Chapter 94: Downfall
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 94: Downfall
The source of the power that had allowed her to reign as the mistress of the house was gone.
—What was that?
—Isn't something strange?
The voices of the men shouting outside pierced her ears. Rather than chasing the intruder, they began to clamor about the sudden shift in the air.
—I feel like my head has finally cleared.
—You too? I just felt this... strange sensation. Like a fog lifting.
—What is this? What have we been doing all this time?
Then, one of them spoke up, his voice trembling with realization.
—Come to think of it... didn't that phantom thief call Tilda a witch?
—Did that girl really use sorcery on us?
—It’s possible. No, it’s the only thing that makes sense!
At that moment, Tilda heard heavy footsteps approaching the room.
‘No!’
She instinctively lunged for the door and threw the bolt.
Click, click!
—Open the door, Lady Tilda!
—Are you alright? Please, say something!
Bang! Bang!
They pounded on the wood, but Tilda remained silent, her breath hitching in her throat. Their confusion quickly curdled into a murderous rage.
—She really was a witch, just like the thief said!
—That bitch cast a spell on us!
—Break it down! Smash the door!
The men who had once been her loyal subjects screamed at the top of their lungs, fueled by the violent backlash of the broken enchantment. She was a rat trapped in a corner.
‘I have to run.’
Fortunately, Tilda had prepared for even this absolute worst-case scenario. She bolted into the bathroom, threw a pre-prepared rope out the window, and scrambled down. Once her feet hit the ground, she yanked the rope down and took it with her, leaving no trace of her path. She slipped past the estate grounds and vanished into the trees.
The last sounds she heard from the chaotic mansion were screams of horror:
—The Master has passed away!
—That damned witch killed the Master, too!
Rico Dandolo was dead. Tilda had no idea how it had happened, but it didn't matter. In the eyes of the world, she was the witch who had enchanted the mansion—an unforgivable monster. She had escaped with her life, but only for a moment. Her existence was now a candle flickering in a gale.
‘Where should I go?’
How could she survive this catastrophe? She racked her brain, searching for a way out, but there was no future. She was incompetent, just as Yor had said. She wanted everything, but lacked the merit to hold any of it. She had managed to seize power, yet she couldn't even protect it.
‘I will survive.’
Even so, she struggled pathetically. She ran until her lungs burned, tearing through the dark forest.
‘I will survive!’
But that desperate hope soon scattered like a midsummer dream.
“Ah… ah…”
Veils of shadow writhed in the darkness, revealing themselves. Figures clad in black hoods stepped into her path, closing the circle. Tilda Pascal tried to resist, but the world went black as she lost consciousness.
* * *
On a road not far from the Dandolo estate, three carriages disguised as a merchant convoy sat waiting. A man with a brown ponytail climbed into one of the carriages, exhaling a sharp breath.
“Phew! That wasn't as easy as I thought it’d be.”
“Was it really necessary to go through all that theatrical trouble?” Jed replied with a smirk.
“It had to be done. If I hadn't made a scene, this never would have ended in a single day.”
“Did you leave any tracks?” Garnet asked, her expression skeptical.
“Who, me? Barney Swallows?”
“It’s a ridiculous name.”
Garnet glared at him, but Jed only offered a playful grin. She sighed, finally admitting defeat.
“I knew you had a silver tongue, but I didn't realize you had that kind of talent for drama.”
“It’s a secret technique of our clan. We used to disguise ourselves as a circus troupe to scout for marks to fleece.”
“Don't the troupe leaders usually handle the scouting?”
“When your old man is the leader, you don't really get a choice in the matter.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Garnet nodded.
Jed sensed a presence outside and peeked through the curtain. The hooded men were loading a large, heavy sack into one of the other carriages.
“So, what about the lady?”
“She’ll be delivered to the castle. We have to follow the contract to the letter.”
“Hmm, then we’re heading the same way. No problems, I assume?”
“…Not exactly none.”
“What is it?”
“Uuuung, Je-Je~?”
Jed realized the problem the moment he heard the nasal, slurred voice. The pink-haired woman in a bunny girl outfit sitting across from Garnet was grinning like a fool. She looked completely wasted.
“What’s wrong, Pepe?”
“Hehehe, Je-Je. Wasn't I totally awesome? I was so damn good, and I only practiced for a day! Right? Right? Right?”
“…?”
“Where else are you gonna find a phantom thief like me? Even I think I’m freaking sexy. Look at this. Sexy~.”
“…Did she hit her head?”
