Remnants of Malice (7)

The moment things kicked off like this, the nobles' expressions sank into heavy gloom.

So this is the situation you aristocrats hate most of all, huh?

Come to think of it, of course they would. These were people who had heaped one cruelty upon another while refusing even the idea of being placed on the same level as a commoner like Karsein. Naturally, watching a "commoner" play the noble would stick in their throats.

Push this a little further, and I can make them lose their tempers even more...

As I was pondering how best to grate on the nobles' nerves, Hemnon came strolling over, doing his best to hide the venom on his face.

"Ahem! Are you unaware that one must cross Waglu Mountain to reach this villa from the Modrich estate? That's why we couldn't help it."

Ah. So that was where the answer lay.

"All the more reason you should have left earlier, then. Rather than timing your departure to arrive precisely at the appointed hour, you'd normally build in a generous margin."

"Th-that's true, but. As I said before, there was a problem with the carriage—"

"You're over-explaining. A simple apology would have been enough. Did you really have to keep talking and make yourself look so pathetic?"

"...Urgh."

Hemnon's face twisted once again.

But I had no intention of stopping here.

No—more precisely, I had no need to stop.

"A problem with the carriage, was it? How strange. As I recall, when I was always the last to arrive here, you used to berate me by insisting that if you simply took the single passable route, there'd be no way to miss the appointed hour short of the carriage flipping over."

A carriage problem?

That excuse wouldn't feed a sparrow.

The very man who had snidely interjected during the Memorial—making a mockery of the ducal house's etiquette training—was him, standing right there.

"N-no, that was...!"

"Is there anything more you'd care to say? After breaking your promise to all these people?"

He was the same man who'd demanded I apologize properly, mouth full of the words "you broke your promise to so many people."

"Un-unless we're on especially intimate terms, that is the line ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of courtesy. It's not strictly required—"

"And you alone get to decide you needn't honor it? My, my. What a way to trample on the dignity of the nobility."

It was Hemnon Modric who had invoked the very dignity of the aristocracy while forcing Karsein to bow his head.

And then.

The one who had been watching this entire scene unfold was...

"Was there anything wrong with what I just said, Flora?"

Flora Bagland.

This little brat.

"Nothing... wrong."

"I see? You'll have to forgive me—I only asked because such matters are beyond my meager education, and I feared I might have misspoken. It seems I hadn't. Wouldn't you agree, Hemnon Modric?"

At that question, delivered with a grin, Hemnon began to tremble.

Before long, he bowed his head.

"...My apologies."

Far too short. Far too curt an apology.

He had no intention of going any further than that, of course. He would happily admit a mistake to any of his fellow nobles—but bowing his head before me? Unthinkable. Hence the abrupt cutoff.

The other nobles, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere, rushed in to smooth things over.

"He's apologized and all, so surely the matter's settled now?"

"We weren't really discussing anything so terribly important just now, after all."

"Even if Young Lord Hemnon truly had unavoidable circumstances keeping him away, it wasn't as though the tea party would have collapsed over it."

A noble apologizing to another noble— commonplace. But a noble not only apologizing to a commoner, but bowing his head on top of it? Absolutely unforgivable.

To these aristocrats, it was a matter of pride far beyond mere propriety.

And so, under the pretense of reconciliation, the nobles subtly cut short the sight of Hemnon apologizing to me, cultivating an air of let's leave it at that.

Well, I was planning to stop here anyway.

I knew this game well—I'd lived through it back in the real world. I'd once mistaken them for fellow students, only for those wannabe elites at my prestigious school to pull exactly this kind of maneuver on me.

The moment I pushed any deeper, the tables would turn on me. If our positions had been reversed, they'd have hounded me without mercy.

So as much as it stung, pulling my hand back here was the right call.

But you must be feeling something by now. Right, Flora?

I stole a glance at Flora—and yes, I'd hit the mark.

Her answer had come half a beat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too late.

"..."

Flora stood there in silence, both hands clutched tight around her skirt.

So the memories are finally coming back to you now, are they?

Then take a good, hard look at it.

That residue your past self left behind.

Those remnants of your malice—

—are still carving terrible scars into Karsein's body, even now.

The gilded stage where a single person is made into everyone's plaything—the tea party—began slowly to reveal its true face.

It was the result of the other nobles throwing up shields with all their might to preserve noble decorum. The story of Hemnon's lateness—that breach of aristocratic etiquette—vanished as if it had never been, and the conversation pivoted to the Eastern Noble Conference, bringing territorial affairs to the fore.

"Wasn't the Modrich estate said to have posted the highest results that year?"

"I heard the people of the territory sang their praises as well. Their standard of living supposedly rose a whole notch."

"Isn't that entirely thanks to Young Lord Hemnon guiding the territory the proper way?"

At the mention of himself, Hemnon's shoulders straightened proudly, and he answered with a satisfied smile.

"Haha. All of this is merely the fruit of proper learning. It's less that I'm remarkable, and more that I had my father's excellent instruction, you see."

