The Story Rushes Toward Its Climax
The Story Rushes Toward Its Climax
Time inside the secret room flowed strangely slowly.
In a room without a single window, in a silence where neither the cheers nor the applause from outside could reach, Erika leaned her back against the end of the sofa and stared blankly up at the ceiling. When she was first locked up, anger had come first.
Thoughts of the Special Task Force, abuse of authority, and how she would definitely hold them accountable filled her head. A sense of insult and pride boiled within her, making it impossible for her to sit still for even a moment.
She couldn't understand the situation, and she couldn't believe that she, the daughter of a great Count's territory and the reigning flower of high society, had been 'detained.'
But the anger quickly vacated its spot before even a day had passed.
What filled its place instead... were memories of the past.
At first, it was denial.
No.
No way.
That's impossible.
That bastard never called himself Edom either, did he?
Iden Summonfield and Edom Rivan are different. No, they are so different that the word 'different' doesn't even begin to cover it. From their physique to their atmosphere, their gaze, and even their gait.
The Edom of three years ago was a scrawny, shadow-like existence, while the current Iden was a man like a warrior, solidly built without a speck of fat. Erika persuaded herself that even trying to overlap the two as the same person was a stretch.
However, her mind was cruel.
It forcibly replaced denial with affirmation and began to break her down from within.
In the absolute silence of the secret room, her memories began to distort.
The secret room of the exhibition hall.
Herself, sitting on the sofa while adjusting her red dress.
The moment she intentionally straightened her back, crossed her legs, and revealed the secret things within.
The handsome face of the man in that scene blurred and was overlaid with something else.
It overlapped not with Iden's face, but with Edom's.
Erika flinched.
"No..."
She shook her head violently. A low breath leaked through her lips. But her memories refused to brake and continued to race forward.
《I... embarrassingly enough, I think I've fallen for you at first sight.》
She remembered herself at the moment she uttered those words.
The acting of blushing and avoiding his gaze as if shy. The moment she displayed the temptation of submission like a female cat showing its backside. The smile she let slip, saying she liked it while held in his arms.
The image of the man that confession was directed toward changed once more. The broad shoulders, the lustrous hair, and the cold gaze gradually distorted, solidifying into the shape of the gloomy, thin boy from the past.
Edom Rivan.
Erika's breathing became ragged.
"Fuck—!! Stop it—!!"
No. He is clearly Iden. He was a Count, the leader of the Special Task Force...
However, another memory surged in and annihilated her denial.
The moment she downed the wine in one go and intentionally staggered as she collapsed.
The Iden of that moment, whom she had tried to entrust her body to as if falling into his arms, changed into Edom again.
Erika pressed her temples with both hands.
"No... I said no..."
But the memories became even more specific in their corruption.
Her attitude of letting the scent of perfume waft from their first meeting and boasting of her delicate neckline.
The posture of leaning forward to emphasize her cleavage, the moment she revealed even her secret inner parts while crossing her legs.
The expression of certainty that it was a 'success' while wearing a victorious smile while held in his arms.
The opponent in all those scenes was overlaid not with Iden, but with Edom.
The blood relative she had despised, loathed, and trampled upon like a bug.
That gloomy, disgusting bastard.
The bastard who made her skin crawl just by his breath reaching her, who made irritation soar just by hearing his voice, and who made her want to vomit if their skin touched.
In an instant, Erika's stomach twisted.
"Ugh!"
Forcing back the nausea rising to her throat, she curled her body. At first, it was a simple suspicion, but now the memories were switching places as if they were being manipulated. Iden's face was gradually being erased, and Edom was taking its place.
Iden's low voice also sounded like Edom's slurred voice.
Iden's cold gaze also overlapped with Edom's pale eyes.
"Ugh..."
The rising nausea gradually grew stronger.
The straight scar under the ear.
The spot she had scratched.
The sensation of that day came alive at her fingertips. The sensation of gouging the flesh and the disgusting memory of his blood seeping under her fingernails surfaced, mocking the denials she was trying so hard to maintain.
And to the man with that scar, she had used her own body as a weapon, wantonly showcasing even her secret parts and confessing her love.
Denial and affirmation intersected crazily.
No.
Iden is not Edom.
No, the scar was the same.
No, the physique is different.
But the voice didn't change much.
Her thoughts went around in circles.
