Chapter 4
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 4
Translation: godsn
Serving a blind master was no easy task. For one, Vincent was excessively wary. Rumor had it that I was the tenth person hired since he had shut himself away in his room. Initially, he had attendants, but at some point, they were replaced with maids—most of whom either quit shortly after or suddenly disappeared.
The sudden disappearances were one thing, but I could easily guess why none of them lasted long. Whether it was because of his blindness or not, he was acutely sensitive to every sound in the world—and just as sharp because of it.
And he refused to move from his bed. Aside from the occasional shift when necessary, he remained buried under the covers. Whenever someone entered, he would swiftly pull the sheets over himself.
On top of that, his temper was vile. He would flip over everything I brought him, causing an uproar each time. And the moment he sensed even the slightest movement from me, he would curl up tightly, wrapping himself in the sheets to hide.
Honestly, he was worse than a cat.
The only time Vincent showed any semblance of humanity was when the butler visited. The butler was the elderly gentleman who had brought me here. He visited Vincent's room once a day, and during those times, the two seemed to engage in rather serious conversations. Vincent didn't hide under the sheets then; instead, he maintained a composed and earnest demeanor. Whenever I stole a glance, I couldn't help but think that this must have been his true nature—serious and passionate.
But what good did that do? He was still like this now.
A plate flew past my face and shattered against the wall with a loud crash. At this point, I didn't even bother turning around to check.
"Get out."
I let out a deep sigh and squeezed my eyes shut. At my voice, Vincent flinched, curling in on himself even more, but his gaze remained sharp.
"It seems I displease you."
"Yes. You displease me entirely. So get out."
"What exactly is it that displeases you? If you tell me, I'll correct it."
"Everything. From start to finish. Everything."
Well, that was a problem.
"I'll strive to meet your expectations."
"There's no need. Just disappear from my sight."
Ah, I really wanted to hit him just once.
A disobedient child needed a good thump on the head to come to their senses. My eyes flickered toward his skull. Just... one hit wouldn't hurt, would it?
"What are you thinking?"
"......"
"Don't even think about doing something stupid. I'll kill you."
Sharp in that regard, aren't you? I shrugged and turned to clean up the shattered plate.
What a waste. If I had sold it at the market, I could've gotten a decent price for it. Clicking my tongue in regret, I gathered the broken pieces. Well, forget about dinner for now—first, I had to change the bedsheets.
"Master, I need to change the bedsheets."
"Don't come near me."
"If you'd just move aside for a moment—"
The moment I stepped closer to pull off the sheets, something flew toward me and struck my forehead. The impact was so intense that I nearly blacked out. Staggering, I steadied myself and saw what had hit me—a broken desk clock lay on the floor.
Picking it up, I checked the damage. The hands had stopped, the mechanism ruined. I was dumbfounded.
"If you dislike something, just say so—why throw something dangerous like this...?"
"What, scared you'll die? It's not like anyone would care if trash like you dropped dead."
I lifted my gaze from the clock and fixed it on him. Vincent, unusually, had his face uncovered. Even after throwing an object and nearly injuring someone, his expression remained calm. No—he was smirking.
"People like you are all the same. Money-grubbing beggars who'd do anything for a coin. Filthy creatures obsessed with material gain. Do you really think someone like you fears death? You only came here for the money, didn't you? Otherwise, you'd never have accepted a stranger's offer so easily."
"......"
"Do you know why I hired you? Because you have exceptional abilities? Because you're reliable? No, none of that. It's because it wouldn't matter if I killed you. Someone who knows how to cater to others' whims, is moderately useful, and can be disposed of without consequence if they become a nuisance—that's what you are."
His words stabbed into my chest like blades. Each sharp point cruelly carved up my insides. How could someone be so vile? How could anyone say something so harsh? Yet no tears came—because these, too, were words I'd heard countless times before.
Condemnation was easy. Criticizing others as naturally as breathing, finding solace in tearing someone down—people did it effortlessly. They had done it to me. Sometimes even my own father, my only sister, had been no different. They built up their own dignity by trampling on mine. That was the worth of my existence.
So it didn't hurt. It wasn't as painful as when Father used to beat me black and blue.
Though that didn't mean it didn't piss me off.
"You're truly despicable."
"What?"
"For someone as grand as the master, you live in quite a filthy manner."
Vincent's face flushed red at my words. The way he glared blindly into empty space was almost pitiful.
He gritted his teeth and hissed,
"You'd better watch your mouth."
"Let me add one more thing—you're absolutely right. I am a greedy wretch. I do lust after money."
"What?"
"Just as you said, my life is worthless. If I were to disappear suddenly, no one would come looking. Even if you ordered me killed right now, I wouldn't resist. So there's no need for you to be afraid. But if I still displease you, just kill me. And if you're going to kill me, I'd appreciate it if you did it cleanly in one go. That's much neater than torture. Oh, and don't worry—no one will come seeking revenge for my death. You really did find the perfect person, didn't you?"
"......"
