Chapter 59: The Witch and the Noble Lady (4)
Chapter 59: The Witch and the Noble Lady (4)
Translation: Godtl
A novel.
A literary work that aesthetically organizes events into a unified narrative through prose.
In other words, a romance novel is a romantic literary work that aesthetically structures romance to realize a unified romantic narrative.
Of course, in the vanity-filled upper echelons of society, novels aren't treated particularly well.
Love stories that superficially depict romantic relationships between men and women? Don't even get me started.
From their very foundation, they're considered third-rate literature.
Kindling for fires.
Sorry, trees.
That's about the level of respect they get.
Yet Serena reads romance novels—as do most of her peers.
Lady Penelope probably reads them too.
Though most likely not as voraciously as Serena.
Serena, who had to tremble at the thought of being married off to some strange place rather than enjoying free love.
Amidst such circumstances, the catharsis of watching the villainess who tormented the heroine get slapped silly.
The bittersweet push-and-pull of the narrative.
How could one not be captivated by the thrill akin to peeking into forbidden texts?
And since ancient times, books have been treasuries of vicarious experience.
Serena prided herself on having accumulated quite substantial experience points.
Isn't romance fantasy all about every kind of chaotic mess imaginable?
Brimming with such confidence, Serena began her questioning like a professional counselor.
"First, who bears the responsibility in this situation?"
"The other party."
"Penel... I mean, I should first hear what the other person did wrong."
"I can't go into details... but it was quite a significant wrongdoing."
"Hmm, significant wrongdoing... significant wrongdoing..."
Serena pondered the phrase "significant wrongdoing" with the gravity of a detective.
Jurgen and Penelope were more than just business partners—they were in a secret romantic relationship.
These two had fought.
And Penelope had committed a major transgression.
If it was serious enough for the usually composed Jurgen to come seeking counsel with such a dark expression...
'Don't tell me...!'
Serena's eyes widened dramatically.
"By any chance... is this an issue involving a third party besides the two of you?"
"No, how did you know?"
Her speculation turned to certainty.
It wasn't particularly difficult to deduce.
This was a basic, default plotline after all.
Penelope's major wrongdoing.
A third party involved in the issue.
'Lady Penelope, you're far bolder than I thought.'
An affair.
Or perhaps just a fleeting moment of wandering eyes.
"But I'm not entirely blameless either."
And now a declaration of mutual fault.
Serena's brain, marinated in romance novels, began weaving scenarios from the given clues.
"...Hmm, this is quite a serious matter."
Penelope and Jurgen were real nobility.
Their secret relationship was deep enough to warrant separate meeting places.
But since when do noble romances flow purely along righteous paths?
High society overflows with scandalous tales too indecent to pass the lips of prim, titled ladies.
It's practically an animal kingdom unto itself.
In all likelihood, this incident followed similar lines.
The most plausible scenario was Penelope's infidelity.
But she didn't seem like someone without principles to cross that line entirely.
Yet Jurgen's reaction seemed too lukewarm for that to be the case.
'In that case...'
She must have provoked Jurgen's jealousy.
But why would Penelope provoke jealousy?
The answer became crystal clear when considering this statement:
'But I'm not entirely blameless either.'
Jurgen had been neglecting Penelope recently, and displeased by this neglect, Penelope had acted out petulantly to incite his jealousy.
This led to a major fight, followed by a cooling-off period.
Now Jurgen was at his wit's end, pacing anxiously before finally coming to Serena.
Q.E.D.
Proof complete.
"I've finished organizing my thoughts."
"Already?"
"These kinds of problems don't yield special answers no matter how long you ponder them. Anyway, you came to the right place."
Jurgen gazed at Serena, who was brimming with unusual enthusiasm, with a mixture of bewilderment and resignation.
"First, this is your current state, correct? You clearly have pent-up emotions, but don't know how to address them... and the more you think about the other person, the more complicated it all becomes..."
