Chapter 92
Chapter 92
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Cleanup
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The incident occurred right after Ian left the Merelrof mansion.
The butler blocked the path of the lady, who was dragging her weary body back toward her bedroom. Lady Rien scowled as she looked at him.
“Why?”
“The Count commands you to come upstairs.”
“…Why?”
Something felt deeply ominous. It was not the usual summons that came once every day or two. Was it because of the butler’s rigid expression? The lady stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. As the candle wax dripped down, the butler urged her on.
“Madam.”
“Wait. I’m thinking. Don’t you know why he summoned me, butler?”
The butler let out a sigh after a moment of silence. His breathing echoed in the unusually quiet hallway. It felt colder than the chill wind blowing outside.
“Butler. Tell me.”
“The master has learned of your relationship with Lord Ian.”
“…How?”
The lady’s face drained of color. It was an answer she had never anticipated. Seeing her not deny it, the butler’s heart burned pitch black.
If only she had denied it confidently in her usual voice. From her demeanor, it seemed the servants had indeed witnessed it correctly.
“Why did you do it, Madam….”
“No, this is absurd….”
“You know the master’s temperament. You made a grave mistake.”
“It’s not like that? It’s not!”
But Lady Rien completely misunderstood in a different sense. She thought the assassination attempt had been exposed, not an affair. Her body began to tremble violently, her mind going blank.
‘What do I do? If the Count doesn’t die? What about me?’
If the Count survived, she would die. Even without being killed outright, she would be chained to this place for life.
This was an undeniable fact. And in this moment, the only one who could help her was Ian. The lady bolted down the hallway.
Thud! Bang!
“Madam!”
“Damn it, Ian! Ian!”
“Wh-what’s the matter?”
“The carriage—no, a horse! For Lord Ian!”
“Madam! You mustn’t!”
The lady tumbled down the stairs as if rolling, shouting all the while. Servants who had been finishing their tasks gathered at the sudden uproar. One tried to help her to her feet, but she slapped his hand away fiercely and yelled.
“Get me a horse!”
“Madam, you can’t do this!”
“Shut up! I’m as good as dead—how could I not? All of you, out of my way!”
Clang! Crash!
The hallway decorations toppled over and shattered into pieces, and the lady desperately sprinted toward the main entrance. Her bruised knees throbbed as if they might give out.
But she knew.
If she stopped now, it would truly be the end.
Whoosh!
“Madam. No more disturbances.”
At that moment, a knight seized her arm. He was one of the three knights stationed at the mansion. The lady’s face was bloodless as she gasped for breath.
“Someone, anyone—help me….”
“What in the world….”
“Madam, are you all right?”
“Everyone, return to your rooms. No one is to come out until permission is granted.”
“Disperse!”
The servants hesitated and approached out of concern for the lady, but they retreated at the shouts of the butler and knight. They all bowed their heads low as they hurried out of the hallway.
“Let go! Release me! How dare you lay hands on me?”
“I’m sorry, Madam. But if you go now, things will only get worse.”
“Aaah! No! I hate it! No!”
At a nod from the butler, the knight hoisted her onto his shoulder. Her injured legs were fully exposed beneath her skirt, but there was no helping it. Lady Rien thrashed and screamed hysterically, her cries echoing throughout the mansion and reaching even Clark’s ears.
“…Madam?”
Ian had brought him back intending to return him, but Clark had not received that message. He had simply been sitting in the dilapidated servants’ storage shed within the Merelrof mansion, eating his gruel. Ian had already departed, and amid the lady’s commotion, no one spared him a thought.
Creak.
Clark walked the familiar hallway and glanced up the stairs. He had lived here for years. He knew the mansion’s layout with his eyes closed, and he was well aware that Lady Rien’s screams almost always came from the bedroom.
Creak.
The wooden floor let out an eerie groan with every step he took. He eventually reached the floor with the Count and lady’s bedroom, where he came face-to-face with the butler and knight standing guard.
“Clark?”
“Return to your quarters.”
“The Madam…”
“I said go back.”
Thud! Bang!
At the same moment, a dull thud came from within. Clark lunged forward instinctively, but the knight blocked him with a casual wave of his hand.
“Rien!”
Bang!
Was it because of that shout? The bedroom, which had been in constant uproar, fell suddenly silent. The door then opened, revealing the Count with bloodshot eyes.
“…Clark?”
“Ah…”
He looked nothing short of a demon drenched in sweat. Hearing Lady Rien scream Clark’s name made the Count feel as if all the blood in his body had evaporated.
“You filthy bitch, how many men have you been screwing around with? Ian, Clark—both of them, what the hell….”
“I told you it’s not true… I’ve said it so many times….”
“Then why call out Clark’s name!”
Grip!
The Count seized the woman’s hair mercilessly. He alternated glances between her and Clark, flashing a savage grin. Then, as if beckoning him inside, he turned away with the door left open. Lady Rien, being dragged along, looked at Clark with tears streaming down her face.
‘Run away.’
That was what she was saying. But, but…
Creak.
As if drawn by an invisible force, Clark followed her into the bedroom. The butler wore a worried expression, while the knight remained impassive. Lighting a mana cigarette, the Count issued his command.
“Behead anyone who tries to leave without my permission.”
“…Understood.”
“No one is to interfere.”
Slam!
The bedroom door shut with a resounding thud. That night, neither the woman nor the slave would emerge alive. By the time the sun rose, the wooden floor would be soaked in one of their blood.
The Count lashed at the two with all his might, sweat pouring from him. The more Clark tried to shield the lady, the harder his swings became.
Crack! Crack!
“Ah!”
