Chapter 160
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 160
Even after I gave my answer, the Duke’s suspicious gaze lingered on me. His expression seemed to ask what grand scheme I had cooked up now, wondering why someone like me—who always did as she pleased—was suddenly asking for permission.
I calmly explained my plan. As expected, the Duke was furious. Yet, unlike before, he didn’t grab me by the collar, throw things, or even raise his voice.
Though his flushed, trembling face betrayed his simmering rage, my simple question—Is there any other way?—finally drained the fight out of him. He gave a slow, weary nod.
“Can you promise me this method will catch the Rat?”
“Yes. Of course.”
I had finally secured his permission. I’d braced myself for a grueling argument, but it went much smoother than expected. I suppose this was the payoff for all my efforts to win him over.
Riding this momentum, I decided to press for one more favor. I needed a safe haven where the estate’s servants could take refuge.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.”
“What is it now?”
“There’s another story I’d like to hear from you, Grandfather. But first, do you happen to know of a safe place where we could hide an entire household of servants?”
The Duke’s face instantly hardened into a scowl.
“I promised you my time, not my real estate.”
He was referring to our initial agreement. In exchange for catching the Rat, I was to receive some of his time. Wait, is he trying to pull a fast one? Surely, his “time” alone wasn’t the true value of my services. Did he take me for a fool?
“Grandfather, do you remember the exact terms of our agreement?”
“Of course. In exchange for catching the Rat, I agreed to give you my time.”
I shook my head, correcting him.
“No. To be precise, you agreed to tell me stories.”
What I had requested wasn’t just a block of his time, but for him to specifically tell me about Amaranth.
To be honest, the stories he told weren’t particularly substantial. The Duke’s entire world revolved around Agera; Amaranth was merely a byproduct of that devotion.
His affection for his daughter was meager to begin with, and to make matters worse, the Duke was a textbook example of the classic RoFan trope: the cold, neglectful father who only regrets his actions when it’s far too late. Consequently, his recollections of Amaranth were incredibly faint.
Memories ought to be a swamp, soft and yielding, pulling you deeper with every step until you drown, intoxicated by the past. But the Duke’s mind was a barren wasteland. The only reason any water pooled in those parched cracks was because of my relentless gaslighting.
How could he know less about Amaranth than I, a mere transmigrator? Sometimes I couldn’t help but pity him. In this day and age, even tyrants and villains were becoming doting fools obsessed with childcare, yet this Duke couldn’t even keep up with the trends.
Still, through our occasional meetings, I had managed to squeeze some stories from his dry memory. The tale he spun had started from the day Amaranth was born and had finally reached her twentieth year—my current age.
His repertoire was running dry, and his expression grew increasingly grim. The next chapter would undoubtedly cover the moment Amaranth met Count Rohanson. Since she had severed all ties with her family after that, it would be the end of what the Duke could tell me.
The Duke glared at me, daggers in his eyes. I had already rubbed him the wrong way discussing how to handle the Rat, and this new dispute was only fueling his irritation.
“You are playing with words.”
Look who’s talking, I thought. I wanted to snap back but swallowed my annoyance and pressed on.
“Is it really such a difficult request?”
“You are asking me to harbor potential subversives. If I lend you my land and the Temple finds out, you won’t be the only one facing ruin.”
This stubborn old man. If I’ve already won you over, stop playing hard to get and start acting like a doting grandfather!
I had been playing nice, but since he refused to budge, I had no choice but to change tactics. Fine. Time for hardball.
I wiped the smile from my face, letting my expression turn to ice. I didn’t need to touch my face to know my lips had flattened into a hard line. Locking eyes with the Duke, my voice rang out with a chilling resonance that seemed to echo in the room.
“This isn’t a favor, Your Grace. It’s my price.”
“...Your price?”
Asking about Amaranth was merely a tool to establish common ground with him; it didn’t actually benefit me in any way. It wasn't as if I was obsessively fixated on my mother like the Rat was.
“Have you never heard that a price must be paid when summoning a demon, Your Grace?”
In other words, this was an entirely one-sided transaction. Even demons demanded their due, yet this shameless old man expected to work his granddaughter to the bone and walk away without paying a single cent.
“During my stay here, have I not played the part of your granddaughter to perfection?”
I tapped my fingernails against the table, a nervous habit.
“I’ve humored and cared for Lady Agera, protected your servants from the Rat, and now I’m even going to hunt down that pest so you and House Hosaquin aren’t crushed by the Temple.”
Seriously, am I a pushover? Looking back, I realized just how much I had done to win this man’s favor.
The Duke let out a low hum of contemplation. “...And if I refuse?”
