First Adoption (3): The Blood Witch, Beatrice Edenberg
The Blood Witch, Beatrice Edenberg. Five years from now, she would awaken as a disaster who played a major role in dragging the world into ruin.
It was predestined.
It had been seven years since I possessed this world. I knew the game that formed the basis of this world, and I knew its worldview was a dark fantasy where even dreaming of a bright future was impossible.
Though I'd suddenly been thrust into the game world, I couldn't just wallow in despair. Once I grasped the truth of this place, I set one clear goal on earth: If a mere mercenary like me couldn't stop the apocalypse, then I'd recruit the very disasters set to unleash it.
And the first lead was this girl. The fallen lady of the former Edenberg count's family—or at the moment, a wandering orphan scraping by in the city's back alleys. But deep inside her lurked a monster that would one day drown the entire empire in a red sea.
Beatrice Edenberg.
I have to civilize her somehow. There were no other options.
Time remained before she awakened as the Blood Witch, so how I handled things could change the future.
To that end, I'd spent seven years as a mercenary—a line of work never meant for me—pushing my body to the brink and scraping together coin.
All to recruit Beatrice. Or more precisely, to stop her from becoming the Blood Witch.
It would burn through a fortune most commoners couldn't dream of in a lifetime on that item... but every penny was necessary. No regrets.
I had no doubt I was on the righteous path.
In the empire's north, the city of Handel—close enough to the Imperial Capital Dersia but far from Edenberg. I'd brought Beatrice here by train after picking her up from Edenberg's alleys.
The modest two-story mansion I'd prepared long ago was plenty spacious for a family of four. For a girl like Beatrice—barely fifteen, if that—it was overflowing.
I sat at the table under the dim lamp's glow, gazing steadily at the girl across from me.
"Hmm."
For some reason, ever since our game of hide-and-seek in Edenberg, she'd been remarkably obedient, following me without protest.
"Why, does it not suit your taste? I can prepare something else if you'd like."
"...Ugh."
She even wore an apron that suited her age perfectly, yet she wouldn't touch the food.
I wondered if the menu displeased her and asked, but Beatrice gave no reply. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale with obvious fear.
Even my steady gaze overwhelmed her; her lashes fluttered as she stifled hiccups.
Feels like I've turned into the villain here.
Hiding my awkwardness, I had no choice but to pick up my utensils first.
It might look like a kidnapping from the outside, but it wasn't. I'd asked her consent properly, never forced or bound her.
For Beatrice—tormented daily by that disease in the alleys—wasn't a decent home like this far better?
"Miss Beatrice."
At least, that's what I believed. Knowing her future's misery made it obvious.
"I understand your confusion. A strange man appears out of nowhere and drags you to a far-off city—how could you not have doubts? Perfectly natural."
"..."
"I just thought we could eat, let you relax a bit, then talk... Hmm. Wrong call, it seems."
Beatrice still said nothing. She had no intention of speaking at all.
She hadn't uttered a word even when boarding the train at my lead. If talk flowed easily now, it'd be laughable.
I leisurely sliced the meat with my knife and spoke to her.
"How's this? If you're uncomfortable, I won't say another word from here on. No pressure intended. Whenever you're ready—or if something piques your curiosity—just ask me anything. Anything at all."
"...?"
Beatrice eyed me warily, but one brow twitched faintly. She seemed unsure what I meant.
I didn't press. Just shrugged and continued my meal in silence, as promised.
"Mm."
Not the moment for it, but I'd wandered this world as a mercenary for seven years. When you can't even hole up in a village sometimes, cooking skills become essential. I'd honed mine back in college before possession, as a hobby for solo living.
Perfectly cooked.
I chewed slowly, savoring the juices bursting from the meat.
Especially today—the first day bringing home the girl who'd become a future disaster. I'd put real thought into the menu and cooked with care, even if I hadn't said so.
It had to taste good.
I wished she'd enjoy it too, but...
Don't rush. We've got time.
Pushing too hard would only heighten her guard. Getting her here was victory enough for now.
From here, slowly build rapport. As father and daughter.
Nothing deeper. Just procedure—this world had bureaucracy too, and adopting an orphan needed a proper title.
No slave brands here; formal adoption was the way.
Not yet, though. Minimum trust first.
True to my word, I clamped my mouth shut and focused solely on eating. Though every nerve stayed locked on Beatrice Edenberg across the table.
She kept stealing glances at me, her face a tangle of emotions.
I couldn't read her every thought from expressions alone. I wasn't a mind reader.
Even with game knowledge, this world was real. Its people deserved real treatment.