Finally, he fell silent. For a brief moment, surprise flickered in his sightless eyes. It didn't last. As I stepped forward again, his guard immediately went up.
"Well then, Master."
He groped around frantically, as if searching for something else to throw, but I paid him no mind. There was nothing left to hurl anyway. Seizing the moment of his confusion, I stopped right in front of the bed.
"Excuse me."
Then I grabbed the sheet and yanked it off in one swift motion.
He didn't even have time to let out a sound before he tumbled across the mattress. A second later—thud!—Vincent hit the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"The act of changing your sheets, Master."
As he started to splutter protests, I shoved him aside with my foot and pulled off the remaining bedding. Then I replaced it with fresh sheets, pointedly ignoring his furious shouting.
Next, I knelt before him as he flailed on the floor and began undoing the buttons of his nightshirt. The moment he realized what I was doing, Vincent flung out a hand to stop me. I caught his wrist effortlessly, pinned it to the floor, and pressed my knee down on top of it.
"What are you—?! Don't touch me!"
"Why not? What, is your body something sacred?"
"What?"
He froze, momentarily stunned, but when I unfastened the last button and tried to pull the shirt off, he thrashed violently. His resistance was stronger than I expected—my balance wavered, and I tipped toward the floor. With one hand now free, he grabbed my hair and shoved me back. But I didn't back down. Though my head was forced backward, I refused to let go of the nightshirt, wrestling against him. I pressed my knee harder onto his trapped hand, twisting my body along with his as I struggled to strip the shirt off. His other hand writhed under my knee, making my own body jerk uncontrollably in the chaos.
After a long, exhausting struggle, the moment his focus slipped—I wrenched the nightshirt over his shoulders and off.
It must have been about a year since he lost his sight. And he'd been holed up in his room, barely eating properly, for about half a year.
He was too thin.
There was no flesh on his exposed body.
He was emaciated to the point where his ribs were clearly visible. Much of his muscle had wasted away too. From the outside, his build didn't seem bad, but stripped bare, it was nothing like that. Occasionally, when I grabbed his arm, the dry texture made me think there was nothing but bone beneath, but I hadn't imagined he'd be this gaunt. And there were small bruises scattered here and there.
Come to think of it, his face, seen up close, was far too hollow and bloodless. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he wasn't sleeping well either. His clouded emerald eyes had no focus, and his cracked, swollen lips exhaled ragged breaths.
It felt like he might shatter at the slightest touch.
Even though he was clearly a grown man, that was the thought that came to mind.
Pitiful.
Without realizing it, I brushed my fingers over his cheek. He flinched violently, turning his face away to avoid my touch. His eyes lowered slightly, lips pressed tightly together. Shame.
I watched him for a moment before withdrawing my hand. I lifted my knee from where it had been pinning his wrist and pushed his shoulder back. His body collapsed limply as I yanked his pants off. Out of basic decency, I left his underwear on.
Gathering the soiled sleepwear, I stood and fetched a fresh set from the wardrobe. He had curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his thin frame. His spine jutted out grotesquely.
"If you insist on wearing filthy clothes, then so be it. But as your attendant, it is my deepest wish to ensure you always maintain a clean appearance. And if you would kindly extend your arms, I would be grateful to dress you in fresh garments."
"I'll kill you."
"Yes. Please stretch your arms upward."
I took hold of his bony wrist. He resisted, refusing to extend them, but his strength was pitiful. I hadn't expected a man's strength to be this feeble. It was as if his entire existence had been confined to this room.
Instead of forcing his arms up, I draped the new sleepwear over his wrist. At that, he fumbled to pull it over himself. Is he embarrassed to be undressed? I pretended not to notice, adjusting the fabric to make it easier for him.
"Here are your pants. And your underwear."
"......"
No reply came. Not that I expected one.
I pressed the remaining clothes into his hand and turned toward the bed. Stripping the pillowcase, I replaced it with a fresh one, then changed the sheets. Satisfied with the clean bed, I glanced back at Vincent. Thankfully, he had managed to change into his pants.
Pleased with his tidier appearance, I approached him with a faint smile. Vincent was trying to push himself up from the floor with his hands. When I reached out to help, he slapped my hand away sharply. Then, groping through the air, he stubbornly tried to make his way to the bed alone. So stubborn.
"Master, you need to go right."
"Shut up."
Despite his words, he obediently turned his body to the right. Leaving him be, I picked up the discarded clothes. But why only these? What about his underwear?
"Master, you should change your under—"
Before I could finish, Vincent swiftly threw himself onto the bed. He yanked the fresh sheets over his head, squirming until he had curled into a ball in the corner. I was at a loss for words. Just in case, I leaned in to sniff—and a foul stench hit me.
No way...?
"You didn't change your underwear?"
"Get out."
No, gross. Excuse me, Master. The moment I bent down, the sheet fluttered, and something abruptly jutted out from beneath it.
What touched my forehead was the barrel of a gun.
Too stunned to move, I froze—just as he clicked the hammer back.