Chapter 6
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 6
I asked Canna, the primary victim, how she wanted Donau punished. Normally, I would have reported him to the police and let the law handle it, but this was another world. Besides, as an aristocrat of House Rohanson, I could probably handle a criminal's punishment at my own discretion, couldn't I?
“Should I lock him in a dungeon forever?” I asked.
Canna and Hena both stared at me. If she gave the word, I was fully prepared to let him rot in a cell for the rest of his life.
However, Canna shook her head. Is she saying that's too harsh? What is she, an angel? No wonder she and Hena got along so well. You fool, worry about yourself first!
“How’s your neck?” I asked.
Now that I was looking, the wound on her neck was deeper than I’d thought. A long, red line was drawn across her throat like a scarlet thread. Is there any holy water left at the mansion? If I treat it with that, maybe the scar will disappear. Battle scars are fine as trophies, but a mark from a kidnapping isn't exactly a badge of honor.
“It’s wonderful!” Canna replied, her face alight with pure bliss.
Wasn't that a bit of an overreaction? I was puzzled for a moment before it clicked. She’d been kidnapped, only to be rescued by the infamous villainess who was now fussing over her well-being. Of course she’d be moved. She was a maid at the Rohanson mansion, after all. Some kids fainted just from looking at me; this was mild by comparison.
“Gasp.”
Suddenly, Hena turned pale as she covered her mouth. Please don't tell me you're looking at me like that. But Hena’s gaze was fixed on something behind me. What was back there? My eyes widened. Donau!
Hadn't I taken the knife from him? I spun around, but the scene that unfolded was nothing like what I expected. I thought Donau would be lunging at me with the blade. Instead, he was the one who had been stabbed.
“Did you see that?”
“Yes. He stabbed himself in the neck,” Canna confirmed.
Donau had committed suicide. The only thing in his hand was the knife; he must have used it to pierce his own throat. Not his wrist, but his neck—a vital point. Did he hate the idea of paying for his crimes that much?
Cowards always try to escape punishment through suicide. It was the same in this world, too.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling a bit let down. “He ended up dying. I wanted him to face proper judgment…”
“It’s okay. This is more than enough for me.” Canna’s eyes sparkled, and her smile was so bright it was as if she’d already put the whole ordeal behind her. What a forgiving soul.
“Thank you for saving me,” she added, ever so polite.
Wait a second. It wasn't just her smile that was bright.
Isn't it a little too bright in here?
Oh, hell. A fire!
Flames had erupted behind Donau, their light illuminating the entire room. No wonder I could see so well, even with the windows boarded up and no lamps lit. The blaze brought the interior into sharp focus, and I could clearly see the summoning circle drawn in the center of the floor. Was that… the one he stole from me?
Then this fire… Donau must have summoned a Fire Spirit. So it really was a Spirit Summoning Circle! Damn it… how did he even do it? He should have at least told me how it worked before he kicked the bucket! What a crook! No professional courtesy at all!
I hurriedly led Hena and Canna out of the house. It was a good thing I’d kicked the door down earlier; the opening allowed the smoke to escape, making it easier to breathe.
That bastard managed to rack up one more crime before dying. If there were subtitles, they’d be flashing [+Arson]. Theft, kidnapping, and now arson. He’d achieved the criminal triple crown.
Fortunately, the neighboring houses weren’t catching fire, likely built from some kind of fire-resistant material. Now that’s some top-tier isekai construction quality. I need to figure out how to reverse-export this technology.
Donau’s house, burning fiercely all by itself, was quite the spectacle.
I felt a tear prick my eye. My summoning circle… it was probably ashes now, wasn't it?
* * *
Rusty walls, a room that smelled of mold, cold soup, a narrow, hard bed, and a window only two hands wide.
That was Canna’s entire world.
She had been sickly since birth. Her mother died during the difficult labor, and though Canna had been born at the cost of one life, it seemed her own was constantly on the verge of being forfeit. She was always so ill it felt as though she could die at any moment. Her father worked himself to death trying to pay for her medical care, and now her older sister, Hena, had taken his place.
But even after consuming the lives of two family members, Canna did not get well. Lying in bed was all she could do. Even breathing was a struggle, let alone moving a finger. Hena hired a caregiver, increasing her own working hours to afford it. Canna began to worry that she would consume her sister’s life next.
There was nothing she could do. Perhaps it would have been better to tell her sister there was no hope and to let her go, but Canna wanted to live. She desperately wanted to keep drawing each ragged breath.
Her sister called that desire “hope.”
“Canna, do you see the people outside?” Hena would say. “I believe that one day, you’ll be able to walk among them just like that. I’ll make it happen. So please, don’t lose hope.”
From that moment on, the small window became something special to Canna. In her repetitive life, the only thing that ever changed was the view outside that window. The sun rose, birds flew by, children ran and played, the sunset painted the sky, and everyone returned home for dinner before night fell.
