Chapter 29: Clarice Rosemore (1)
Chapter 29: Clarice Rosemore (1)
Translation: Godtl
"Huh? Wh-what did you just say?"
Serena was stunned by the shocking revelation.
"I'm truly sorry, Miss Serena."
When they borrowed the carriage, they hadn't even expected to return it in the first place.
The weak are preyed upon.
That is the harsh rule of this world.
"H-how could it be ruined in just one day..."
But she never imagined the carriage she'd lent them with such care would be scrapped in a single day.
If she were to hazard a guess at what happened...
Vroom~
Pe: The ride's not bad, is it?
Ju: It's not terrible, but it's not something you'd want to ride for long.
Pe: Really? Then how about we watch some fireworks?
Ju: Fireworks?
Whoooosh—BOOM! (Sound of the carriage exploding)
Pe: How is it? Pretty, right?
Ju: Well, I'll be—it burns nicely.
Something along those lines, perhaps?
"Sorry, I'll compensate you. How much?"
Serena's mind snapped back to reality.
Penelope, shamelessly bringing up compensation.
"I-it's fine... I was going to give it to you anyway?"
"Oh? Then I feel a little less sorry."
The audacity!
As if Serena had any right to refuse such a demand in her position.
"More importantly, how was the brewery?"
"After inspecting it personally, the condition seems decent. If you're agreeable, Miss Serena, I'd like to purchase it. Payment will be made in a lump sum."
"Y-yes, that's a relief..."
"I'll send you the revised proposal soon. Work on the design first."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"It'll take about a week to draft the blueprints."
"Good, work hard. Ugh, I'm exhausted."
"Go and rest."
As if it were only natural, the two delivered their business and left without another word.
Only after they were well out of sight did Serena's tears begin to fall in fat droplets.
"Sniff... Sob... This is too much... Bunny... I'm sorry..."
She had personally replaced the suspension, painstakingly repainted every inch...
The only silver lining was that Serena knew insider information about the 'Cola' business.
If Penelope, who monopolized Cola, was building a factory, it meant the value of Cola would soon plummet.
Serena had received fifteen bottles of Cola from Penelope so far.
She needed to sell them off quickly before the premium vanished and prices crashed.
At least she could recoup the cost of the carriage.
"Ah..."
Suddenly, Serena realized something.
These two didn't just commit acts of violence without reason.
They threw her just enough breadcrumbs to keep her from harboring excessive resentment, maintaining just the right amount of pressure.
She guessed it was their way of keeping her in line—ensuring she wouldn't dare step out of bounds.
Even though Serena had no intention of stepping out of line to begin with.
"Nobles... are terrifying..."
Once again, Serena learned to fear the nobility.
Five days had passed since the ambush.
Much had happened in that time, but to summarize the key points—first:
"I'll take attendance. Student Jurgen."
"Present."
"Good, let's begin today's lesson."
"I'll be in your care."
Penelope had begun a full-fledged alchemy study session with Jurgen.
The textbook was the first edition of Alchemy: An Introduction by Han-bin, which she had gifted him earlier.
Since she was teaching him anyway, she intended to mold Jurgen into a proper alchemist.
Why?
Because Penelope was now a 5th-Rank Alchemist who had mastered her unique code, Falling Flower.
Not to mention, she was a genius among geniuses—one who had effortlessly decapitated a terrifying killer like the Undertaker the moment she awakened.
If Jurgen, who was receiving one-on-one lessons from someone like her, failed to produce respectable results, what would that say about her reputation?
"Miss Penelope, does that mean you've officially reached the 5th-Rank after that last battle?"
"Correct. When I think about it, the Albion Royal University was far too small a pot for me to grow in."
"Oh-ho."
"Indeed, I was always meant for practical application. It's a shame I wasted so much time not realizing this."
Since her awakening, Penelope's confidence had reached an all-time high.
And so, the lesson began.
The topic was understanding the concepts of circuits and codes.
"The earliest alchemy operated through catalysts and formation arrays. Ah, for reference, formation arrays are the frameworks used to create 'codes.'"
"But as alchemy advanced and the concept of code stacking emerged, the limitations of formation arrays became apparent."
"Since codes were created externally, their efficiency plummeted when stacked. There were many failures."
"Alchemists thought, 'What if we brought the formation arrays inside the body?' The result was mana circuits."
"Modern alchemy uses mana circuits as formation arrays to imprint codes."
"Of course, it's difficult. It's essentially creating formation arrays inside your body. It requires meticulous calculations and control."
Jurgen nodded thoughtfully after hearing the explanation.
"Oh-ho, I understand."