When the long whip finally coiled around the lady’s neck and lashed across her cheek, Clark felt his last thread of sanity snap. His body moved of its own accord, beyond his control. He snatched the letter knife from the table and slashed at the Count’s nape.
“Aaack!”
The butler and knight standing outside whipped their heads around at the unfamiliar scream. Clark? They were puzzled, but the Count’s order to not interfere kept them firmly at their post by the door.
“Hic…”
The lady’s intermittent sobs drifted out.
And at last, as the darkness receded and the sun rose.
The door, which had seemed forever sealed, swung open. The first to emerge was Lady Rien, covered head to toe in blood—whether the Count’s or her own, it was impossible to tell.
She moved slowly, her fingertips trailing along the wall.
A faint trail of her bloodstains followed behind.
* * *
Creak.
Ian stepped down from the carriage and surveyed the mansion at once. The shocking atmosphere from the Count’s murder hung palpably in the air. Or perhaps it was simply because Ian himself sensed it that way.
It seemed the news hadn’t yet reached the village….
“Lord Ian? Please, come in.”
The servant who had been waiting for him fidgeted nervously and led the way. Ian ignored the hallway decorations that lay smashed to bits and headed upstairs.
In front of the bedroom in question, three knights with swords at their sides, the butler, and several servants had gathered, discussing something awkwardly.
“Lord Ian has arrived.”
“Ah.”
The butler looked utterly dazed. He offered no proper greeting even upon seeing Ian. But Ian had no need for formalities either; he simply flicked his hand and entered.
“You’re here?”
“Good heavens. Madam.”
The scene was enough to drive anyone mad. The plush ivory rug was soaked through with blood, and barely an intact object could be found in the room. But even more astonishing was Lady Rien, seated on the sofa.
“Have a seat. It’s a mess, but.”
“What happened? How in the world….”
The lady’s dress was the exact same one she had worn for dinner the previous evening. Whether she had merely wiped the blood off with a damp cloth, dark red stains still mottled her pale skin in places.
“As you can see, total chaos.”
“And the Count? Is he dead?”
“The doctors are examining the body in the inner bedroom. Clark was getting whipped and ended up stabbing him in the throat with an envelope knife.”
She exhaled a plume of mana cigarette smoke as she muttered. In just one night—just the time the moon hung in the sky—the world felt utterly changed. Ian pressed a hand to his forehead and peered into the inner room.
‘Good grief, this is absurd.’
What had been the point of scheming to sell the medicine from Hwan? To avoid legal repercussions. Whether for the lady or for those who had colluded with her.
“Lord Ian. Greetings. I am Pulu, one of the Three Knights of Merelrof.”
Ian turned at the greeting from the unfamiliar man. He had brown curly hair, and the look Lady Rien gave him from below was far from friendly.
“You’re the one who sent the letter?”
“That’s right. There’s something we need to confirm.”
“Confirm? With me?”
Ian furrowed his brow, utterly baffled. The lady merely stubbed out her mana cigarette on the table, her expression weary.
“We are those who pledged loyalty to Count Merelrof. It is our duty and mission to clearly elucidate the circumstances of our lord’s death. Punishing all those responsible for the Count’s death will be the final purpose of we Three Knights.”
Well, now.
Ian crossed his arms and tilted his chin up.
“And?”
“What is your relationship with Lady Rien Merelrof?”
“…What?”
It should have been understandable enough, but Ian felt his thoughts grind to a halt. They had said Clark did it, so were they suspecting his involvement?
But why phrase the question like that?
“These fools suspect an affair between you and me, Lord Ian.”
“Pfft!”
At the lady’s words, Berik burst into laughter. But the self-proclaimed Three Knights seemed utterly serious, not so much as blinking. Ian let out a hollow chuckle and rubbed his forehead.
‘This is bullshit….’
“And Clark?”
“He’s confined in the basement prison.”
“Bring him here.”
“We can’t do that.”
The knight rejected Ian’s order outright. Ian’s brows knitted together involuntarily. The lady, who had been listening from the side, issued the command again in a languid voice.
“Bring Clark.”
“We cannot obey the madam’s orders until the full truth of the incident is clear.”
“This is the situation, Lord Ian.”
With the Count dead, she ought to be in charge of the mansion until the next Count was decided. But the knights’ defiance had complicated matters.
Ian scanned the knights from head to toe and muttered.
“What full truth is there to uncover? It’s just karma from your master’s batshit temper. You incompetents who couldn’t do a damn thing while he was dying now have the gall to flap your mouths.”
He could guess why they were acting this way.
Even in Bratz alone, countless factions had vied for Der’s position. Molin and Erica, with Gail behind them; Ian and the Cheonryeo Tribe; Marib and Romandro keeping them in check….
“On top of that, treating a neighbor who rushed over out of concern like this—no manners whatsoever. Fortunately, we have a palace advisor with us, so I’ll request an official notarization for this incident.”
Ian shot a glance at the lady.
“When you tidy up the mansion, Madam, please make sure to dismiss those blockheads. They’re terrible value for money.”
“Lord Ian!”
Clang!
As the knight shouted in protest, Berik stepped forward.
“Quiet down. Why do you keep yapping?”
He answered not with words, but by swinging his sword.
Ian looked over the dead Count’s body, the lady, and the knights as he pondered. If things went south and they pushed out the lady and the Count’s younger brother to seize the mansion, it could turn into quite the headache.
“Berik.”
“Yeah?”
Much like how his presence irritated those in the palace.
“I think we need to clean things up.”
“Here?”
Berik pointed his sword tip at the knights.
As if their heads were the things needing cleaning.