"My, my."

"Of course, becoming a model for the nobility is another matter entirely. Hahaha!"

By now he wasn't even pretending—it was a performance meant to be overheard.

Stressing the words model for the nobility. Glancing my way as if sneering. That lazy, self-satisfied chuckle soaked in superiority—I could see exactly where all of this was heading.

And once the topic of territories had been raised, my name coming up next was a certainty.

"Say—is Lord Karsein going to be all right, I wonder?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ah. Now that you mention it, I suppose most of you wouldn't know! Dear me, dear me. To think you were all unaware of such a big event."

Hemnon pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head in mock regret.

"Lord Karsein has recently become the lord of Rusmayer."

"Oh my."

"A... lord, you say?"

Manufactured lamentations rippled through the nobles. Most of them had already heard it in whispers behind closed doors. There was no need to play the astonished innocent—everyone here knew the fact.

Everyone but one.

"Karsein... has become the lord of Rusmayer?"

"Indeed, Lady Flora. It seems even within the Bagrand ducal house, no one thought to mention it to you?"

Flora knew nothing of this. Whether it was a consequence of how the episode unfolded, I couldn't say, but only Arina and Claire had been aware of it.

Scents in the air, the hyenas began circling in earnest.

"He only just became lord. He even clashed with me once over tolls. And now he intends to administer the territory again? Surely that gives us cause for concern?"

"A man so plainly unfit for lordship. Was he attempting to hide it, I wonder?"

"Or perhaps there was a reason he was desperate to keep it buried."

"If ruining the Shatren territory shames him half as much as it ought to, that would explain it."

The nobles nodded along eagerly, egging one another on.

And the one who finally made his play was...

"How could you fail to mention something so important, hm?"

Hemnon.

Now these felt like the real choices for this episode.

There had been barely any substantial options so far, but given that this one revolved around territories, this had to be the front I was meant to fight on.

Choices 2 and 3 were tailor-made routes to my destruction. Choice 5, much like Hemnon's gambit, would invite the nobles to sink their teeth in by debating my fitness as a lord. Choice 1, phrased as "why should I explain anything to this brat," looked likely to shave points off my affinity with Flora.

Option 4, by virtue of being the least hostile, looked like the "correct" answer.

Maybe against any other noble. But against this bastard, there's no reason to retreat.

Because I was holding cards too.

[ 5. Worry about yourself first—the man who's been wrecking Rusmayer is you! ] ☑

"Worry about yourself first."

"...What did you say?"

"You make it sound as though Young Lord Hemnon committed some transgression?"

"A transgression? This is the man who delivered outstanding results at last year's Eastern Noble Conference."

"Isn't that attitude toward well-meant counsel a bit much?"

The nobles lunged for my throat.

Hemnon, foreseeing the satisfying scene to come, curled his lips into a sinister smile.

But the throat you're snapping at isn't mine. It's bait.

"Your knights were actively harming an imperial-certified territory of mine—you couldn't even manage to control them—and yet you believe yourself in any position to lecture me?"

"...!"

"I'm sorry—what was that?"

"Knights...?"

"Ah. Allow me to explain for those of you out of the loop. Three knights of the Modrich house ran rampant through my territory. They disguised themselves as bandits and plundered travelers, no less."

The nobles, who had until then worn only puzzlement, found their jaws hanging open.

"You see, when I arrived to take up my lordship that day, there was a young girl wasting away in agony—and your men wouldn't even grant her passage. Told her she was clearly desperate enough to die, but had no money for the toll, and that she ought to save up her coppers to use the road like everyone else."

"N-no... that's...!"

There it is. Say only that much and leave out the part where compensation was extracted—the misunderstanding writes itself, doesn't it?

But then, you were going to lie either way, weren't you?

"And that wasn't the end of it. The only flat route over Waglu Mountain lies within Rusmayer—and they used that road time and again without paying a single toll."

In an instant, silence flooded the tea ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠party.

"You say I lack the qualifications of a lord. But Hemnon, you strike me as every bit as unqualified. Would a noble lord in possession of a sound mind really behave this way?"

At that one question, every trace of mirth drained from the mouths of the nobles who had gathered here brimming with contempt for Karsein.

They had raised the topics of territory and the Eastern Noble Conference to corner me, attacking by holding up Hemnon—the man with the conference's proudest results—as their exemplar of lordly fitness.

The problem was that Hemnon had committed an atrocity too ugly to defend.

Knights of his own house had inflicted damage on another lord's territory. Worse, those three knights had turned out to be outright bandits, plundering other people's lands.

His own house couldn't even keep its knights in line, and this was the result—so who, exactly, was in a position to sermonize about a lord's qualifications?

Snared in that enormous contradiction, Hemnon forfeited any standing to say a word to Karsein at all.

"...Everyone, it appears an uninvited guest had wormed their way into our gathering. Wouldn't you agree?"

Pitea, quick to grasp that he had crossed into indefensible territory, flipped the room's mood with a single line.

The nobles fell in behind her without hesitation.

