The Masked Answer
That should be enough to keep her quiet.
After delivering a chilling threat of murder—or something uncomfortably close to it—to a maid whose face felt familiar yet whom I was certain I had never met, I walked the corridor alone.
I had delivered the warning in secret, hoping the old butler, still floundering in a sea of emotion, would not be disappointed. All I wanted was for the help I had just given not to come circling back as tiresome rumor.
I had considered speaking gently, but discipline, when it mattered, needed to be severe.
Being a decent piece of trash should be fine enough.
Taking personal responsibility for the young maid would have been the proper course, yet if the goal was to observe the bare minimum of decency, then making shrewd use of a class society’s uglier habits was proper too. Better to entrust the girl to the old butler a hundred times over than to escort her to the infirmary myself and collect labels like coward or hypocrite. Infamy could sometimes help a man survive; a stain on one’s name was nothing but filth. If I had to carry one or the other, I would rather shoulder notoriety than disgrace.
Anyway, right now—
I just want to collapse into bed.
From the moment of possession itself, through the declaration that I was escaping the regret route, the reunion with the regret cast, and even the collision with that oddly familiar maid—it had been an exhausting day.
I had fallen asleep reading a women’s-oriented Hupijip novel titled If You Want to Become My Husband, Kneel and Beg, only to open my eyes and find myself transmigrated. Worse, I had arrived right before the Hupijip plot began. Unlike other transmigrators, I had been given neither time to blend into the world nor a chance to carefully assess the situation. Of course the day had been tiring.
Still…
Who on earth had shoved me into this body? Honestly, the transmigration itself did not bother me. Dropping into a strange world was a little frightening, but for someone with no lingering attachment to his previous life it had almost been welcome. The problem was the manner of arrival—more “go ahead and get fucked” than anything else. Had I somehow earned the hatred of an evil god? Or the wrath of an omnipotent novelist? I could not even begin to guess. Mine had been the ordinary life of a man with nothing, a life in which dramatic events like this simply did not happen.
Well, in transmigration stories the protagonist is almost always an ordinary everyman, so I suppose that checks out.
Clomp, clomp.
After about ten minutes of walking while lost in useless thoughts, I found myself entering the grounds of the annexes where the final candidates resided. Located on the western side of the Grand Ducal castle, the area held four separate houses for the four candidates and was under heavy guard. Royal Guards stood watch around the entrances and walls around the clock; only members of the residing households were permitted entry. That meant only the final candidate and the stewards and servants dispatched by their house.
The reason was simple: to prevent secret collusion and alliances. Private meetings between final candidates required an evaluation committee escort; anyone caught meeting without one received a warning, and enough warnings would push a candidate further from victory. That was why Grand Ducal Guards kept both security and surveillance over every annex. An annex was a private space and a place of rest; since they could not watch the interiors, they controlled access instead as a preemptive measure. One might argue that mere guards could never truly stop determined people, yet human beings were still intelligent creatures ruled by animal instinct. Simply planting a fence often proved surprisingly effective.
And so, knowing those rules as I did, I was more than a little startled.
“……Aide?”
The moment I stepped into the fourth annex reserved for House Rafelion, there stood Gelwood, Central Aide of the Grand Duchy.
“Ah, you have arrived. You are late, Young Master Elden.”
We had met only half a day earlier, yet that stuffy face looked almost welcome—no doubt because he had brought the “answer” he had promised. A Grand Duke, an Aide, and a count’s son occupied roughly similar social tiers, but in official rank the count’s son stood far higher. He would not have been able to summon me merely to deliver an answer. That he had come in person all the way into House Rafelion’s territory meant the matter was important—and that raised the odds it was indeed the answer I wanted.
Please. Let me leave tomorrow morning, not for the Grand Ducal castle but south toward the northern territory where House Rafelion stood. With that silent prayer I returned the greeting.
“I did not expect an Aide so busy with official duties to come in person.”
“Haha. Of course I had to come. How did you find the gathering with the other candidates?”
He already knew. He knew everything that had been said and done there. The person in charge of the marriage tournament could observe the proceedings through the magical artifacts worn by the evaluation committee—secretly, of course. On top of that, free chapters midway through the novel had described Gelwood’s insight as unmatched. The world at large might not know it, but he was the child of a former imperial royal strategist mother and an ancient dragon. With someone like him, trying to hide one’s true feelings was far more suspicious than simply showing them. Others might not realize it, but I knew his origins and abilities well. Clumsy concealment would only look like deception and pique his curiosity.
