Chapter 147
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 147
Despite my inner turmoil, my voice was remarkably calm as I explained the situation to the Duke. At first, he denied it, utterly bewildered. It was undoubtedly hard to believe that his trusted butler was a host.
Yet, as I calmly repeated my explanation, he seemed to gradually grasp the truth. I felt a prickle of annoyance, wondering if he would have even believed me had Hazel not been there to witness it herself.
The turning point came when I added that the ‘Rat’ possessed the ability to mimic others. The Duke nodded, finally understanding why I had been accused of arson. The conflicting testimonies were likely because the Rat’s mimicry was imperfect, causing some people to still see Rico.
“Seeing as the Temple sent people to the Duke’s estate, it seems Rico managed to escape safely.”
What a shame. I had no idea why Bishop Marik was so obsessed with me while letting a real demon run free. Was it because the novel had ordained us as fated rivals?
I pushed the false accusation aside for a moment. I was already framed for assassinating the Crown Prince; another frame job was nothing new. The important thing was whether anyone had been hurt.
“Were there any casualties?”
The Duke’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting such a question. Then, he shrugged, looking as though he hadn’t even bothered to find out.
Canna looked ready to faint, having received no reassurance that Hena was safe. Just before she collapsed, she clung to me like a lifeline, her desperation forcing me to remain composed.
“My lady, my sister… she isn’t hurt, is she?”
Empty platitudes wouldn’t help Canna now. Instead of offering meaningless comfort, I called for Pudding.
“Pudding, can you tell me what’s happening over there?”
I was glad I had brought him along in his human form. Pudding closed his eyes to concentrate, then shook his head.
“My vision is blocked.”
“Blocked?”
Tears spilled from Canna’s eyes.
“Azazel’s ability is blinding me. I can’t see what’s happening at the mansion.”
Azazel? Was Jeremia interfering? But I had killed the real Azazel, so why…? Bewildered by the inexplicable turn of events, I realized I had to see for myself.
“You had better not go,” the Duke advised, personally warning me against it. The Rohanson mansion was surrounded by paladins; if I went, I would undoubtedly be captured. It was an obvious trap, and I absolutely detested walking into obvious traps.
But Canna was crying. I wanted to comfort her, and I was worried about everyone else. I asked Pudding if he could teleport us. He nodded.
“Hena will be fine.”
I wiped away Canna’s tears.
I was about to tell the Duke to douse Rico in holy water and capture her if she returned, then head straight for the mansion. I would have done exactly that—if the Duke hadn’t mentioned Hena’s name.
“Hena? Do you mean Hena Greenwood?”
Hearing the name slip from my lips, the Duke had responded with her full name. Startled, Canna stopped crying instantly, her anxiety palpable. She instinctively sensed that the Duke knowing Hena’s name could not be a good thing.
The Duke looked at Canna with a mix of disapproval and pity.
“…It was Hena Greenwood who witnessed Evangeline Rohanson’s crimes and reported them to the Temple.”
“What? My sister did…?”
“They say Hena Greenwood is under the Temple’s protection because she confessed everything, despite being Evangeline Rohanson’s close confidante. Given that Bishop Marik is personally protecting her, it’s highly likely that this Hena girl provided the key testimony.”
The Duke added, as if spelling it out for her, Do you understand what this means? Canna bit her lip so hard it looked like it might bleed.
My head reeled, just like Canna’s. It felt like a physical blow. The very person I had gone out of my way to save was repaying me with betrayal?
Not Count Rohanson, but Hena? Hena had betrayed me? I asked myself again and again, unable to believe it. The spy Gabriel had warned me about wasn’t the Count… it was Hena.
I had boasted so confidently to Gabriel, only to be stabbed in the back by my own salvation narrative.
The sting of disappointment in something you believed in can be sharper than grief itself. I realized then, in a way I never wanted to, that I had grown fond of Hena as more than just a character in a story. It was a truly unwelcome realization.
* * *
Hena was biding her time.
Evangeline Rohanson had not returned to the mansion. Hena regretted this, as she stood ready to become the dagger that would plunge into her lady’s back at any moment. She didn’t know how the information had leaked, but Gabriel had been the first to realize there was a traitor in Evangeline’s inner circle.