Had it been anyone else, she would have snapped, What do you mean you understand? Do you think such a superficial grasp is enough? But Jurgen was an exception.
"It's because I explained it so simply."
"Indeed, that must be it."
Over the course of four lessons, his learning speed had been extraordinary.
They had previously covered concepts like elements and catalysts, and he never needed an explanation twice.
Does he really understand? she wondered, so she tested him with a pop quiz—which he aced flawlessly.
At times, his sharp questions even left Penelope stumped, forcing her to ponder before answering.
Occasionally, she even gained new insights from their discussions.
At this point, Penelope was genuinely confused.
Just who was Jurgen?
The fact that he kept Viche as a familiar was one thing.
His keen foresight in pioneering the cola business was another.
Then there was his ability to draft business plans and technical specifications.
He was anything but an ordinary commoner.
And above all else...
She couldn't shake the memory of his body during the Undertaker's attack.
The muscle tone aside, those scars—no ordinary person would have them, that much was certain.
If he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't pry, but...
"If I study this hard, can I become like you, Miss Penelope?"
"Huh?"
"That battle left quite an impression on me, you see."
"...What are you implying?"
Snapped out of her thoughts, Penelope narrowed her eyes, sensing the malicious buildup in his words.
Seeing Jurgen grinning like that, she knew he was up to something.
"Don't."
"I mean it."
"Didn't I tell you to stop?"
"Wither Gracefully, Garden of the Fool... Truly, an incantation that stirs the soul, wouldn't you say?"
As Jurgen mimicked her chant, Penelope clenched her fists, entering vibration mode.
"But Miss Penelope, is Wither Gracefully... part of the spell's name?"
"..."
"If so, isn't it a bit long? But then again, who cares? As long as it's cool, right?"
"Yes, it's unnecessary! What about it?!"
The cringe-inducing line Wither Gracefully wasn't an essential part of the spell.
But at the time, her emotions had been running high—she had been swept up in the moment.
"Having a rich sensibility is a good thing. As you said, didn't it help in constructing the mental imagery when creating a unique code like Falling Flower?"
"Shut up. Today's lesson ends here. Make sure you do your homework properly."
In retaliation, Penelope hurled an absurdly large pile of assignments at him.
The way he nonchalantly accepted the homework assignment as if it were nothing only made my anger boil over even more.
Just as I was trying to suppress my fury, Jurgen spoke up.
"By the way, Miss Penelope, is it really alright to do nothing like this?"
"About what?"
"Brighton. He hired the Undertaker to attack you, didn't he?"
"That's right. So what?"
"It just doesn't seem like your personality to stay quiet about it."
"...And what's wrong with my personality?"
Truthfully, Jurgen was right.
The old Penelope would have stormed straight to Brighton by now.
She would have spewed something like, "How dare he not only target my business partner but even me, a noble!"—venting her emotionally charged rage.
But there was a high chance that kind of reaction would be pointless.
"There's no evidence."
We have our suspicions.
But that alone isn't enough.
Neither of us had definitive proof that the Undertaker had been hired by Brighton.
To think we nearly died, yet there's nothing we can do about it.
It's an infuriating, suffocating situation.
"Hmm, so you're just going to let it slide without doing anything?"
"Who said I wasn't doing anything?"
"Oh?"
So Penelope leveraged the power of high society.
She asked Old Man Ritz to spread the rumor far and wide—"Penelope defeated the Undertaker."
A political skill of high society known as "backdoor advertising"—hiring people to circulate rumors favorable to oneself.
Now, backdoor advertising isn't exactly a commonly used tactic.
Its effectiveness is hit or miss, and if caught, the embarrassment is severe. Many have been exposed and turned into laughingstocks.
But Penelope is immune to that penalty.
"Why is Miss Penelope immune?"
"What reputation do I have left to lose?"
The power of backdoor advertising. The reach of high society.
And when you add Penelope's unexpected performance, which defied everyone's expectations—
The result was as explosive as dropping Mentos into cola.
"Did you hear? They say Penelope took down the Undertaker."
"The Undertaker? That outlaw who's been a thorn in Nortaris' side?"
"That's the one. A 5th-Rank Knight, but for some reason, he's been killing even 6th-Rank Alchemists."
"How could a talentless noblewoman possibly capture such an outlaw?"
"Pfft, I don't believe a word of that rumor."
At first, it began with skepticism.
But the truth has a way of coming out eventually.
"They say the rumor's true. The city hall even paid out the bounty."
"Good heavens... The Adventurer's Guild also sent a letter of gratitude and a reward—was that for real?"