Well.
Speaking my true feelings will probably pique his curiosity too.
No matter what answer I gave, stimulating his interest was a foregone conclusion, so I decided to wrap my actual impression in something suitably vague.
“It was a tiring gathering.”
Gelwood smiled with a spark of interest in his eyes.
“Haha. A tiring gathering, was it?”
He then gestured politely toward the annex entrance.
“Shall we talk while we walk, then?”
I followed Gelwood up the stairs toward the top floor, the so-called “master’s floor.” I might have allowed myself a flicker of hope that his visit meant my escape plan had been approved, but unfortunately the odds pointed the other way. If my withdrawal had been accepted there would have been no need for this drawn-out approach. Deliberately walking and stalling suggested a long conversation ahead—and that the answer I wanted had not been reached.
…Looks like I’ll have to activate Plan B.
Of course I had already prepared a contingency for the rejection of my withdrawal declaration, so there was no need to sigh. The easiest, fastest escape had simply failed.
As we reached the upper landing, Gelwood, who had kept silent until then, finally spoke.
“I hope the meal was to your liking. It was, after all, the first meal the Grand Ducal house has offered you.”
“It was excellent. Good enough that I would want to eat it every day.”
“Haha. Does that mean you are withdrawing your withdrawal?”
“…….”
Not a chance. Even if the imperial chef prepared my meals every single day, I had no interest in receiving revenge from the heroine for sins I had never committed. I answered with a smile instead of words, and Gelwood posed another question.
“You are not asking, I notice.”
“About the ‘answer’ you promised?”
“Yes.”
We had reached the top floor. This was a level ordinary servants could not freely climb—only the household steward and a few carefully chosen attendants. It meant there were no listening ears or watching eyes.
I was curious, of course. What kind of “answer” required this much stalling? Even rice loses its flavor if you leave it steaming too long. Still, I had not pressed because a sage-level character like Gelwood would not draw things out without reason.
“No need to rush.”
“Haha. Truly strange.”
“What is?”
“The sole heir of House Rafelion that I know was far too impatient to endure unanswered questions.”
…Unfortunately, the modern man named Lee Jun-u possessed considerable patience. People who had nothing learned to cultivate it. And even after transmigrating, I had no intention of pretending to be the original Elden—that complete disaster of a character. I neither wanted to live as a scoundrel nor put on a performance for the sake of a disguise.
“I am trying to cultivate patience.”
At my blunt reply I felt Gelwood’s gaze from beside me, but I did not meet it. I simply kept walking, eyes fixed ahead. Anyone who knew the mysterious power contained in Gelwood’s eyes would have done the same.
“Oho. Then I shall hope your wish comes true.”
“By the way, where exactly are we going?”
Even after reaching the top floor, even with no ears or eyes to overhear, Gelwood continued walking while withholding the answer. The third floor of a three-story annex held only the master’s bedchamber, a utility room for preparing hospitality, a waiting room for servants on duty, a dressing room for attending to one’s appearance, and a reception room for receiving guests.
“We have arrived.”
Gelwood’s steps finally stopped—in front of a door labeled Reception Room.
At the same moment, an ominous premonition began to thrum through the air.
“I did say I would give you an answer.”
“You did.”
Gelwood opened the reception room door and pointed inside.
“She is waiting.”
“…Who is?”
I asked without stepping forward. When a smile bloomed on that stuffy face of his, the ominous feeling hardened into certainty and wrapped around me.
“The ‘answer’ to your declaration of withdrawal.”
I carefully peered inside.
A woman sat on the sofa.
Wearing a mask.
At the same hour that Elden received the answer to his withdrawal declaration, a young woman’s voice rang out in one of the many rooms lining the upper floors of the Second Grand Ducal Castle.
“My lady~!”
It was the voice of a maid searching for her mistress—hurried because she feared her late return might have caused worry.
“My lady~? Where are you~!”
No answer came. At this hour her lady should have been sitting at the head of the bed reading a book, as she always did. Yet she was nowhere to be seen.
“Hmm, where could she have gone?”
The maid stepped out into the corridor. The entire floor was reserved for the Third Northern Grand Duchess, veiled in secrecy; no one without permission could come or go. It was sealed. And so it was silent.
“Perhaps the laboratory…?”
Her lady spent entire days on magical alchemy research and still read treatises until the moment she slept, so the maid started toward the laboratory.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Leaning on a crutch.
It was the young maid who had received Elden’s chilling warning.