vast scale was enough to intimidate visitors, naturally prompting thoughts of 'How mighty must its owner be?'
But Hamtarshin, heretic inquisitor of the God of Light, felt no awe. There was no need to revere a building erected by mere human capitalism, without divine will.
'Live in poverty and purity, obedient to the faith.'
According to the gospel God gave humanity, such noble extravagance was tantamount to deceiving the divine indirectly.
'Do these ignorant nobles not know that only cathedrals devoted to God may boast such splendor?'
Self-proclaimed followers of the God of Light who ignored His teachings made his blood boil. Hamtarshin shook his head and headed toward the inner courtyard.
With no prior announcement, no one came to greet him—and he didn't expect or desire one. He merely scanned the impeccably manicured front courtyard with indifferent eyes.
'The reputation isn't exaggerated.'
The neatly rounded shrubs lining the path and the uniformly trimmed bentgrass lawn spoke of the family head's dignity. Maintaining the front courtyard this well meant the servants and slaves were surely well-disciplined. Perhaps he'd even receive generous hospitality, he mused as he approached the entrance—then froze.
'What in the world?'
A pointed-eared, cat-like woman—no, an elf—was wielding pruning shears, hacking away at expensive shrubs willy-nilly. Hamtarshin stared, entranced by her beauty, but quickly deduced her identity.
'An elf...? And a slave, at that.'
Her sackcloth garb screamed slave. Steeling himself, Hamtarshin approached the elf with haughty strides.
"Hey."
No response. She just butchered the shrubs with an inscrutable expression.
"Didn't you hear me?"
Still nothing. She seemed lost in her own world, absorbed in some profound puzzle. Ignoring a mansion guest—and a heretic inquisitor, no less? And from a subrace forsaken by God, reduced to slavery? Rage boiling, Hamtarshin stormed up, seized her wrist, and yanked.
"Don't ignore my question, you subrace—"
He meant to lecture her, but flinched involuntarily. The elf, tilting her head to look up at him, was terrifyingly eerie for some reason. Prayers bubbled up unbidden in his mind; instinct rang alarms. It felt like a colossal darkness was swallowing him whole.
As Hamtarshin hesitated with a pained groan, the elf murmured curtly.
"Let go."
Her flat tone carried an irresistible pressure. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his jawline.
Why did a mere mansion slave exude such presence?
'God, do not lead me into temptation...'
Hamtarshin felt an unfathomable dread about what this mansion truly was.