Garnet nodded solemnly. When Jed checked the back of Penelope's head, he saw an arrowhead firmly lodged in her skull. No wonder she was out of it.
“Ahaha! Arrows went shook-shook, and I couldn't dodge them all~. Ah~ who knew one would get stuck in my brain!”
“Whoa, stop shaking your head!”
She laughed inanely, grabbing Jed’s arm for support. Garnet sighed and rubbed her temples.
“I checked it. It’s likely just temporary shock, so there’s no immediate danger. We’ll meet up with a healer on the road and pull the arrowhead out then.”
“What’s this, lady? You’re sexy and you say smart things? Want to burn up the night with this big sister? I’ll treat you real good~.”
Penelope growled like a lecherous old man. Garnet turned pale, her expression turning dead serious.
“The head injury must be more severe than I thought. It’s twisted her personality. We need to treat her immediately.”
She was always like that, Jed thought, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
* * *
Tilda opened her eyes to total darkness. She didn't know where she was, but one thing was certain: her karma had finally caught up to her.
Who was behind this? Murchit? Stephan? Herman? Or was it Rico? Countless faces raced through her mind, and her breathing grew ragged. Regardless of who it was, her chances of survival were slim.
Creeeeak—
A door opened, spilling a sliver of light into the dark room. Someone walked in.
Tap. Tap.
The only thing visible by the light of a single candle on the wall was a pair of polished black shoes.
“We meet again, Tilda Pascal.”
It was the voice of a young man, yet it possessed a strange, heavy gravity, like that of a man who had lived a thousand lives. Tilda knew this voice well. It was the voice that had utterly humiliated her.
“Re—Regent Ferda…?”
He leaned back in his chair, then shifted forward. His gray hair and piercing blue eyes were caught in the candlelight.
“Tilda Pascal,” Ferda said her name again. “I didn't like you from our very first meeting… but you have exceeded even my darkest imagination.”
There was no emotion in his voice. It was infinitely cold, like a blade pulled from a frozen lake.
“Did you really think you could survive after daring to harass a merchant who supports the Archduchess’s territory?”
Tilda’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “It wasn't me. Everything was my fiancé’s doing…”
Snap!
Ferda tossed a document onto the floor. It was a meticulous record of Tilda Pascal’s every move, provided by the Black Bandana.
“Keep talking.”
Tilda fell silent, her mouth hanging open like a mute who had lost their tongue. But only for a moment.
“…I had to do it,” she whispered, her lips trembling as the words began to pour out. “That man I call a father… he only ever intended to hand everything over to that damn Stephan.”
She let out the resentment she had bottled up for years.
“It doesn't make sense! Why can't I have it? I’m his flesh and blood, too! I built the Pascal Trading Company just as much as they did, so why am I the only one cast aside?!”
Ferda watched her. He understood that emotion. The boy named Ferda, who had wanted nothing more than to be a proper member of a knightly family but was always deemed "below the standard." There had been no warmth in his home, either. He had hated his father for that.
“Even so,” Ferda said, “the fact remains that you caused damage to the Archduchess’s territory.”
“I am deeply reflecting on my crimes! Truly! I will compensate you for everything!”
Tilda struggled against her bindings, the chair wobbling until she tumbled forward. She slammed her forehead against the floor and pleaded.
“From this day on, I will live a life suited to my station. Please, have pity on me. Show mercy!”
Tilda sobbed, her tears staining the floor. Ferda looked down at her, his expression unreadable.
“There is one thing I’m curious about,” Ferda said. “If you answer properly, I might consider letting you go.”
“W—What is it? I’ll answer anything!”
“Jed told me something.”
“Jed…?”
“The man who broke into your house. The one who destroyed the medium for your Garden Contract.”
She clenched her fists, a flash of pure venom crossing her face at the name. Ferda continued.
“He said the medium you chose was a family photo.”
It was a portrait of the entire Pascal family. A picture from their childhood, where everyone was smiling and happy.
“Why did you choose a family photo as your medium?”
Ferda was genuinely curious. Why would a woman so desperate to destroy her family choose a symbol of their unity as the source of her power? He needed to understand the contradiction.
“That’s because…” she replied through her tears, “because they are my beloved family, of course.”
Ferda lowered his gaze, watching the path of her tears.
“So that’s how it was,” he muttered.
“D—Did that answer your question? Are you going to let me live?”
“I never intended to kill you anyway. I will let you live.”
Tilda felt a chill at his phrasing. It carried a dark nuance—that he would take everything from her except her life.
“I gave you the answer! Why…?”
