A Day's Time
Elden was ignorant.
Born with the temperament of a madman, he had always stood at a remove from scholarship. Having walked the path of a fighter all his life, he was a man who fought with his body rather than his mind.
In place of wisdom and knowledge, his head was stuffed full of pleasure and greed. Culture and refinement he had flung to the dogs, living instead as a drunken brawler of the night streets.
He was less a young noble of a count’s house than a thug from the slums.
And for a man like that, crushing an opponent with his fists and seizing whatever profit he could was only natural.
That was Elden Raphelion.
He spared his words and never spared his fists. From time to time he forgot the very vocabulary he needed and spat out strained, forced sentences instead. Anyone who mocked him for it was punished without mercy; that was how he papered over the shortness of his learning.
The glory of graduating at the top of his class had been stolen and worn by someone else, and that someone was him.
It was only natural, then, that such a man could not command fluent rhetoric or brilliant turns of phrase.
And it was equally natural that Lumiang, who knew this well and had suffered it often enough, now found herself thrown into confusion.
…What the hell is this?
He was different.
Those red eyes that had once been honed into the menace of a beast had become the eyes of a gentle lamb. The lips that used to spit crude, clumsy words were now whetted sharp, pouring out dazzling turns of language.
She had lost.
She had been defeated in a war of words.
In a verbal clash she had declared in order to peer into his depths—something she had never expected to be fierce—she had been routed. It felt as if she had been arguing with an entirely different person.
Had he somehow reformed after graduating from the Royal Academy, through some incident or other?
Or had he lost his sense of self in an accident and then… awakened?
As possibilities went, the latter was overwhelmingly more likely. Yet the evaluation dossier that recorded every one of a candidate’s movements contained no accident severe enough to strip a man of his identity.
Could it be…
Did he… actually change?
Impossible. He was an experimental subject whose chance of success converged on zero. He had to be putting on a meticulously crafted performance. With the help of magic or some other sorcery, he was imitating another personality—help sophisticated enough to deceive even Gelwood.
Or else…
Had he realized that the youngest daughter of the Winterfell Grand Duchy was Erincia Velok from their days at the Royal Academy?
She told herself that was absolutely impossible. And yet nothing else explained why he would throw away such a perfect opportunity. Especially when he had spoken almost as if in apology, claiming he had only now realized he was “a villain unworthy of a Grand Duchess.”
Elden Raphelion was a man who would gladly take up a sword and stain it with blood for the sake of profit. He was not a man who would lay the hilt down the moment profit lay within reach.
Strange. Truly strange.
She would have welcomed even the smallest clue. Yet the eyes of Elden Raphelion looking back at her seemed far too sincere. His voice, too, was endlessly earnest and polite. Unbelievably so.
I must not be deceived.
Lumiang steeled herself. This was a scheme. She must never dance to a wicked scheme. A person’s true nature did not change. When the time came, the hidden heart would reveal itself. That was why she gave him an answer that ran counter to every hope he might have held.
“We shall meet again, Young Master Elden Raphelion.”
She had never intended to accept his withdrawal. She had come only because she wanted to dig out the truth.
The problem was—
…I learned nothing at all.
His inner self was so hard to read that she almost wondered whether he had laid hands on forbidden Dark Magic. In that case she would take one step back, construct every possible scenario and every hypothesis that followed, and dig again—this time thoroughly prepared. If he had been deceiving everyone with some lucky trick, the weight of his sin would only grow heavier. If he had donned a mask of deception for the prize of winning the Marriage Tournament, he would pay a matching price.
For that day, Lumiang summoned Gelwood.
“Aide.”
“Yes, Grand Duchess.”
“Would you look into whether Elden Raphelion has ever suffered a major accident that never became public knowledge?”
“Understood.”
“And examine his movements after graduating from the Academy in detail as well.”
Unexpected success or failure in an experiment always had its reasons. A man who only seemed to have changed his nature had simply learned how to suppress, hide, and disguise it. Elden Raphelion, however, was the sort of man who would know the method and still refuse to master it. There had to be a hidden reason. She would dig it up, turn it over, and find it no matter what. She had never once left a problem unsolved. For that, Lumiang would mobilize every tool at her disposal.
“And assign a watcher to Young Master Elden Raphelion. In secret.”
And, having met a problem of truly vicious difficulty, Lumiang felt a subtle, unexpected thrill.
“I’ll be going, then.”
“Yes.”