Erika's breath grew increasingly rapid. Her chest tightened, and her heart beat erratically.
The thought that she, who believed herself to be so superior, had wagged her tail, radiated seductiveness, and smiled while held in the arms of the blood relative she had ruthlessly trampled, insulted, and mocked as trivial—it went beyond suffering; she shuddered at a level of disgust that surpassed her limits.
Erika slid off the sofa and knelt on the floor.
Even the tentacles wrapped around her ankles felt like his touch, making her feel maddeningly itchy and giving her goosebumps.
"No... no..."
The murmuring repeated.
Her words spat out denial, but her head overlapped the two, mixed them, and did not separate them.
Now, it wasn't even clear who was who.
Who was the person she had confessed to?
Whose arms was she held in at that moment?
She couldn't tell.
That fact shattered Erika's pride into pieces. It shattered and trampled it. It ruthlessly trampled and mocked her.
Puhaha!
You, did you act all charming while held in the arms of the younger brother you despised so much?
You, did you confess your love to the blood relative you hated to death?
You, did you boast of your breasts and show off your underwear to the kin you loathed more than a bug?
Puhaha!
The horror that the object of her contempt and the man she revered were one and the same began to ransack her mind at random.
And if that were the case—
It meant she had clung to the being she hated most, as if begging and pleading from the lowest position.
Just as he had desperately clung to Vivienne three years ago to seduce her, she had ended up doing the exact same thing as him.
That thought struck her head.
Erika's eyes shook, empty.
The more she tried to deny it, the clearer the image became.
Edom's shadow overlapped Iden's face, and Iden's silhouette was placed over Edom's face.
The boundaries gradually disappeared.
Finally, her lips turned white as she leaned her body helplessly against the sofa.
Resting her head on the backrest, she looked at the ceiling in despair.
A laugh escaped her.
"...Haha, I'm crazy."
Gradually, the itchiness she had felt only in her ankles began to spread throughout her entire body.
Inside the secret room, the woman with blue hair hugged her knees, slowly collapsing between her own memories and her pride.
The flower of high society, who had fallen for her own trick, was not just wilting but being snapped.
**
When the sound of the secret room door opening was heard, Erika slowly raised her head.
Two days.
It had only been two days, but her senses were already worn down. Meals had come in on time, there was no lack of water, and the tentacles binding her body only restricted basic movements without causing pain. Nevertheless, her spirit was rotting away.
The silhouette of a man standing in the doorway came into view.
At first, it was Iden.
But in the few blinks of an eye...
The silhouette blurred and overlapped with the shape of a scrawny boy.
Sunken eyes, a gaze where madness glistened.
Edom Rivan.
Erika rubbed her eyes hard.
She opened them again.
Iden once more.
But the corners of his mouth were twisted ever so slightly.
A mocking expression.
That didn't belong to Iden.
It was the expression of that boy who used to look up at her with a strange smile in the past.
"......"
Erika's breathing became ragged.
"Fuuuuck—!!"
A curse burst out abruptly. Her abraded nerves prioritized instinct over reason.
She lunged forward as if throwing her body.
But the tentacles wrapped around her ankles tightened instantly, stealing her balance. Her body tumbled forward.
Chul-puck.
Her knees and hands hit the cold floor first. Her hair scattered, and a ragged breath escaped her.
She looked up while slumped on the floor.
Iden was looking down at her.
No.
Edom was.
"...You're not Edom."
Her voice was cracked.
"A piece of shit like you... can't be Iden Summonfield."
Those words were a mix of contempt and fear. It contained a desperate prayer that it must not be him.
Iden's expression did not change. A moment of silence passed.
And then.
"That is correct."
A calm admission that pushed the denial she was forcing herself to maintain over the cliff reached her ears.
That one sentence made Erika's thoughts stop.
"...What?"
"I am Edom Rivan."
The past tense, that word sounded exceptionally clear.
Erika's pupils shook violently. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The sound of something breaking echoed in her head.
It was true.
The belief that her guess was a mere speculation collapsed, and the denial that had remained as a tiny spark was completely extinguished.
At that moment, the tentacles slid off and scattered on the floor.
Iden had wordlessly withdrawn the Summoning Circle.
Erika's limbs were freed. But she couldn't stand up. It was as if her legs below the knees had become empty, and she had no strength.