Hena cursed Gabriel in her heart. She had detested him from the moment they met. He appeared polite on the surface, but his respect was nothing more than a practiced habit. In truth, he was just as rotten as Evangeline, who openly despised people. Besides, hadn’t Gabriel looked at Canna with distaste? That brief memory had burned itself into Hena’s mind, fueling her resentment.
Yet, even Gabriel could not have pinpointed the traitor’s exact identity.
After all, Evangeline’s inner circle—excluding Hena and Canna—consisted of two demons, a young breadwinner who had crawled back miserably after a failed betrayal, and a drug addict. Evangeline collected and raised those abandoned by the Sun Goddess as if she were some savior. It was a truly morbid hobby.
And her sister, utterly captivated by Evangeline, worshiped her lady’s mercy.
Evangeline was tolerant. Detached. A star floating in the sky does not distinguish between the insects crawling on the ground. To a lofty star, ants and maggots were one and the same—identical even in how easily they could be crushed underfoot. Of course, Canna was likely a particularly pretty flower in her eyes.
What did that make Hena? A butterfly drawn to the flower? No, a mite was a more fitting description.
Hena had endured the long wait by building a rapport with Azazel at the mansion and occasionally slipping away from Jelly’s watchful eyes to meet with Bishop Marik.
As if in response to her patience, Evangeline finally returned. And she was alone.
Where is Canna?
Canna, who had supposedly gone to meet her lady, was nowhere to be seen, nor was that deceitful cat that always clung to her. Hena greeted Evangeline, playing the part of the loyal maid.
“Evangeline? Do I look like Evangeline to you?”
The reaction was unexpected. The figure’s mouth split wide in glee. In that instant, Hena realized the creature before her was not Evangeline. Though the appearance was strikingly similar, its demeanor was far too frivolous.
What Hena had mistaken for Evangeline was not a single, whole being, but a scarecrow stitched together from countless tangled masses. The crudely molded flesh twitched erratically, independent of any real facial muscles. Her carefully feigned loyalty instantly curdled into terror.
The red eyes curved into crescents. Evangeline’s eyes were like a beating heart, but this creature’s eyeballs were raw, skinless lumps of flesh. Looking closely, one could see fine hairs and dried scabs clinging to their surface.
It was enough to deceive a casual glance, but a closer look revealed a stark difference. If Evangeline was a priceless work of art, this fake was a cheap replica. In truth, by Hena’s standards, neither of them was the ‘real’ Evangeline, yet the contrast between them was night and day.
“No, you’re not. You aren’t Lady Rohanson.”
At Hena’s denial, the manic energy in the air instantly plummeted.
“How did you know?” the creature asked, its tone sounding exactly like a man in his thirties.
“I am Lady Rohanson’s maid, after all.” Rather than pointing out the flaws in its appearance, Hena offered a different excuse. The title she despised slipped effortlessly from her lips.
“A maid! Right. That’s why you recognized me.”
The voice that followed sounded like a young boy’s. Its behavior matched, too. The creature wearing Evangeline’s face was acting like a petulant child, clapping its hands as if it had made a monumental discovery.
“What about Lady Rohanson? Did you kill her?”
If the real Evangeline were alive, this fake would never dare run amok. Interpreting Hena’s words in its own way, the replica split its mouth into a wide grin.
“I wish I had. Oh, dear. Not yet, not yet,” it said, its voice now that of an old man. Hena thought the replica before her resembled a patchwork of rags.
“But I’ll kill her soon.” The replica’s eyes gleamed.
“Good luck with that.”
Real or fake, what did it matter? Hena offered her encouragement. Though she had just been dismissing it as an inferior imitation, it was of no consequence as long as it served her purpose. Perhaps a faint smile had slipped onto her face, because the fake, staring intently at her, grew ecstatic.
“I like you! You should help me.”
Oblivious to Hena’s true thoughts, the fake cackled. It told her that it had been burned to death by Evangeline countless times and had decided to repay her by burning everything she owned. It explained that it had taken over Rico’s body because Rico knew so much about Evangeline, which was why it had come straight to the estate.