Hood drawn up, Lumiang returned to the Second Grand Ducal Castle and parted from Gelwood. Reaching the upper levels, she climbed the stairs and pulled the hood away.
Come to think of it, has Marien come back yet?
She had only asked her to bring one experimental ingredient from the main castle’s basement, yet hours had passed with no word. The moment the thought of Marien’s absence touched her, Lumiang’s steps quickened.
It had been only a year since Marien entered the Grand Ducal household as a maid, but the girl was more precious to her than anyone. They worked in perfect sync, were as comfortable as friends, and shared every secret. On top of that Marien was well-read and clever, making her an outstanding assistant for magical and alchemical experiments. In every way, she was someone Lumiang could not do without.
Arriving on the sealed upper floor, Lumiang called out in a worried voice.
“Marien?”
Fortunately—
“My lady—!”
Marien’s voice answered from beyond the bedchamber door, and Lumiang let out a breath of relief. Thank goodness. The vast Grand Ducal castle housed countless people, and incidents and accidents cropped up almost every day. The chance of being swept into some commotion was high enough that she could never stop worrying. If the experimental ingredients hadn’t had such complicated names and forms, she would never have sent Marien on errands. Confined as she was to a sealed floor and limited company, Marien was the only person she could ask.
Lumiang flung the bedchamber door open.
And there stood Marien, leaning on a crutch.
Lumiang’s eyes flew wide.
“Wh-what is this?”
She tore off her mask and hurried over, examining the foot wrapped in bandages and set in a brace.
“You’re hurt?”
“Ah… just a little.”
“How? How badly? Where?”
“I’m fine. I only sprained it a bit. I missed a step coming down the stairs.”
“You should have been more careful. Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt now. They said a few days of rest will set it right, so please don’t worry.”
Lumiang smoothed a hand over her chest and helped Marien sit on the bed.
“If you need anything, tell me anytime. Understood?”
“Come on. I couldn’t possibly—”
Lumiang furrowed her brow hard, creasing her forehead.
“Tsk. You’re in trouble. They said you need a few days of rest, so rest properly.”
“Heehee… By the way, where did you go? I was worried.”
“Ah.”
They were close enough that formality didn’t matter, and they kept no secrets. There was no need to hide whom she had met, so Lumiang spoke the name.
“I went to see Elden Raphelion. To find out why he declared his withdrawal.”
At that name, fear flickered reflexively across Marien’s face.
“Eek.”
You talk, and you’re dead for real.
That chilling murder threat that had once dug into her earholes rose again in her mind.
“What is it?”
“Ah…… haha, h-he’s a s-scary person, isn’t he…? I-I was just startled, that’s all. Haha.”
Elden’s cold warning not to make unnecessary trouble still held its effect.
“Haaah…”
Morning of the next day dawned.
The sun of the day the Hupijip began had risen.
I stretched and woke from sleep. Chirp-chirp-chirp—five little birds lined up on the branch outside the window sang with pure, bright voices. To the three regret-route heroines it would sound like a solemn symphony announcing the start of the final evaluation, but to me it was nothing more than a refreshing little melody.
Even if my escape route had grown a little hazy.
Well then, time for a wash.
There was still no clear answer to the withdrawal declaration. First I had to prepare myself for the evaluation. According to the official schedule, at ten in the morning I would finally hold a general audience with the Third Northern Grand Duchess. At the very least I needed to put myself in order and show the bare minimum of courtesy.
I slipped out of bed and was about to head straight for the bath when a knock caught my ankle.
Knock-knock.
“Come in.”
It was the old head butler, Rendler.
“You have risen, Young Master.”
“What’s going on this early?”
Wondering what could bring him first thing before breakfast, I waited for an answer. Rendler gestured beyond the open door.
And then—
“….”
Three maids entered the bedchamber.
They were wearing those provocative maid uniforms with the important areas—chest, between the legs—cut away.
Only then did the memory surface.
Elden Raphelion.
In the original work as well, he had always begun his morning ablutions under the attendance of lovely maids. Different maids every day, no less. A man of absolute power could do as he pleased.
Still, the original never described him violating or molesting the maids. He simply enjoyed the comfort of having pretty girls wash his body.
To me, a mere ordinary citizen, it was not comfort but awkwardness and discomfort.
And even though this was the Grand Ducal castle—even though the annex was the family’s private space—they were still forcing this outdated, decadent bathing custom. No matter how male-dominated and absolute the aristocratic society might be, the fact that he had entered the Marriage Tournament for the sake of rebuilding his house and still couldn’t break the habit of these decadent baths said everything about how sharply defined Elden Raphelion’s character was.