That was my hard-earned creed after seven years: Treat them as flesh-and-blood humans, not pixels.
What to remember: The girl before me was just fifteen. A child.
Not the Blood Witch. Not yet.
So—for now, at least—treat her like the fifteen-year-old she was.
"...You."
That was it: Beatrice's first words. A historic moment.
I looked up, eyes widening slightly. She shrank back, lips trembling.
I didn't rush her. Waited calmly until she was ready.
And the wait paid off quickly.
"You... why'd you bring me? What's... your goal?"
"..."
Her voice was clear as rolling jade beads, immature as befitted her age. But laced with tension, fear, wariness.
Natural, of course. She didn't trust me—couldn't. A stranger who'd stormed her alley, forced a talk, and shoved her on a train.
That was her view of me. No warm fuzzies there.
"...Goal? A purpose."
Doubt was expected. Fear too. Lack of it would be weirder.
I had to dispel it. Convince her with solid explanation. My mission.
I chose my words, then began calmly.
"You remember what I said passing through the slums? It's just as I told you then. I want to take you as my daughter. Through adoption."
Legally entering the future disaster Beatrice Edenberg on my family register. Even if just human red tape, it was essential.
To redeem her, we needed a defined bond first. Father-daughter fit perfectly—no better option after agonizing alternatives.
Her bio dad, the Edenberg count, had already disowned her. No complications.
"Adoption...?"
Beatrice looked baffled. Her pupils quaked visibly—wholly unexpected. Suspicion lingered in her gaze all the same.
Ulterior motives? Harm hidden in honeyed words? Valid fears.
I offered a faint smile and continued.
"I swear it. Nothing harmful. I won't do anything you hate—instead, I'll do my utmost for what you want."
"..."
Vague promises. But sharp Beatrice—even at fifteen—knew they rang hollow.
Her red eyes fixed on me cautiously, faint hostility blooming.
"...Saying that, then sell me to a brothel? Or drug me... force me into bed...?"
"Oh, dear."
I let out a genuine sigh. Brothels and drugs—from a fifteen-year-old's mouth?
I had no such plans, but her words painted her brutal upbringing. Pitiful.
With a bitter look, I set my utensils on the napkin and raised my hands openly.
"Absolutely not. Doubt me all you want, but believe this: I didn't bring you for anything impure."
"..."
"It's true."
I admitted it: Beatrice was a stunning beauty. Her youth barely mattered. Glossy deep-blue hair, ruby eyes like embedded gems. Delicate features, utterly captivating—as a woman.
Traces of childishness remained, but they only amplified her mysterious allure, enough to stir any man's desires.
—You lot made me this way... I hate the count's lands, the empire, the world. Humans... I hate them all so much.
But I knew her future too well for superficial temptations. A witch-reaper shedding blood tears, crumbling cities with a gesture, turning continents to crimson seas.
Beauty was irrelevant when redemption was the goal.
Still.
"..."
"That look says you don't buy it."
Whether she understood was another matter. Her history with men was easy to guess.
I scratched my cheek, gaze drifting.
"Well, can't blame you. Who'd trust a guy who drags you off saying he wants you as his daughter? I get it."
"..."
"It's true I have a purpose in adopting you. Though circumstances keep me from sharing it..."
Mealtime was off the table, it seemed. With a sigh, I stood and fetched the prepared wooden box.
Beatrice narrowed her red eyes suspiciously. I sat back down confidently, box in hand.
Slid it between the dishes with a shh, then flipped the lid.
She'd watched curiously until then—but...
"Here. Recognize it?"
"...?! "
Her eyes bulged at the contents: a vial and a needle-sharp syringe.
I'd expected recognition. She'd likely seen it back at the Edenberg mansion.
Satisfied smile on my lips, I lifted the vial and continued.
"Become my daughter, and I'll provide this regularly. No strings, no payment. What father charges to save his girl?"
"...H-how."
More disbelief than when I'd caught her in the slums. She flicked her gaze between me and the vial.
Natural. No commoner could afford it—price tag in gold mountains, sourcing a nightmare.
The crystallization of my seven mercenary years.
The Blood Death Disease that struck the Blood Witch Beatrice Edenberg at age ten. A curse claiming ninety-nine of a hundred in horrific agony before twenty.
The sole alleviant for that merciless incurable plague on a child.
Beatrice's eyes quivered, boring into the vial.
I knew the spark in them: survival instinct.
Or in this moment—hope.
My strongest bargaining chip.
With eased expression, I addressed her gaping mouth.
"Well? Ready to talk now, Miss Beatrice Edenberg?"
"..."
"Or... should I call you daughter?"