"H-how did you know?"
Jurgen felt as though he'd encountered a master fortune-teller.
He had only shared the most superficial details, yet Serena's sharp insight made it seem as if she had pierced through the heart of the matter.
"It's not that difficult to figure out. Especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships—ambivalent emotions tend to accompany them."
Serena, who usually seemed a bit scatterbrained and like she was missing a screw or two, now appeared completely different.
Almost like a professional counselor.
"Impressive, Miss Serena."
"You can rely on me a little more, you know."
"I suppose I can."
"Then, Senior, how are you feeling right now?"
"...I feel like I want to let go of everything."
"Huh?"
"I wish none of it had ever happened. Maybe the best way forward is to act like complete strangers."
Serena, whose pointed nose practically stabbed the sky, was taken aback.
'Th-this is much more serious than I thought...'
This wasn't just some petty squabble.
Jurgen was deeply troubled—enough to consider ending things.
Putting aside the fact that it was hard to imagine Jurgen and Penelope acting like strangers...
The two of them were co-representatives.
If a married couple decides to divorce, legal battles begin—but if co-representatives split up, the company would be torn apart from the start.
'Then what about Y&P...?'
Y&P Trading Company, which currently provided the most work for the Lenoir Workshop.
If the company went under...
'I—I have to stop this!'
It absolutely wasn't out of self-interest.
Wouldn't it be better if friends and respected seniors got along?
"W-w-wait a minute, Senior. Let's take a deep breath first, okay? Hoo, ha... hoo, ha..."
"Why the sudden deep breathing?"
"This is an important decision, isn't it? A woman's heart isn't that simple, you know. It's incredibly multifaceted and, uh... multi-layered!"
Serena rambled on without even knowing what she was saying.
Such shallow words weren't enough.
She needed something more fundamental, something that could prevent their separation!
"Before you think about ending things... have you tried talking to her?"
"Talking?"
"Yes! When emotions run high, it can be difficult... But understanding each other's thoughts and feelings—that's the key to resolving conflicts, right?"
At those words, Jurgen froze as if struck by a revelation.
Serena was right.
He had never had a proper conversation with Isolde.
It had always just been emotional outbursts.
"How about trying to talk first? The other person might... have thoughts you haven't even considered..."
"What kind of conversation?"
"Any kind! One step at a time, carefully. That's what matters."
Serena's advice wasn't particularly groundbreaking.
It was just that a long time had passed, and only now did he have the emotional space to consider it.
For so long, he had lived with the obsessive belief that forgiving Isolde would be a betrayal of Viche.
"A-and k-kisses are important too."
"...?"
"There's such a thing as atmosphere, right? It's about mending a strained relationship—making up."
"What on earth are you talking about now?"
"Oh, come on! You know exactly what I mean! Just close your eyes and, k-k-kiss her... and then instinct will take care of the rest! I'm sure of it!"
Serena babbled, her ears turning bright red.
Only then did Jurgen realize she had gotten the completely wrong idea.
She must have assumed it was some trivial lovers' quarrel.
Though it was a misunderstanding, her advice was still valid.
The counseling session was over.
Now it was up to Jurgen.
"Thank you, Miss Serena."
Serena chased after him in her slippers, all the way to the door, and implored him urgently.
"You absolutely, absolutely, absolutely must make up, okay?"
"I'll try talking to her."
"Ah! But what about this? Miss Penelope isn't at the hotel right now."
"Huh? Why bring up Penelope?"
"I'm just saying she's not at the hotel right now."
Serena added with a knowing look in her eyes.
"She bragged about joining the Red Moon Subjugation Squad, you see."
"Well, Miss Penelope is a 5th-Rank Alchemist, after all."
That alone wouldn't have been particularly strange.
"Last night, she suddenly called and proudly announced that she'd formed a team with Lady Isolde Blackwood."
"...What?"
