Chapter 16. At This Rate, a Corpse Will Appear
Do you know what these numbers mean?
In truth, every massive disaster in human history—excluding natural calamities—probably wasn't the product of sudden misfortune. Before a single great catastrophe erupts, there are 29 minor accidents, and before those, another 300 trivial signs.
This is known as Heinrich's Law. It essentially means that if you catch those preceding 300 trivial signs and prepare accordingly—or at least spot the 29 minor ones—you can prevent that final massive disaster.
But what if you ignore those signs right up to the end?
In the vast eastern reaches of the Winterfell duchy, the Hestor Viscounty.
The viscount ruling this land, Hestor Viscount, scowled at the pigeon carcass sprawled across his office windowsill. It had been several days now. Dead birds with milky-white eyes were turning up here and there—in front of the stables, under the garden fountain.
"My lord, the situation in the village is far from normal. Nearly thirty serfs have already taken to their beds with high fevers. Some are coughing up blood."
"Enough! Don't ruin my morning with trivial nonsense."
The viscount cut off the butler's words, waving him away irritably.
"Winters in the North are harsh by nature. These lazy peasants are just using the cold as an excuse to dodge their duties. Toss them a few fever pills and send them back to work."
"But my lord, the villagers say they found several wolf carcasses in the forest yesterday. I think we should report the severity of this to Her Highness the Duchess and request direct assistance..."
Hearing the butler's words, Hestor Viscount flew into a rage.
"Her Highness? You think I'll bother Her Highness with something as minor as a cold? What would that say about my reputation? That I'm incompetent? I can't even stand the sight of you. Get out."
The foolish viscount doesn't realize it. The pigeon carcass he just shoved off the windowsill and the wolf pack bodies found in the forest correspond to the "300." The dry coughs echoing from the village are the "29." He hasn't yet grasped that his complacent judgment will bring disaster.
And the moment of that realization... is not far off.
The dining room of the Winterfell Ducal Residence. Warm crackling firewood and the rich scent of butter filled the air. Outside the window stretched the North's majestic snowy landscape, and before me sat a woman even more dazzling than that vista.
"Betty, you're especially beautiful today. The morning sun must exist just for you."
I slathered jam thickly on a fresh loaf of bread and flashed a cheeky grin. Betty, sipping her coffee gracefully across from me, fixed me with a chilling stare.
"Your Highness, have you lost your mind this early? I may need to summon your physician for a mental health check."
"Aw, come on, Betty. You know I'm fine. And every time I see it, that brooch suits you perfectly. My eye for gifts never fails."
Betty had been wearing the ruby brooch I'd gifted her every day since.
'She must really like that ruby brooch. Good thing.'
Lately, I'd noticed Betty seemed divided into "pre-brooch" and "post-brooch" versions. 'She's been taking my jokes better since she started wearing it.'
"Oh, right, Betty. Did you hear? A new dessert shop opened on Winterfell's boutique street. Cute name too—'Sweet Snowflakes' or something?"
"...And what does that have to do with me?" Betty set down her coffee cup and eyed me.
"Everything! They say the desserts are super sweet and delicious. And I've been raking in cash from the Winter Rose Pepper business lately, right?"
The Winter Rose Pepper venture was rapidly claiming market share in the empire's spice trade.
"I wanna use some of those paprika profits to treat you. How about we go together sometime this week?"
Her blood-red eyes swept over me indifferently at my bold invitation.
"Your Highness, how many times must I tell you? I don't care for sweets. That cloying sweetness that numbs the tongue is utterly repulsive."
'What? She just put two sugar cubes in that coffee she's drinking.'
I clearly remembered the two lumps dissolving invisibly as she elegantly stirred. Her mouth said one thing, but her hands were brutally honest. That was the hidden charm of this icy woman—of course, voicing it aloud would turn my neck into a blood fountain.
Pretending ignorance, I propped my chin and whined.
"Still, a new shop in the territory? As lord, it wouldn't hurt to inspect the market. Who knows—it might become Winterfell's next landmark. My treat!"