Ferda looked down at her with pity. “In the west of the continent, in Mist Valley, there is a monster called a Flurryman. Do you know what that is?”
She didn't.
“They say it remembers the final words of the beasts it devours. And when it is about to be hunted in turn, it mimics the voices of those beasts. Why do you think it does that?”
Ferda answered his own question, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Because it knows that saying those words might save its life. It doesn't understand what the words mean; it only knows that they are a tool for survival.”
Ferda finally understood why she had chosen the family photo. It wasn't out of love. It was a failsafe—a way to appeal to sympathy and struggle pathetically to survive until the very end.
“Your actions are no different from that monster's.”
The claim that she had contributed to the house was a lie. The claim that she felt remorse was a lie. Everything was just a hollow sound thrown out to ensure her survival.
“Thank you,” Ferda said with genuine sincerity. “For proving yourself to be trash that isn't even worth remembering.”
Ferda stood up and walked away from the light, vanishing into the shadows.
Creeak—
Thud.
The door closed. Tilda was left alone in the darkness. But the question of her survival lasted only a heartbeat. She was not alone in the room. Someone—or something—had been there even before Ferda entered, waiting in the shadows.
The entity stepped forward, revealing itself. Tilda could not believe her eyes.
The figure before her was covered in silver scales, with a pair of horns that seemed to pierce the heavens. It was a being whose very form commanded the world to kneel, inspiring a terror that transcended human understanding.
It was a Dragon.
‘That’s…’
Her pupils dilated.
‘It’s a fake. It has to be.’
There was no way a dragon could exist in such a cramped space. Logic and common sense screamed that it was impossible. She tried to hypnotize herself into believing it was an illusion, but it was futile. The presence before her was the transcendence of an immortal being.
With every exhale, a scorching wind hit her face. The low growl vibrating against her eardrums felt like it was shattering her soul.
Dragon Fear.
Even if she tried to convince herself it was a lie, the sheer weight of the creature's existence became her only truth. And that truth was a terror that a mere human mind could not withstand.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
A long, jagged scream echoed through the room. But there was no one left to hear it.
* * *
Garnet and the agents of the Black Bandana waited outside the castle gates. As the operation reached its final stage, her anxiety grew. After a long wait, a man finally emerged from the gates.
Garnet stepped forward and offered a polite bow. “I greet the Regent of Valdrova.”
“I have brought her as requested,” Ferda replied.
Soon after, Tilda Pascal appeared, escorted by Ruri. She was broken to such an extent that it was hard to believe she was the same beauty who had once held the city in her palm. Her hair was a matted mess, her face was haggard, and her eyes were vacant and unfocused. Saliva drooled from her slack jaw. She didn't even resist as she stumbled down the stairs, her movements mechanical.
She was a living corpse—the flesh remained, but the mind had been obliterated by overwhelming terror.
Garnet bowed again. “Thank you for fulfilling the agreement.”
“It’s too early for thanks.”
“Is there something else?”
“There is.”
Ferda suddenly pressed a dagger to Tilda Pascal’s throat. Garnet gasped, startled by the sudden hostage situation.
“What is the meaning of this, Regent?”
“Isabella told me how corporate takeovers work,” Ferda said calmly. “I used all my knowledge to look through Imperial laws and precedents, but no matter how much I searched, I was told that a takeover through normal methods is nearly impossible—even with the Black Bandana’s involvement.”
“Are you suggesting we lied to you?”
“I’m curious. It seems one of two people lied to me, but I can't tell who.” Ferda tilted his head slightly. “So, would you like to tell me the truth?”
“…I did not lie,” Garnet whispered.
“Then you’re saying Isabella lied?”
Garnet bit her lip. “She didn't lie either.”
“There won't be a second chance, Garnet. Convince me.”
Garnet couldn't find the words. She had an obligation to keep her client's secret, but she had to complete the mission. Ferda had her in a corner, and he knew it. He needed to know: who was the client, and why did they want to drive this woman mad?
“It is entirely possible.”
The voice that answered wasn't Garnet’s. It was a deep, middle-aged voice coming from among the hooded agents.
“If the Chief Executive Officer is deemed mentally incapable of managing the company, the board can independently appoint a new manager. That is the ironclad rule of the Dandolo Merchant House.”
The owner of the voice stepped forward and lowered his hood.
“You are…” Ferda’s eyes narrowed.
The true client was someone entirely unexpected. The man approached and offered a formal greeting.
“Henri Dandolo, Young Master of the Dandolo family, greets the Consort of the Great Fire.”