"Come to think of it, it's perfect timing. Right when she's in high spirits, the moment she returns—you know the feeling, right?"
His blood ran cold.
It was less a rational judgment and more an instinct.
Isolde. The Demon Realm. Penelope.
Isolde. The Demon Realm. Beatrice.
In all likelihood, these two sentences had nothing to do with each other.
But.
The reason for this creeping sense of déjà vu.
The reason his head turned ice-cold.
The unspoken question he had carried in his heart all this time, the reason he had avoided speaking with Isolde—
It all came down to one sentence.
Had Isolde's emotions truly not played a part in Viche's sacrifice?
'I only need Han-bin. Han-bin only needs me too, doesn't he?'
The memory of Isolde's petulant words from long ago resurfaced, and his heart pounded violently once more.
How did Penelope appear in Isolde's eyes now?
Would she see her as Han-bin's 'closest companion'?
He wanted to believe.
That Isolde wasn't so twisted as to—
But he wasn't reckless enough to stake Penelope's safety on that belief.
He had to go. Now.
To Isolde.
To Penelope.
To the Demon Realm.
"Can we really just leave this like this?"
"Why? Do you think it'll burn?"
"It feels like it might."
After finishing the mushroom hot pot, they had moved on to roasting the corn Isolde had brought, cooking it over the campfire.
Oooooooooo—
An eerie resonance echoed throughout the Demon Realm.
It sounded like the wails of the dead, or the screams of sinners echoing from the depths of hell.
The sheer magnitude of the horrifying noise sent an instant chill down Penelope's spine.
This was the precursor—the beginning of the Red Moon wave.
"Lady Isolde..."
As expected, the dormant cubes began reassembling all at once.
Dozens were already within sight.
And each one of them was classified as a 'crisis'-level threat.
Even though she had mentally prepared herself, the mushroom hot pot in her stomach threatened to rise.
"It's begun."
Isolde, who had been poking the corn with a stick, rose to her feet.
"What should I do to help?"
"Keep roasting the corn."
"...Yes."
Penelope, who had resolutely stood up, crouched back down.
This wasn't the time for pride.
Following Isolde's instructions and quietly roasting the corn might actually be the best way to help.
At the very least, she wouldn't be getting in the way.
—Fwoosh
As Isolde rubbed something resembling a large fish scale between her thumb and forefinger, a small flame flickered to life.
The candle-like flame swelled in sync with the wave, growing larger.
Penelope's eyes sparkled.
Fire magic.
And not just any fire magic—this was Isolde Blackwood's personal demonstration.
Since Penelope's own primary magic was also flame-based, this was a golden opportunity to broaden her understanding just by watching over her shoulder.
"Wow..."
She couldn't hold back her admiration.
"Firebirds, come feast."
An oddly lackluster incantation.
Every time she flicked her wrist lightly, dozens of small firebirds, glowing emerald-green, took flight.
Blue phosphorescence scattered like stardust in the wake of their fluttering wings.
And upon colliding with enemies, they shattered like glass, erupting into explosions.
Beautiful.
And flawless.
Her heart raced.
Judging by the number of waves, it was likely a 5th-Rank spell—yet it was on an entirely different level from Penelope's own magic.
The countless golems crumbled before they could even get close.
What kind of expression was Isolde making as she manifested such miracles?
Curious, Penelope shifted her gaze toward Isolde—then froze.
"...?"
Isolde was staring straight at her.
In the middle of battle—why is she looking back here?
'Ah, right.'
Realizing something, Penelope hurriedly flipped the corn.
Fortunately, it hadn't burned.
.
.
.
And within the pitch-black darkness—
There were those watching the two, who had perfected their division of labor.
A dozen hooded devotees.
"Good. The time has come."
And among them, the Archbishop of the Cult, clad in white vestments—Hamel.
"Prepare the ritual."
A gentle smile graced the lips of the unrealistically beautiful boy.