Canna imagined herself in that scenery. Let’s run and play together, go to work, and come home.
Then one day, a new element was added to the view.
You came again today.
A cat had begun to stop by her window on its daily walks. The golden cat would perch on the windowsill, watch her for a time, and then leisurely wander off.
When I can walk, I’ll give that cat a treat, she promised herself. It has a collar, so it must have an owner. I wonder if snacks are okay? The cat naturally found a place in the future Canna dreamed of.
“Canna! Canna!”
And then, a miracle arrived.
“Are you okay? Does it still hurt?”
“I… I’m okay.”
Her voice was cracked and weak. Her pronunciation was clumsy, and she stuttered over the words. Just for that simple phrase, her sister wept, hugging Canna tightly. Hena’s tears soaked her shoulder, but Canna just hugged her back in silence.
Her sister had taken a position with House Rohanson in search of higher wages. There, the young lady she served, Evangeline Rohanson, heard Canna’s story and provided a bottle of holy water.
Holy water. A single bottle was something a commoner would have to save for half their life to afford. Canna realized that this was the “hope” Hena had been talking about. Her father and sister had sacrificed their lives for something a noble could give away as a simple handout. All for one bottle of water. A bitter anger began to swell inside her.
“Thank the heavens. Truly, thank the heavens,” Hena sobbed.
The moment Canna heard her sister’s relieved cry, her anger melted away. When the person who had ground her life into dust for this moment was so happy, what right did Canna have to be angry?
Canna’s condition improved day by day. As she began to move her body, her appetite returned, and as she ate well, she gained weight. The sudden arrival of the hope her sister had promised was strange and bewildering, but Canna was slowly accepting it. She decided to do what she had dreamed of for so long.
Canna left the house. She walked aimlessly around the neighborhood, eventually sitting in front of her own door to rest. She lacked the social skills to greet the neighborhood children or strike up a conversation, but as she basked in the warm sunlight and listened to their chattering voices, she felt it clearly: she now belonged on the other side of the window.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen that cat lately.
Canna had asked Hena to buy some treats the cat might like and always kept them in her pocket, but she hadn’t seen it once since she’d started going outside. Had its walking route changed? Surely nothing bad had happened to it.
Lost in her worries, Canna didn’t notice how quickly her body grew cold as the sun began to set. Her sister was working late today, so she was about to get up and go inside when a golden tail flicked past the edge of her vision.
The cat?
Canna remembered Hena’s warning not to wander around at night, but it was still light out. I'll just take a quick look and head right back. Hena will worry otherwise. The moment she stepped into the alley, a man appeared.
When she next opened her eyes, she was in a strange room.
Her mouth was gagged, her hands and feet bound. How long had she been unconscious? The room was dark, but after a few moments, her eyes adjusted enough to make out her surroundings. She thought she was alone, but she wasn't. A man was sitting in a chair, intently reading a piece of paper. He was undoubtedly the one who had attacked her.
A fit of rage seized Canna, and she struggled against her bonds. But her newly recovered body refused to obey, her limbs weak and unresponsive.
“What, you’re awake?” the man said without looking up. “I’m reading. Try not to disturb me.”
As he approached, a metallic, coppery smell wafted from him. Canna recognized it instantly. After all the blood she had coughed up in her life, how could she not? Yet, aside from her bonds, she had no new wounds. The smell was coming from him.
“Just wait quietly until nightfall,” the man said, his gaze fixed on the wall.
Canna twisted her body to see what he was looking at. It wasn't a wall. It was a sheet of plywood nailed over the window.
Her mind went blank.
Seeing that blocked window delivered a greater shock than the realization she had been kidnapped. To Canna, the view outside the window was hope. And here, there was no hope to be seen.
Disregarding the man's warning, Canna began to struggle desperately. She tried to call for her sister. She screamed for help. The man ignored her completely. She begged for a sliver of hope, pleading with him to just let her see what was beyond the window. It wasn't night yet. When was Hena coming home? She would be so worried when she found Canna wasn't there.
But Canna could do nothing. She felt like she had reverted to that helpless patient, the girl who could only lie in bed and wait for her sister, before the holy water had given her a new life. Her search for hope soon twisted into something else entirely. Canna began to mutter curses under her breath.
Finally, the sun set, and the night the man had been waiting for arrived. He lit a candle and picked up a knife.
Die. Die. Die.
Unaware of the words tumbling from her own lips, Canna could only watch as the man began to dance to the rhythm of her curses. He moved around the room, a grim performance she watched without blinking.
When he finished his dance, he collapsed in front of her. By now, she knew what he intended to do. She knew because he had read from that paper over and over, chanting its words aloud dozens of times. The Angel of Light.
He's going to offer me as a sacrifice.