Bluebeard (1)

The Dark King had left.

Only the two of them remained in the reception room.

Theodore rose from his seat.

"……I'll take my leave first, Brother."

"……."

A nod.

Evan lacked even the strength to answer, so he merely inclined his head.

Theodore bolted from the room—as if fleeing for his life.

Crash!

—Gah!

—Young Master!!

A clattering racket erupted from outside. He must have fallen.

What rotten luck.

He should be more careful.

I gave him a potion, so he should manage on his own, right?

Evan paid it no mind. He simply didn't have the luxury to spare the attention. His head was a tangled mess.

Tsk. What went wrong?

The problem had started after confirming whether Lapis was a contractor of the stars or not. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dark King had looked slightly dazed—like a man who had seen something he shouldn't have, or, conversely, like a man who had been disappointed.

Was Lapis not being a contractor really that much of a shock?

It might have been. Evan found himself nodding in understanding without realizing it. Why, older people were always like that, weren't they? Stubborn as hell. Once they decided they were right about something, they kept believing it forever. The Dark King was that type. His stubbornness had been shattered, so it made sense.

Well. He is in the middle of looking for disciples, after all.

Right now the Dark King was focused on raising successors. Not exclusive disciples—if someone looked talented, he took them under his wing and trained them. Whether his eye was bad or his luck was bad… he mostly only ran into hopeless cases.

Creak.

"Ugh."

"Evan. Are you okay?"

Lapis scurried over to him in a rush. Evan shook his head and held out a cabbage.

"I'm fine."

"Mm."

Lapis crunched the cabbage with a crisp sound. It was hard to believe she had been swinging a dagger so murderously just moments ago. When he lightly ruffled her hair, she grinned with pure satisfaction.

"Dolf."

"Yes! Young Master."

Dolf appeared with vigorous energy—though his legs were still trembling slightly.

"You've worked hard today. You may retire early if you wish."

"Absolutely not! I will remain until the end and attend to you, Young Master!"

Such loyalty! Evan was a little moved—enough to shed a tiny tear inside. But that was that, and work was work.

"I have a letter I must read alone."

"A letter? Could it be from the Saintess……!"

"It is not."

Evan's firm denial. Dolf's face fell.

"Understood…… Then I'll wrap things up quickly for today."

"Thank you."

"Not at all! It's only what a faithful servant of the Young Master ought to do!"

Dolf strode off with spirit. Watching his retreating back, a thought suddenly struck Evan.

Am I…… that scary?

It was a question he'd held for quite a while. People kept looking frightened whenever they saw him. At first he'd thought it was because of his status, but he was starting to suspect that wasn't it. Especially today. Theodore's attitude. He'd only meant "please shut up," but hadn't Theodore been far too terrified?

"Lapis."

"Yes?"

"Am I…… very frightening, by any chance?"

Lapis tilted her head as she looked at him.

"Not really? Your eyes are pretty! They sparkle gold."

"Is that so?"

Something Evan had heard in the early days of his possession: that no emotion could be read in his eyes. Probably a side effect of the transmigration? People said that when he looked at them, they couldn't tell why he was looking, what he was thinking, or what he was feeling—nothing at all. It seemed that had been fixed now, since Lapis said they were pretty.

"Yes. Want me to tell you about other pretty parts too?"

"I'm fine."

Ahem. Well. This body was rather handsome, after all.

Theodore must have gone a little weird in the head after running away from home.

Right. If he really looked that scary, other people would have misunderstood too. Evan quickly erased the doubt. Tsk, just a waste of time.

"Lapis. You may return early toda—"

"Hup."

Lapis slipped into the shadows and reappeared right beside him—on the sofa next to him. Sprawled across the cushions, she took one of Evan's hands and nuzzled her cheek against it.

"Hehe."

……Might as well leave her. She had worked hard today, after all.

Evan summoned Golem No. 4. Long arms and six fingers—its manual dexterity was outstanding.

Rip!

Skilled hands tore open the letter. Before scanning the contents, Evan allowed himself a small hope.

Will it connect me to the Shaman of the Constellations?

The Shaman of the Constellations was also one of the main supporting allies. How many connections had he built already with this?

Already three. Not bad.