Hena decided to play along. God always presented the righteous path. Therefore, wasn’t utilizing this replica also a form of divine guidance? It felt unsettling, but the sun that watched over Hena was currently absent.
If it was only for a brief moment in the dead of night, surely employing a wicked thing could not be a sin. Hena went a step further, advising the replica on how to deceive the real Evangeline’s eyes.
The Rohanson mansion was always under the cat’s surveillance. However, with Evangeline at the Duke’s estate, the number of watchful eyes had decreased exponentially.
And by some stroke of immense luck, there was a way to blind the few remaining eyes. Hena rejoiced that Azazel—whom she intended to hand over to Bishop Marik—had found another use. She was glad she had bothered to build a rapport with him.
Hena instructed the replica to order Azazel to blind Pudding.
Azazel failed to realize that the replica was not Evangeline. The replica sluggishly opened its mouth to speak, just as Hena wanted, but it could not mimic Evangeline’s voice.
Thus, Hena stood beside it and spoke to Azazel on its behalf. Under the pretext of training Pudding while simultaneously honing Azazel’s own abilities, she requested that he block Pudding’s vision through the night.
As she spoke, the muscles on the fake Evangeline’s face twitched grotesquely. Contrary to what she had heard from Bishop Marik, Azazel—perhaps merely playing naive—acquiesced without much suspicion. Because Hena was known as Evangeline’s closest confidante, Azazel did not doubt her and proceeded to blind Pudding.
No one in the mansion suspected Hena. It was a moment that proved just how deeply Evangeline trusted her. While Hena appreciated how much easier this made her task, she was overcome by an unbearable wave of nausea. And so, Pudding’s eyes were covered.
That left Jelly. Jelly had been lounging around the mansion like a watchdog. The arrogant son of a bitch never considered that a human could pose a threat. Thus, Hena decided to use the holy water she had received from Bishop Marik. She was well aware that cats and dogs loathed coming into contact with it.
Hena transferred the holy water into a small bottle and handed it to young Mary. She saddled the child with the heavy responsibility of treating the “puppy,” claiming that the dog was hurt but she was too frightened to approach it herself. Having escaped the basement of the Ainoa Orphanage, Mary had witnessed injured older children being miraculously healed by holy water. The child had no reason to suspect an adult who had been kind to her.
While Mary sprinkled the holy water over Jelly with a prayer for his swift recovery, the wolf’s body began to melt, leaving him dazed and incapacitated. While that happened, Hena and the replica set fire to the Rohanson mansion.
“Yes. I said I’d pay her back. I’m going to set as many fires as the times I burned to death.”
The Rohanson mansion went up in flames. Multiple witnesses saw the replica setting the fires. Hena locked the doors and stood by the cherry tree, watching the mansion burn. Hanging above her head was the corpse of Lady Evangeline. Donau’s house burned just like this. Perhaps the sight of fire made people sentimental, because she found herself reminiscing.
People were pounding on the locked doors. Then, a violent splintering sound echoed. The door shook as if kicked, and the lock finally gave way. Standing in the doorway was Jelly, with Mary slung over his shoulder.
It had been a long time since he had taken human form, which only made the horrific wounds from the holy water stand out more. It was painfully obvious that Mary’s “treatment” had devastated his body. Good intentions did not always yield good results.
Hena had realized this truth when she forced her own sister to drink holy water. Since Mary was learning this lesson even earlier than she had, the girl would likely find it much easier to survive in this world.
Jelly set Mary down beside Hena and turned back toward the blazing mansion.
Mary glanced nervously at Hena, then hovered near the roaring flames, wanting to stay by Jelly’s side. She now understood that the water Hena had given her had harmed him. As Mary clutched at him, sobbing, Jelly replied with his usual indifference.
“Wait here quietly. I have to save the things the Master cherishes.”
Jelly spat out chunks of blood that kept welling up from his melting insides. Going vegetarian had been a mistake. He was burning through all his energy just trying to regenerate, leaving him with barely enough strength to move.
The monster, melting from the holy water that saturated his flesh, threw himself into the raging fire. He did not hesitate, even though the sacred flames could easily claim his life. He did it solely for the things Evangeline Rohanson cherished, however slightly. He did it to preserve the shackles that would keep Evangeline bound to this world.