"Did she really handle it herself? There weren't any witnesses."
"Well, the Red Sage personally verified it. Said it was done with fire-based magic."
"Wasn't fire magic the Rosemore Count Family's specialty?"
"So... it's actually true?"
A talentless noblewoman's sudden proof of skill.
The death of the vicious outlaw, the Undertaker.
Shocking as it was, if that had been all, it might have just blown over as gossip.
After all, high society is full of far more entertaining scandals.
The rumor that "the incompetent Penelope repelled the attacking Undertaker" wasn't juicy enough to chew on.
So Penelope decided to sprinkle some seasoning on top of this gossip.
"Seasoning?"
"You said it yourself. The life of a dish lies in its seasoning."
"So what kind of seasoning did you add?"
"A hint that Polar Suns might have hired the Undertaker."
If this incident had been the Undertaker's own doing, that would have been the end of it.
"The Undertaker is already dead, after all."
"But if this attack was orchestrated by someone else—by Brighton, to be precise—then the story changes entirely."
Now there was someone truly fucked.
From experience, she knew...
"High society has this beautiful tradition of thoroughly enjoying stories about someone getting royally screwed."
"Miss Penelope, your language—"
"Ah, my mistake. Pretend you didn't hear that."
And so, the result.
Breaking news! Polar Suns and the Undertaker were indeed in cahoots!
Is that really true?
Of course it is! Think about it. Polar Suns has monopolized the beverage market with their lemonade, right? Who do you think Brighton would find most irritating right now?
Ah, right, right! Cola is threatening his monopoly!
So there was a real madman behind this. Had nothing better to do, so he went after the Rosemores?
That mafia bastard, strutting around like some big shot—disgusting to watch.
High society figures turned their gleaming eyes toward Brighton.
Their gazes practically sparkled with anticipation—how spectacularly would he crash and burn?
It wasn't confirmed that the Undertaker worked under Brighton, but such trivial details no longer mattered.
No need to strain one's throat arguing or throwing a tantrum.
Just create the current, then ride it smoothly.
"Alone, it's just suspicion. But if everyone thinks so, it's no longer just that."
"So you've turned it into established fact."
"Anyway, Brighton's lifeline is now in my hands."
Penelope smiled wickedly.
"How much I'll bleed him dry before letting him live? Well, that depends entirely on my mood."
It was the first villainous grin she'd shown in a while.
"Damn it... goddamn it..."
Just moments ago, he'd received a call from the Grey Council.
The notification was clear: Edwin Brighton, the Seventh Seat, was to be permanently expelled.
Immediately after the call, he heard news of an emergency Grey Council meeting—convened without him.
Their intent was obvious.
To declare that Brighton, who'd dared to lay hands on the Rosemore bloodline, had no connection whatsoever to them.
And it wasn't just the Council.
Deals were unilaterally severed. Polar Suns stocks were dumped en masse. New loans were frozen while existing ones were called in. Payments for goods simply stopped.
Brighton's so-called "friends" had made it abundantly clear—they were cutting ties.
To them, Polar Suns was already a sinking ship.
"Why—why the hell did he do something I never ordered?!"
Brighton blew into the whiskey bottle like a broken flute.
He'd been at this for five days straight, without a single proper night's sleep.
It was unfair.
The moment he heard the news—"Penelope killed the Undertaker"—his guts twisted.
Sure, the Undertaker was a lunatic, but who'd have thought he'd attack Penelope out of the blue?
"And if he was going to attack without orders, couldn't he at least have done it properly?!"
If he had, Brighton could've just kept his mouth shut and played dumb. But no—not only did the bastard fail, he splashed Brighton with a tidal wave of shit.
"Any response from Penelope...?"
"None, sir."
"So she's dead set on burying me alive."
He tried everything to salvage the situation.
He even went to the hotel, hoping to explain the misunderstanding, to negotiate—no, to beg.
He had to, no matter what.
But Penelope didn't just refuse letters and calls—she vanished entirely from public view.
Brighton wasn't just being pruned like a flower—he was being turned into a dried husk.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!"
Everything he'd built was crumbling to pieces in just a few days.
If he wanted to save his own skin, fleeing under cover of night was his only option.
"I can't! Not after how far I've climbed...!"
The reason he didn't?
Because even in this worst-case scenario, there was a sliver of hope.
His lawyer, face stiff as stone, spoke up after receiving a call from the secretary.
"Sir, Miss Clarice has arrived."
Clarice Rosemore.
The mere thought of her sent a chill down his spine—yet paradoxically, she was Brighton's only hope.
"...Let's go."
Brighton gargled whiskey and rose from his seat.