A pleased smile naturally formed on his lips. Of course, regular communication was essential. He had exchanged letters with the Saintess once now. Arthur still hadn't even replied.

I wonder if it's working.

With the Saintess, there had been some misunderstanding, but they had at least exchanged letters. Arthur still hadn't contacted him. He needed to know whether the Aura Hole had been healed or not.

Well, maybe I should focus on the next person first.

The Shaman of the Constellations. Her greatest strength was the shaman's unique magic—Celestial Magic. Magic that communicated with the stars and formed contracts with them. A magic lost and vanished from the current Empire. The reason? Simple. It was far too difficult.

There were three conditions required to learn Celestial Magic: talent, aptitude, and eyes. Ordinary levels of each wouldn't cut it. One person per century—that was the level of talent required.

At present, the Shaman of the Starry Sky is the only one.

One who gazed upon the constellations, read the flow of the stars, cast fortunes, and read destinies. That was the Shaman of the Constellations.

I thought I'd only meet her much later. Lucky break.

With a pounding heart, Evan looked at the letter's contents—

……What is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this?

He doubted his own eyes.

Not the Shaman of the Starry Sky?

An alchemist?

No.

Where's my ally? Where's the Shaman of the Constellations?

No, why an alchemist? I never asked to be introduced to one?

Evan stared with hollow eyes.

Introduce me to the Shaman of the Constellations, not some alchemist……

Urgh. His blood pressure—

Thud.

Evan collapsed. Cause of collapse: sheer desolation. A reason perfectly suited to his frail body.

And so he fainted. One day later, news reached him.

"……Who did what, you say?"

"Arthur Modriter, the Blood-Crazed Holy Knight, has cut down every last heretic…… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Rumors are circulating that he restored his aura, and that someone stands behind him……"

"……."

Word that Arthur Modriter had single-handedly swept away the heretics and demon worshippers. And then, a single letter arrived.

Arthur Modriter.

Not one of the continent's Five Great Powers, yet still counted among the true heavyweights and powerhouses. At present, that renown had faded somewhat. He had entrusted himself to the obscure Full Moon Church, and rumors that he had lost his aura had spread on top of that. The fact that he had not been particularly active since then was another reason.

Even so, no one casually laid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a hand on Arthur. In the past, during the height of his activity, he had single-handedly purged the remnants of a fallen holy kingdom—demon worshippers who had never truly disappeared. Each of them possessed superhuman power that defied causality, making them too dangerous to touch lightly. The famous anecdote was that Arthur had spent forty-eight days without rest cutting down a bishop of the cult who carried a curse of undying resurrection.

So when Arthur went into seclusion, most people rejoiced. A monster—a monstrous holy knight even the Five Great Powers could not easily dismiss—had withdrawn from the world.

And now that Arthur had returned, single-handedly sweeping through a heretical force estimated at no fewer than five hundred strong. In the process, rumors began to circulate. First: that Arthur had restored his aura. Second—

"……That someone stands behind him. That's the rumor going around, correct?"

"Yes……"

Evan's expression grew grave. ……The problem was that the rumor was true. Especially the part about the one behind him being none other than himself.

I expected something like this the moment I restored his aura.

But this was far too soon. Unlike the rumors, Arthur was not a blood-crazed knight. No—he was, actually. He simply chose his times carefully.

His Aura Hole shouldn't be fully restored yet, should it?

Evan had a manly and precise grasp of his own capabilities. The Aura Hole restoration potion? A complete one-hundred-percent recovery was impossible. This was the limit of his half-baked methods. There was a reason he'd thought he needed to find a master.

At best, it should only be half restored……

Was there some kind of problem?

As Evan's expression darkened, Dolf hurriedly added,

"Fortunately, there were no rumors about you, Young Master!"

"……Is that so?"

"Yes. Thankfully, it seems only the vague idea that 'someone stands behind him' has spread."

Small mercies. Evan wiped his chest in relief. Being the center of attention was something he politely declined. It would only make things exhausting. Even within the family it was already a mild nuisance—how much worse would it be out in the world?

Ugh, absolutely not.

Attention? Receiving it was nice enough. But there was always a price. Excessive attention became poison! Evan had watched celebrities constantly hounded by the media. He had absolutely no intention of becoming like them.