"..."
"Come on? Betty~ Just once. Even in the North's biting winds, you need something sweet to warm up sometimes. If you really hate it, you can just watch me eat."
Betty furrowed her brow instead of answering. I tensed, sensing rejection—then a soft sigh escaped her lips.
"...Hah. Fine. Since you're whining so much, I'll go just this once. But remember, this is purely an inspection. If the taste is awful, we leave immediately."
"Yes! Promise?"
I beamed like a kid and half-stood from my chair. Betty looked at me pitifully.
"So, this is basically our first date, right? Ah, my digestion's already fluttering with excitement."
The word "date" had barely left my lips when the dining room's air froze. Veins bulged faintly on the back of Betty's hand. The subtle pink vibe from moments ago turned to Siberian chill in an instant.
Betty slowly lifted her head to stare at me. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes screamed, "Are you begging to die?"
"...Your Highness. What did you just say?"
"Well... since we're an engaged couple going out, isn't it basically a date...?"
"Utter that vulgar word once more, and I'll escort you not to a dessert shop, but a graveyard. It seems you've forgotten my patience has limits."
Her voice was low and frigid. Instinctively, I sank deep into my chair, feigning ignorance. As expected of the Ice Duchess— one "date" and thorns everywhere.
But I guarantee it. Bit by bit, she'll warm to me, and our relationship will progress.
As we traded silly banter, dreaming of a peaceful future, urgent news arrived from the eastern duchy.
BAM!
The heavy dining room door flew open with a scream. The usually impeccable head butler stood there, face ashen, gasping for breath.
"Your Highness! Urgent dispatch!"
Betty's and my gazes snapped to the door. In the butler's hand was a letter stamped with a red seal. Betty's eyes sharpened like blades.
"What is it? I said no interruptions during rest unless it's critical."
"I-it's... A messenger from the eastern Hestor Viscounty. An unidentified plague has spread—two villages are already paralyzed!"
Betty's fingertips trembled faintly around her teacup. I dropped the knife mid-jam.
The laughter from moments ago vanished from my mind like snow.
"Plague? What the hell was the viscount doing while two villages ground to a halt?"
Betty snatched the letter. Fury twisted her face as she scanned it.
"High fever and chills... dead in three days? Summon Hestor Viscount now. I'll hear it from him myself."
Betty shot to her feet; I followed. 'This is it—the thing that's coming.'
An hour later. Summoned Hestor Viscount groveled on the office floor. Not from the North's cold, but crushed by Betty's overwhelming pressure, he could barely breathe.
"Viscount, explain. While my serfs died, what were you doing in your manor?"
"Y-Your Highness... At first, I thought it was just a common fever. Winters are brutal, so a few elderly collapsing is normal, I judged..."
Betty cross-checked the report in her hand.
"Normal? With two villages' able-bodied men all bedridden?"
Her blood-red eyes already had his throat slit.
"Two weeks ago, your report called it a simple epidemic. Aid request? Just mild fever meds. Why let it escalate? Hiding your incompetence by gambling serfs' lives?"
"I truly thought it'd pass quickly! On my honor, I believed I could handle it..."
"Silence. I elevated your incompetent self to viscount only on the plea of the previous Hestor Viscount three years dead."
Betty's hand gripped her sword hilt. 'At this rate, we'll see a corpse right here.'
As the sharp metallic click threatened the silence, I covered her cold hand with mine.
"Beatrice, calm down first. We can kill him later—it's not too late."
Betty whipped her head to glare at me. That wasn't her usual look at me. But I didn't flinch.
"Your Highness, do you grasp the gravity?"
"Perfectly. That's why I'm stepping in now."
Betty watched silently, as if to see what I'd do.
I turned from her gaze and coldly looked down at the groveling Hestor Viscount. 'Fool. Blowing this up with your complacency.'
"Viscount, from now on, heed every word from me—the imperial prince and future Duke consort of Winterfell—without missing a syllable."