“I have brought the maids who will assist with your ablutions. Will you enter at once?”
“Forget it. Leave.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said forget it and leave. And starting today I’ll wash alone, so pass that on to the head maid.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Rendler’s reaction was only natural. From the moment Elden Raphelion had first understood the meaning of sex, he had taken these morning ablutions every single day. In years, it had been well over a decade.
Of course, for some people, being washed by pretty maids was practically a romantic fantasy. But receiving service from women who had been dragged along like cattle to the slaughter, unable to resist the tyranny of power, could only feel uncomfortable.
Rendler asked again, looking utterly blank.
“You mean to… perform your ablutions… alone, by yourself, Young Master?”
“That’s right. I simply want to enjoy some quiet thought and sort out my head, so there’s no need for—”
“I-I see……!”
Before I could even finish, Rendler pressed a hand to his upper lip, overcome. Seeing the rims of his eyes turn red, I realized another round of those girlish tears was coming and hurriedly fled into the bath, leaving him behind.
Just as expected.
“Sniffle.”
And then…
When I came out after washing, I was hit with unexpected news.
In a mere thirty minutes, a major deviation had appeared in the original plot.
“What? The evaluation’s been delayed by a day?”
“Yes. It begins tomorrow. They also said there would be minor changes to the fifteen-day schedule and distributed a new timetable.”
Apparently Grand Duchess Lumiang was wrestling hard with an unsolved problem. I toweled my hair dry and looked out the window.
With the sudden postponement of the final evaluation, the three regret-route heroines would be busy. Never mind the delayed start—now that the planned schedule itself had shifted, they would have to draw up entirely new countermeasures.
None of which had anything to do with me, the one who had already declared withdrawal.
“Here is the new timetable.”
As head butler of the house, Rendler would also need to prepare accordingly, so he held the schedule out to me.
“Forget it.”
He looked at me in surprise at the refusal.
An unexpected day of free time had fallen into my lap. I intended to spend it well—stepping out of this stifling, tedious Grand Ducal castle for a while and getting some air.
There were things I had always wanted to try if I ever got isekai’d into a medieval world, after all.
“I’m going out for a change of scenery. Leave the schedule preparations to our head butler’s judgment.”
An interlude. Healing time.
Rendler folded the timetable and said,
“Then I shall instruct the knight Rachel to escort you.”
“Rachel?”
“Heh heh. It is true you have not had occasion to act together of late, but surely you have not forgotten the family’s escort knight?”
I hastily riffled through Elden’s memories and a face surfaced: the face of one of House Raphelion’s escort knights, purple hair cut long in front and tied back into a short ponytail. A beautiful face, yet steeped in the bluntness proper to a bodyguard.
The name had never once appeared in the original work, so only by digging through Elden’s memories had I recalled her. Moreover, inside the Grand Ducal castle there was no need for a personal escort knight, so I had never once run into her since transmigrating.
Still…
True to his reputation as a legendary lecher, he had appointed a female knight as his personal escort. Yet looking through the memories, he had never violated her or crushed her with power. A weakling’s instinct to bow before the strong must have been at work. The memories of flinching whenever her temper flared suggested he had treated her carefully. Cross her the wrong way and his head might have rolled.
Of course, those same memories also held his “careful” efforts to make Rachel his, and his obsessive side toward her—which made him a truly strange fellow. He had taken everything he wanted and felt everything he wished to feel, so perhaps the one conquest he had failed to claim, Rachel, had sparked a sense of challenge. People who already have everything feel the fiercest longing and competitive fire for what they cannot have.
And judging by the nature of those memories of Rachel, she must have been strong enough that even the battle maniac had to tread carefully around her.
Well, entrusting your protection to someone stronger than yourself is only natural.
I cleared away the idle thoughts and spoke to Rendler.
“I was only confused for a moment. Tell Rachel we leave at once.”
I would have preferred to wander the city alone at my leisure, but this was my first outing in an unfamiliar city. Bringing along one reliable escort knight was the sensible choice.
Especially since Elden Raphelion was bound to have made more than a few enemies.
Once I finished preparing to go out and stepped beyond the bedchamber, Rachel—dressed in ordinary clothes with her sword strapped across her back—bowed her head and said,
“I shall attend you, Young Master.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
And so, together with Rachel, I left the Grand Ducal castle and began walking the streets of the city.