Chapter 6
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 6
Translation: godsn
At first, Vincent had gone out to get some fresh air and look around the village when a young boy approached him, pretending to sell something, only to attack him. The boy's youthful appearance had made Vincent let his guard down. A sharp blade had been about to pierce his chest, but Vincent dodged just in time, leaving only a graze on his waist. The guards accompanying him had caught the boy, but the moment he was seized, he took his own life. Whether he had been trained to do so or not, there had been no hesitation in his actions. Because of that, they never found out who was behind the attack.
After that, Vincent became reluctant to go outside. Taking a stroll in the mansion's front garden was as far as he would venture.
Then, one day, while Vincent was alone in the garden, he was attacked again. A chilly wind had been blowing, and a servant had gone to fetch something light for him to wear. By the time the servant heard a scream and rushed back, a stranger lay dead with an iron rod lodged in his chest. The servant, finding Vincent covered in dirt, gasping for breath, and slumped on the ground, had hurriedly called for help.
The attacker had been an outsider. They investigated his identity, but no one recognized him. Vincent had managed to evade the attack, fleeing before striking the man's head with a rock and then stabbing him in the chest with a nearby iron rod. It had been sheer luck.
But after that, even with heightened security and strict surveillance of outsiders entering the estate, Vincent stopped leaving the mansion altogether.
Another time, during a meal, he suddenly collapsed in pain. Fortunately, he had vomited everything he had eaten the moment he fell, so there were no serious complications. Later, they discovered the food had been laced with poison.
Not long after, a housemaid was found dead in the woods. She had worked in the kitchen. It seemed she had been killed while trying to flee in secret. Though they identified the culprit, they never found out why she had done it or who had killed her.
Having narrowly escaped death, Vincent seemed to develop a fear of eating. For a while, he became overly sensitive during meals, and then, at some point, he began refusing food altogether.
With no outings and no meals, his condition deteriorated day by day. It would have been good for him to at least step outside his room, but the mansion was frequently visited by guests, and even a brief appearance would draw attention. In fact, there had been an instance where he was spotted after venturing out for just a moment. Thankfully, nothing serious had happened, but the memory must have left a deep impression on Vincent, because he soon moved to the annex and stopped leaving his room entirely.
As he grew increasingly wary of everything around him, he gradually withered away. I heard he had fallen into severe depression.
The terror of knowing someone wanted him dead.
The fear of not knowing who it was.
If it became known that he had lost his sight, people would undoubtedly start questioning his right to lead the family. So, under the pretense of recuperation, he shut himself away in his room. He met no one, had no contact with the outside world, and slowly withered away in isolation.
Hearing this, for the first time, I felt pity for him. A sickness of the body inevitably spreads to the mind. I knew this well—the gnawing hunger in the depths of crushing poverty, stealing bread to survive, then wasting away until death. A weary body soon becomes a weary heart.
He was a sick man. And so, I tried to understand and accept his sharp temper.
But wasting food like this was unforgivable. His actions angered me. For me, even a single sip of that rice porridge was a precious meal—one I could only obtain after being beaten black and blue, clutching at someone's pant leg, begging desperately.
And yet, this man...
"Bad behavior must be disciplined to be corrected. Whether it's a child or an adult, wrongdoings deserve punishment. Have you never been taught to value food? Or did you learn that it's fine to waste things like this because you have so much to spare?"
"......"
As I meticulously laid out my argument, my emotions suddenly surged. I—I had to endure bruises and blows all over my body just to get a single bite of that. It was so infuriating I could cry. But no matter how blind the man before me was, I couldn't let myself weep. It was humiliating.
Afraid my voice might crack with unshed tears, I clenched my teeth.
Stop this. Wallowing over who has it worse is the very thing I despise the most. Hah— I steadied my breath and picked up the fallen bowl. Thankfully, it hadn't shattered. After roughly wiping the spilled porridge off the floor with my apron, I stood up.
"I'll bring another serving. If you're so worried, I'll eat it first before serving it to you, Master. Surely I can do at least that much for a coward like you. If finishing it all is too difficult, just eat what you can, and I'll take care of the rest. Would that satisfy you?"
"I won't eat."
"You can't possibly mean that, can you? I'm offering to sacrifice myself by tasting it first to ensure there's no poison or rat poison in it for your precious sake. Surely you wouldn't reject such devotion?"
He couldn't possibly be that heartless. I deliberately drew out my words, then stomped out of the room, my footsteps echoing sharply against the floor.
I went straight downstairs and asked the cook for a fresh bowl of porridge. The cook gave me a pitying look before ladling out another serving. I rushed back to his room as if chased.
Once again, I knelt by his bedside. His head turned sharply at the sound of my voice, though his unfocused eyes still wandered aimlessly through the air.
I made a deliberate clinking sound so he could hear, then took a spoonful of the porridge. I slurped it noisily—though it hardly required chewing—before scooping another spoonful and holding it out to him.