"Indeed, quite right."

"You are not the person we believed you to be, it seems."

"I'm deeply disappointed, Young Lord Hemnon."

"A m-misunderstanding! Those knights have already been dealt with, and I've done nothing but support the Rusmayer territory all this time—!"

SNAP!

A fanning lady-in-waiting snapped her fan shut, cleaving Hemnon's protest neatly in two.

"Perhaps you did well last year, but an incident like this rather suggests this year will be different, no? A noble must always carry an attitude of reflection, after all?"

"Quite so. A noble who truly strives to improve requires time for self-examination as well."

"It would look fitting—time in seclusion to prepare properly for the conference period."

The words were dressed up in gilt and silk, but the meaning was unmistakable: you're in the wrong here, so kindly remove yourself.

Hemnon glared at me with eyes on the verge of bursting from their sockets—then left, still burning with that bloodshot fury.

He must have been seething, because the slam of the door behind him was loud enough to rattle the walls.

"I think we ought to leave this topic alone from here. I never imagined such a thing had happened..."

"I agree with Lady Pitea."

"Me too! Honestly, talk like this is a bit heavy for us young ladies to be wading into anyway, don't you think?"

"Just so. Mistresses of a house manage the family above all, not its lands."

Just as the status window's rewards promised, the nobles dropped the subject of territories entirely.

And then.

The long-awaited moment arrived.

"Um... there's something I'd like to tell you all."

"Lady Flora—to us?"

"How intriguing. What might you have to share?"

The moment this little brat opened her mouth, the nobles' eyes lit up with unmistakable hunger.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Lady Flora. Forgive me—but might that announcement wait just a little?"

As if that very moment were her cue, Pitea Gelgeton stepped gracefully forward.

"Some of you may have guessed this already, but here in Gelgeton, there is, strictly speaking, no such thing as a tea party. Our hospitality has always been a cuisine that delights the palate."

Clap, clap.

At Pitea Gelgeton's signal, a serving cart glided in from the front of the room.

"You did say you had something important to share, so I felt a few accompaniments were only proper. You'll all have been talking a great deal, so your stomachs may be growling, too."

The villa's kitchens had prepared everything precisely to this schedule, she explained—why not carry on the announcement over a light meal?

Flora, still utterly oblivious, answered that it was fine by her.

"And Lord Karsein—you're quite agreeable as well?"

Pitea spared no courtesy in turning the same question on me.

"A dish from the Gelgeton house? I'd be honored."

In that instant, the nobles traded knowing, sidelong smiles. They had divined Karsein's future, and one after another their eyes glittered with anticipation and delight.

With a soft clatter, the dishes began arriving at the table, one by one.

And then—

The message I had been expecting bloomed before my eyes.

About time I made my exit from this place, hm?

On this prepared stage, he was nothing more than a fish laid out on the grill.

A fish that would thrash and flop through a comical dance—a mere object of mockery, wriggling for the amusement of the nobles who gathered to watch. And yet today, for whatever reason, he had refused to dance even once.

He'd appointed himself their bodyguard, of all things.

They'd tried to interrogate his fitness for lordship upon hearing he'd become lord of Rusmayer—and instead, Hemnon had been the one chased out.

The traps had been laid thick and deep, yet Karsein had slipped every single one of them, courtesy of sheer, infuriating luck.

But I'm afraid even that luck ends here.

Pitea laughed at Karsein in her heart, smothering the seed of unease completely.

"This is a new creation, made with my own special recipe. It will be served to those gathered here before anyone else—do enjoy it to the very last bite."

"Oh my. What a rare privilege."

"A chance to taste Gelgeton's new dish before anyone else does not come often. Thank you."

"I simply must finish every scrap. Isn't that right?"

"Of course! To leave any behind would be an insult to Lady Pitea's generosity."

Well said. Every last morsel would have to be eaten.

Because this was a special occasion.

These dishes laid out before him—there would be no dodging them. Just as in days past, Karsein would be forced to shove that particular poison—the Kelvia Fruit—into his own mouth with his own hands.

Every gaze in the room converged on the black-haired man.

Now. Quickly.

Pick up your silverware and stuff that food into your mouth.

And then show us. Every last bit of it.

The side effects of the Kelvia Fruit hidden within the dishes laid bare in full—Karsein convulsing in agony before their eyes was the grandest spectacle the nobles gathered here could possibly savor.

But.

CLATTER.

He flung the two sets of silverware before him carelessly over his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, everyone could only blink in bewilderment.

"Hah."

A meaningful smile curled across Karsein's face.

"Turns out I'm treated worse than the bodyguards, I see."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he drew a small bottle from his breast pocket and poured its entire contents over the plate set before him.

In that instant, the food's coloring darkened, deep and wrong.

The nobles erupted—murmuring accusations of what on earth he thought he was doing to perfectly good food—

"I told you, didn't I, Flora. That I had no business entering this tea party at all—that I should have simply been returning to the ducal house."

"..."

To one girl alone, this scene meant something else entirely.