“Then I will no longer be your granddaughter. I’ll have no reason to remain in this estate, so I will leave without a single regret.”
“Even if it means leaving Agera and that Rat behind?”
Absolutely. If he refused me after everything I’d done, I was cutting ties right then and there. I would pull a ‘Little Amaranth’ and sever all relations. Even if Agera ended up in danger after being reported to the Temple, I would turn a blind eye and focus on my own survival.
“Of course, this is merely a hypothetical. If you provide a safe haven, Grandfather, I will gladly remain here as your granddaughter, Evangeline.”
“...Once the matter is settled, I will provide a suitable location.”
Exhausted by our battle of wits, the Duke finally conceded. He had weighed the burden of harboring the Rohanson servants against the risk of me abandoning Agera and the Rat. The scales had tipped heavily in Agera’s favor.
“You truly are an impossible child to love.”
He spat the words like an accusation, clearly intending to wound me. But of course, the man who threw a wine glass at me during our very first meeting hadn’t changed. He was the epitome of a classic “family regret” character. Honestly, if he suddenly started acting like a doting grandfather now, it would be a total betrayal of his character.
“My, you say that as if you ever tried.”
“...”
My retort seemed to land a deeper blow than his insult ever could. See? That’s what you get for playing hard to get when I’ve already won you over.
* * *
News spread quickly: Agera Hosaquin, the mistress of House Hosaquin, was in critical condition.
“Oh dear, what will happen to our lady?”
The estate’s servants were thrown into a frenzy. Within the mansion walls, Agera’s failing health completely eclipsed the rumors of Evangeline Rohanson being a witch. In fact, upon hearing that Evangeline was devoting herself to nursing Agera, the servants grew indignant on her behalf, insisting the stories of her burning down the Rohanson Mansion must have been slanderous lies.
The news of Agera’s critical state spread like wildfire. If rumors had legs, these had wings.
Overnight, the news reached the capital, spreading so far that even street urchins who cared nothing for high society knew of the Duchess’s grave illness. The members of House Hosaquin simply assumed the rumor had traveled so fast because so many eyes were constantly on their family.
Naturally, the news also reached the Rat—the creature wearing Rico’s body, the one who believed itself to be Agera’s only beloved daughter.
After exacting its revenge by burning down the Rohanson Mansion, the Rat had fled from Bishop Marik and spent its days lurking on the outskirts, feeding. Whenever it committed an atrocity, it made sure to mimic Evangeline’s appearance, knowing its crimes would ultimately bring her ruin.
Yet, mimicking Evangeline came with a severe backlash. The very principles engraved into its bones rebelled against the act, screaming that it must not bring harm to Evangeline. This was why the Rat had targeted the Rohanson Mansion to vent its rage instead of attacking her directly; laying a hand on Evangeline was conceptually impossible for it.
Though mimicking Evangeline caused it excruciating pain, its jealousy was a viscous, suffocating force—strong enough to override the sacred edicts etched into its flesh.
Yet all that malice crumbled the moment it heard Agera was dying.
“Oh heavens… Mother is dying…”
“You should be the one nursing Lady Agera, not that Rohanson girl. Let’s go back to the estate, quickly.”
Rico, who had been forced to watch in silent horror as the Rat used her body to masquerade as Evangeline and slaughter people, eagerly urged the creature to return.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the Rat set off for the Hosaquin estate.
It was still wearing Evangeline’s face. Assuming the young lady of Rohanson was simply returning from a brief outing, the estate’s gatekeepers opened the gates without question. Thanks to this, the Rat slipped inside without bloodshed, sparing the lives of its “mother’s” servants.
Sprinting into the mansion, the Rat headed straight for Agera’s bedchamber, guided by Rico’s memories. Since Evangeline was supposed to be nursing Agera, this meant an inevitable confrontation, but the Rat was too consumed by panic to think that far ahead.
Only when it reached the door to Agera’s room did the Rat pause to adjust its features, searching its memory. While burning down the Rohanson Mansion, it had stumbled upon the paintings of Amaranth.
There had been over a dozen portraits, all depicting the same face in the same pose. The Rat had instinctively realized that the subject of those paintings was the true face it was meant to embody.
After burning the image deep into its mind, the Rat had reduced the portraits to ashes. Since it was the only true daughter of its mother in this world, there was no need for portraits of Amaranth to exist. In more ways than one, it was glad it had set fire to the Rohanson Mansion.
And so, the Rat molded its flesh to mimic the portrait. The result was a form far closer to the real Amaranth than any of its previous, clumsy attempts.
“Agera, my mother… It’s Amaranth. Amaranth is here.”