"Say'ah. '"
But once again, the bowl tumbled to the floor.
"Disgusting."
Clang, clang, clang— As the bowl rolled away, my patience snapped.
Half the porridge had spilled this time. I picked it up and returned to the bed. He remained still, staring blankly at the floor, though I could tell he was tracking my movements.
I took another spoonful and calmly set the bowl aside on the bed. Then, without warning, I shoved Vincent's shoulder, knocking him flat onto the mattress.
Before he could react, I swiftly climbed on top of him. Seizing his stiffened neck in surprise, I pinned him down with my full weight. His mouth gaped in shock, and I thrust my thumb inside. With his jaw forced open, I shoved in the spoonful of porridge.
"Ghk— Ghhk—!"
Vincent thrashed violently. I pressed down with all my strength, force-feeding him spoonful after spoonful. His struggles nearly knocked me off balance several times, and at one point, his flailing hand seized the back of my head, yanking it backward. Tears pricked at my eyes from the searing pain—it felt like my scalp was being ripped off—but I gritted my teeth and held on.
He twisted his head to evade the spoon, but my finger still wedged in his mouth kept him from closing it.
Eyes narrowed, I swiftly adjusted to the jerking movements of his face, shoving the spoon in each time. Once it was empty, I repeated the process—scooping, forcing it in. Everything happened in rapid, precise motions. Later, I simply held the bowl in hand for easier feeding. My spoon hand trembled violently, and I cursed at it inwardly.
"Master, I'm so happy to see you eating so well!"
"Cough—you—cough, cough!"
"Yes, that's it! Keep eating like a good boy!"
One spoonful, two spoonfuls, three spoonfuls—I kept shoving the spoon into his mouth until the remaining half portion of rice porridge was completely gone. To be honest, only about half actually went in his mouth while the other half dribbled out, but I paid no mind to that.
Just as I emptied the bowl, my body suddenly toppled backward. The moment I relaxed with the satisfaction of having finished feeding him, he shoved me away with all his might.
Obligingly, I climbed down from the bed, still holding the empty bowl and spoon. I thought my hair was getting pulled out. When I touched the still-tingling back of my head, a whole handful of hair came loose in my grip. Letting out a hollow laugh, I turned around just as Vincent—still clutching his throat where I'd pressed down—shouted with a face flushed crimson.
"You're fired! Right this instant!"
"I merely attended to Master's meal, as is my duty."
"Ha! You're truly out of your mind! Do you have any idea what you just did? How dare you lay hands on me! You must have a death wish!"
"Did anyone see?"
"What?"
I answered his bewildered question calmly.
"There were only two people here—you and me. How would anyone else know? That I dared to shove my fingers into Master's mouth and force-feed him rice porridge?"
Of course, what I'd done was truly deserving of death. If anyone had witnessed it, my head would've been off in an instant. But right now, in this room, it was just him and me. The same went for outside the room too. Because of his blindness and hypersensitivity to the slightest sound, no one even passed through this floor anymore.
Besides, everyone who needed to know was already well aware of this man's foul temper long before I arrived. At the end of the day, he was just a patient at the peak of his irritability. While he certainly had the authority to fire me, his word alone didn't carry much weight when it came to dismissing servants these days.
"Ah, the gun. Master could've shot me dead with that. But tell me, Master—is that gun even loaded?"
"......"
His mouth clamped shut. Just for a fleeting moment, panic flashed across his face. So that's why. I'd wondered why he hadn't shot me when he'd clearly been pushed past his limits. Suppressing the snort threatening to escape me, I continued.
"By the way, I hear it's quite difficult to find people willing to work here lately, what with Master's reputation for being... particular. They say even the existing servants shake their heads at the thought of attending to you. So even if you fire me, there's no immediate replacement. You'll have to put up with me until they find someone new. Indefinitely—or forever, if no one comes!"
I exhaled sharply. My disheveled bangs fluttered slightly in the breath before settling back down. Through the strands, I saw Vincent grinding his teeth hard enough to spark. The look on his face was pure frustration.
Seeing him like that, I grinned brightly.
"I look forward to working with you from now on, Master."
From that day onward, our battle of wills continued.
I kept forcing food past his stubborn refusals, and every time I changed his clothes or replaced the sheets and bedcovers, it turned into a prolonged wrestling match. One day, I tried coaxing and pleading to wash his stinking self, but when that proved useless, I resorted to dragging him to the bathroom by force—only to get punched in the face by his thick arm, leaving me with a bloody nose.
As I stumbled out clutching my bleeding nose with my apron, I ran into Isabella. My body stiffened. She swept her indifferent gaze over me—still holding my nose—then turned away without a word. How long had she been standing there? Had she heard the commotion from inside the room? No—I realized from her demeanor that she'd already figured out exactly what I'd been doing.