Iden spoke in a low voice.
"However, I discarded the Rivan name long ago."
He took a step closer.
"I don't have the slightest intention of being associated with it again."
There was no emotion in his voice. Only a majesty as if delivering a sentence dwelt within it.
"If you have such thoughts, give them up. Otherwise, I will take proper legal measures, and those measures will by no means be light."
It was a clear warning.
The blood relative who once rolled and crawled beneath her feet was now standing above her head, looking down on her.
Erika looked up at him.
Now she could see it clearly.
The changed positions.
Pishik.
A bitter laugh escaped her.
"...Liar."
A hoarse voice barely leaked out.
"How could someone like you... become the head of a Count's family and the man of a Grand Duke? Don't make me laugh."
In the place where denial had vanished, another denial surged.
"Don't lie. Someone like you—"
Iden's eyes turned cold. That gaze was something the Edom of the past could never have possessed. A steady eye looking down from above.
Iden turned his head as if he decided it wasn't worth talking anymore.
But the moment he tried to turn away.
Erika hurriedly crawled forward and grabbed his pant leg.
"How dare someone like you imprison me?!"
Her voice trembled with anger, but panic was mixed within it.
"How can someone like you do this?!"
The younger brother she always treated with contempt.
The being she always kept under her feet.
The object she always looked down upon.
The blood relative she always persecuted and mocked.
Not only had she whispered love and shown off her body to such a bastard, but now she was looking up at him.
That fact drove her even crazier. It felt like she was having a terrible nightmare.
To be clinging to the pant leg of a vermin-like bastard who should be trampled upon—what else could this be explained as if not a nightmare?
Iden looked down for a moment.
Erika's fingers were clutching his pants. Her pale hand was trembling.
Without a word, he lifted his foot and coldly kicked Erika's hand away.
Tuk.
Her body was pushed to the side and she collapsed on the floor.
Iden's gaze remained icy.
"I warned you not to cross the line."
Leaving that single sentence behind, he turned his back.
The sound of the door closing echoed inside the secret room.
Erika lay face down on the floor, staring blankly at the closed door.
Her fingertips were still trembling.
And for the first time.
She was fully realizing the fact that she could no longer look down on him.
**
The back door of the exhibition hall was already dark.
The lanterns were still burning brilliantly, but the shadows pushed to the end of the corridor were chilly. The music and laughter faded into the distance, and the cold night air pierced her skin.
Erika's eyes, as she crossed that threshold almost staggering, were out of focus.
"A-Agassi!"
An attendant who had been waiting outside rushed over and grabbed her arm. He barely managed to support her body as it tilted as if collapsing. The hem of her dress brushed against the floor, gathering dust, and her blue hair disheveled over her shoulders.
"Are you alright? Your complexion is—"
"......"
Erika did not answer.
Her lips were pale. Her breath was shallow and irregular. In her vision, Iden's figure—no, Edom's face—was still overlapping and flickering.
The moment the attendant tried to lead her carefully toward the carriage, a low and clear voice cut through the night air and flowed in.
"Hatred becomes a sharp blade,"
The attendant, who had stopped walking, looked toward the source of the sound with wary eyes.
"And resentment becomes a solid hilt."
A man walked out from the shadows at the end of the corridor.
The light from the lanterns slowly revealed the lower half of his face. Only the area below his nose was visible; above that, a deep shadow was cast.
He slowly stepped forward, tidying his coat as if brushing off dust with his gloved hand.
In the black shadow, his golden eyes cast a faint light.
The attendant stepped forward to block him, but the man's gaze lightly brushed past him. That alone carried a strange pressure.
"Do not be afraid. I merely wish to offer words of comfort."
His tone was soft. However, each word was as precise as a well-tempered blade.
"Humiliation gives desire to those who endure it, and despair gives oblivion to those who seek to escape it."
Erika's eyes slowly turned toward him. Her blurred focus gradually sharpened.
"...Who are you?"
It was a cracked voice.
"Oblivion allows one to read the next move, and that next move teaches what the blade of hatred must cut."
The man drew a thin smile.
"I can become that hilt for you. For hatred and despair are my favorite things."
A man known as Galliard Wintel's long-time friend and aide. At the same time, the figure shrouded in mystery whom no one had yet proven to be the Leader of Endermit.
It was Count Calden Wiss.