"If any rumors about me start spreading, please be sure to tell me."

"Yes! Understood!"

Just in case, he made the request crystal clear. If rumors did spread? He would take immediate measures—move somewhere quiet, for instance.

That much should be fine.

He had no intention of joining the succession struggle anyway. He'd go boil some eggs and live quietly.

"Evan. What's that letter?"

"Ah. It's a reply to a letter I sent."

"A letter? Who did you send it to?"

"Arthur Modriter. A friend I'm trying to get closer to."

"Trying to get closer to……? He's not a friend yet?"

"Not yet."

What Arthur thought of him was anyone's guess. Evan mused inwardly as he unfolded the letter. True to Arthur's nature, it skipped all flowery language and went straight to the point.

A problem?

"……."

There was a side effect like that? He combed through his memories of the original work, but found nothing of the sort. Originally, Arthur's Aura Hole recovered gradually over time—about six months within the story. For it to already be halfway restored at this point was extraordinarily fast. Could the speed itself be the cause? That didn't seem right. Had he simply been too rough with it?

Argh, if only I had the strength, I'd give him a piece of my mind!

He wanted to scold him for using it so carelessly.

……Mm. Or maybe not.

Of course, that thought lasted only a moment. Not because he was scared. Just, well… it was better not to quarrel with someone he was trying to befriend.

And with that, the letter ended.

……He really sent a reply just to say that?

No.

Would he truly send only this? There had to be a hidden meaning. When you buy a product and leave a review, is there ever no intent behind it? If it was unsatisfactory, the subtext was clearly a request for after-sales service—or a refund.

Ah.

Evan sighed. What kind of knight beats around the bush like this? Damn allies. Threatening him with roundabout language? The problem was that he didn't have the materials.

……Is it actually a blessing that I was introduced to an alchemist?

This might have been a stroke of divine genius.

Let's see. The Alchemist of Bluebeard? His title is Count…… Mm, a character I know.

The Count of Bluebeard. An ancient alchemist who had prolonged his life through alchemy—over a hundred years old.

Damn. I don't like this guy……

Still, better that it was someone he knew? There were two ways to obtain the materials he needed now. One was to go west himself. The other was to enter the underworld. The west was obviously far, and he had no desire to visit the underworld. Who knew what nonsense he'd hear there again! Better to meet the Count of Bluebeard. A man like him would have materials piled high. The downside was that he couldn't be summoned by invitation. To meet him, you had to go in person.

……Looks like I'll have to go out for the first time in a while.

First, he wrote a reply to Arthur's letter.

As for the next line…… nothing suitable came to mind.

I'd better get that after-sales service done quickly.

He let out a long sigh.

"……Dolf. Please send this letter, and prepare for an outing."

"Pardon?"

"I believe I need to go out for a while."

"Ah! Yes! Then for your return this evening……"

"……I think I'll need to sleep outside as well. About a week or so."

"……What?!"

Evan's declaration of an outing. The entire mansion was thrown into chaos.

That night, evening.

The Full Moon Church.

"You have worked hard, Holy Knight."

"Mm."

Wiping the blood of heretics from his hands, Arthur climbed up from the basement. Adrianne was waiting for him. She asked in a sharp voice,

"Have you lost your mind?"

"……What is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw the letter you sent to Evan Alcarte. Wasn't that request far too rude?"

"What request are you talking about?"

Arthur looked puzzled. Adrianne tapped a copy of the letter.

"This—aren't you protesting that the potion was defective?"

"No. I merely stated how it was."

"……."

He had no intention of protesting, nor any dissatisfaction. Only half healed? Not "only" half—half was already more than he could have hoped for. The aura he felt in his body. He had never imagined he would feel it again in his lifetime.

"……."

While Adrianne was at a loss for words—

Flutter!

A bird flew in. A silver bird of the moon, primarily used for delivering letters. It politely offered the letter with its beak, then vanished beyond the sky.

"Mm. A letter from Evan Alcarte."

A thank-you note for the review, perhaps. Arthur opened the letter without much thought—

"……Mm."

"What is it?"

His expression turned grave in an instant. Inside the letter, the contents were extremely brief, written in neat handwriting.

A short sentence without a single flourish.

……Was he angry, by any chance?