Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Doubts and a Late-Night Letter
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In the carriage heading back to the castle.
Esille rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the ever-changing scenery outside the window with clouded eyes.
‘Today’s Theorad was definitely off.’
The Theorad she knew was a gracious nobleman with a gentle disposition.
He treated the servants kindly, and he never uttered a harsh word even to the slaves.
That didn’t mean he was spineless, though. He knew how to speak up when something was wrong, and he could confidently voice his opinions even in front of his father, the count.
On top of that, he never shirked the duties that came with his privileges, and his diligent attitude in all things served as a model for the other nobles. He was nothing like those title-holding rabble.
Esille herself had been drawn to that charm of his, pestering her father in her youth to secure their engagement.
She had thought he was someone she could trust and rely on for life.
‘So why?’
How could a man with such an upright character turn into a complete scoundrel overnight?
Esille still couldn’t comprehend it.
‘Did that elf enchant him?’
The elf that Theorad had recently purchased as a sex slave.
She had been angry that he’d bought a sex slave while engaged to her, but she endured it. After all, it was common for nobles to keep sex slaves in their households.
Even a man like Theorad, who had no taste for women, needed some way to relieve his pent-up desires.
But when she saw the elf at Theorad’s mansion, jealousy welled up unbidden.
‘She was beautiful.’
Esille, who had heard the word “beauty” countless times herself, had no choice but to acknowledge it. The elf exuded an allure that was utterly captivating.
Her flowing silver hair was like translucent silk, and her red eyes gleamed as purely as crimson jade.
Her glossy lips and curvaceous figure—what more could be said? It was the epitome of a race said to rival succubi in beauty.
Still, she decided not to show her jealousy outwardly. It wouldn’t befit a noble. So she greeted Theorad brightly and said what she had originally planned to say.
And yet.
—Something as vulgar as you is perfect for that kind of work.
Theorad had started insulting the elf out of nowhere. It wasn’t the Theorad she knew. It felt unnaturally like he was acting like someone else.
“Hmm.”
Esille pondered. Why had Theorad suddenly started acting like a thug? Was there a reason he had no choice but to behave that way?
‘Does he want to break off the engagement?’
That didn’t make sense. Marrying the second daughter of a count’s family would not only elevate the prestige of Viscount Deharm’s house but also bring in massive gains.
In noble society, which revolved around connections, marriage into the upper echelons was a surefire way to climb a rung higher in status.
Beyond that, Theorad had shown her nothing but affection up until now.
He had sent her a carriage full of flowers, handed her handmade crafts as if they were trifles. Just before she left for the capital, hadn’t he read her a poem he’d written himself, right in front of her?
It defied logic for such a man to change completely in just a week. That was what “self-contradictory” meant.
‘Then…’
If breaking off the engagement wasn’t the goal, the only one left at whom Theorad might be putting on a show was the elf.
‘A master minding his slave elf’s feelings?’
That was just as illogical.
Neither seemed like the right answer, yet one of them had to be.
But reasoning from either assumption led nowhere solid.
Her head began to ache. Esille furrowed her brow, closed the window, and leaned back against the carriage seat.
‘I’ll find out in time.’
Soon, Theorad would arrive at the castle as regent, and they’d have time to talk alone.
Then she could clear up this lingering misunderstanding and face the truth.
‘I won’t tell Father…’
Judging the whole from a single glimpse was foolish. Esille decided to keep quiet about Theorad’s disgrace for the time being.
*
Late at night.
I sat slumped before my father’s statue, tearing at my hair.
“You idiot…”
What kind of nonsense was that about dying if you were kind to slaves? It was utterly ridiculous. No matter how desperate the excuse, I shouldn’t have spouted such drivel.
It would’ve been better to claim I was disciplining her for some major screw-up the day before. At least that might’ve avoided total disaster.
“Haa…”
Belated regret brought sigh after sigh.
Someone once said regretting the past changes nothing, but that only applies to those who never made a past worth regretting.
No matter how much I didn’t want to dwell on it, the memories replayed in my head on their own. How was I supposed to forget?
And the person I’d shamed wasn’t just anyone—it was my fiancée. What had been slowly progressing between Esille and me, built on mutual affection, had shattered in an instant.
‘That damn elf.’
That scheming demon bitch must have deliberately pushed me into ruin. Cutting off all my relationships to make me her possession—wasn’t that exactly it?
I ground my teeth in fury, but nothing changed. With her holding my life in her hands, my struggles were just amusing her.
Still, I couldn’t afford to despair. The more I sank into hopelessness, the more I played into that demon’s hands.
For now, I had to go along with what she wanted while ceaselessly searching for a way out.
An opportunity would open up eventually. Someday…
Rustle.
As I clung to that forced hope, someone held out a letter.
A letter? The seal on the wax was unfamiliar—I’d never seen it before. Wondering where it came from, I stared at it blankly until I realized it must be the slave trader’s reply.
I’d sent it via witch express delivery, so they’d probably written the response right then and there.
They must’ve said they’d take her back, right?
“Ah. Thanks for delivering the letter…”
I reached for it happily and looked up, only to feel every cell in my body freeze.
“You’re welcome.”
The one handing me the letter.
“Master.”
It was the elf.
Her smiling down at me sent chills down my spine for reasons I couldn’t fathom.
Like a rat cornered by a cat in a dead-end alley. That was me right now—breathing felt burdensome, the situation so terrifying.
But showing it here would only confirm her suspicions. I fiddled with the brooch at my throat, clearing it as calmly as I could.
“Hmm.”
Of course, inside I was screaming. No, screaming wasn’t enough—my fractured selves were dashing about like a mage who’d accidentally activated a world-ending spell array. Pure chaos.
But I was born into a prestigious noble house, trained in every art of survival. I had to think clearly, no matter the hardship.
‘Why the hell did the elf deliver the letter?’
I’d told Habid to send it, so shouldn’t he be the one handing over the reply?
He’d know that. So if the elf brought it instead…
‘She intercepted it…?’
Habid checks the mailbox every morning. Normally, he’d have brought it tomorrow.
For the elf to have it now meant she’d opened the mailbox on her own, without permission, and taken the letter.
Three possibilities came to mind.
‘She broke the mansion rules on purpose because she wants me to insult her.’
First assumption.
The elf was flaunting her rule-breaking to provoke punishment. That smile wasn’t from knowing the truth—it was eager anticipation of the abuse to come.
‘Or she figured out I’m trying to return her.’
Second assumption.
She’d peeked at the letter meant for me and grasped the situation. That smile could be her blissfully pondering how to kill me.
‘Or maybe both.’
Third assumption.
I hated to think it, but what if she stole the letter to get insulted and just happened to see it was from the slave trader?
In that case, I was hopelessly her plaything.
‘Calm down first.’
All three were nightmares that shouldn’t happen, but it had, so I had to deal with it.
Standing silent wouldn’t improve things.
Worst was the third, then second, best the first. Praying for the first, I examined the seal.
‘No signs of tampering or breaking…’
The wax seal indicates the sender’s rank or house but primarily ensures security.
Anyone unauthorized trying to open it would leave traces.
This one was pristine. She hadn’t pried it open by hand.
I glanced sidelong at the elf, then back to the letter.
‘Could she have used magic to read it?’
I’d never heard of x-ray magic, but a clearly grandmaster-level elf surely had her own magical system.
Peering through paper would be trivial if she wanted.
But x-ray wasn’t foolproof. With the letter folded in layers, the text all jumbled—could she even make it out?
‘No. Near impossible.’