Ferzen von Schweig Brutein
"Are you sure you don't need any attendants?"
In response to the maids Ferzen had brought along with Sebas, Euphemia nodded and dismissed them before sinking into the warm bathwater.
"Ah……!"
The moment she leaned forward slightly, a sharp pang shot through her, making Euphemia instinctively furrow her brow and press a hand to her waist.
"……"
She hadn't noticed much that morning in her rush, but now, surveying her body, the traces of last night's passion were starkly etched into every corner of her skin.
Knowing they wouldn't fade, she still scrubbed furiously with her own hands until her skin swelled red and raw, but all that remained was stinging pain.
Splash.
She knew stubbornness here would only make her feel more wretched, so Euphemia gave up, finished her bath perfunctorily, left the mansion, and wandered the territory.
"……"
The crumbling walls, long neglected due to lack of funds, were undergoing major repairs.
The empty granaries, which had nothing to distribute even when she wanted to, were now filled to the brim, and lines of territory folk stretched out from morning onward to receive free rations.
When a few of them, standing at a distance, met her eyes and bowed their heads in shame, Euphemia felt she shouldn't be here and quietly moved on before drawing more attention.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
As that man—Ferzen von Schweig Brutein—had said, setting aside her personal feelings, the outcome was perfect, beyond reproach.
Things she couldn't achieve no matter how hard she struggled for years were resolving themselves as if by magic.
But why was this?
Euphemia missed those times.
And among them, most of all, the brief months with Ciel Midford flickered hazily in her mind.
Was it because they were memories of not struggling alone, but briefly leaning on someone?
'Stay safe……'
She had tied him to the territory's only horse and sent him off, so if he survived, he could sell it for living expenses and settle elsewhere.
She felt no regret.
It was a meager tribute to the sturdy knight-like man who had served her unworthy self like a lady.
Truth be told, in that moment, seeing Ciel reach out to her forcibly as he departed, she had fleetingly considered fleeing the territory with him.
But judging that her presence might ensure slightly better treatment for the folk, she lowered her half-raised hand and silently watched him vanish into the distance.
Of course, now it was pointless worry.
The results had proven that concern unfounded.
So Euphemia felt like a lost child.
If that man, Ferzen von Schweig Brutein, had been harsh to the territory folk, she would at least have something to do.
Crunch.
Crunch.
She didn't know where to step next.
When one lost the drive to live proactively, did a person become this powerless?
If she had simply wanted personal happiness, she would have fled with Ciel then.
That choice was now sunk cost in this outcome.
Irretrievable time.
Crunch.
"Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg."
"……"
A low baritone voice drifted down.
Looking up at the massive shadow looming before her, Euphemia gazed at his arrogantly imperious face.
"If you're going to cry, do it with both eyes."
"Ha……"
Was it a talent to phrase his distaste for her crying face so circuitously?
"The carriage is ready. No need to pack. Follow me. We're leaving now."
"Yes……"
She lacked even the energy to reply properly.
If he were just leashing her to control her, it might have been better.
This man before her was far crueler.
A bird in a cage might yearn for freedom, dream of soaring into the blue sky someday, and flap its wings futilely……
But a bird with clipped wings couldn't.
To the man before her, Ferzen, she was mere decoration for his home, no different from a taxidermied beast.
She had to heed his words, but hers were like talking to a wall—never reaching him.
"Depart."
The carriage moved without a tremor, making even the reality of leaving her lifelong home, Ruerg, feel unreal.
If she couldn't watch the territory recede through the window, Euphemia might not have realized she was leaving at all.
"Enough…… looking……"
If only he'd let her close her eyes, get some sleep.
But the man sitting across from her, Ferzen, just propped his chin and stared silently.
His crimson eyes, chilling in their intensity, occasionally glinted with amusement—perhaps recalling how he'd toyed with her last night as he pleased.
Overwhelmed by shame, though clothed, she clamped her legs tight, draped her right hand over her left shoulder to hug her chest, yet felt the delusion of his gaze skimming her skin.
"……"
Abandoning futile resistance, Euphemia leaned back comfortably, closed her eyes, and quietly became his spectacle.
Body and mind exhausted.
Sleep was an equal refuge for all.
Wrapping herself in the blanket of encroaching drowsiness, Euphemia sought slumber.
'Of all places, leaning her head left……'
By my standards, watching Euphemia breathe evenly with her head against the left side from across, I felt a twist in my gut and quickly shifted to the right, propping my chin.
Now our seats formed perfect diagonal symmetry, and my mind finally eased.
'Really…… what a self-inflicted ordeal.'
I idly thought that even in death, if the coffin weren't perfectly symmetrical, this body might reject being sealed inside.
Special Ability
▶ ???
▶ Quantification
Heading from the north through to central Brutein would take considerable time, so to use it thriftily, I decided to deduce the unmarked special ability in the status window.
In truth, this unmarked ability was a double-edged sword—short-term boon, long-term bane.
This body was, per the novel, the villain who stole the protagonist's heroine, so the more exceptional its talents, the greater the protagonist's potential by narrative logic.
'Let's review the memories.'
The Tenaciously Surviving Villain was a work with an active settings tab detailing the worldbuilding.
As a fan, I'd frequented it after chapters, so I remembered the lore perfectly.
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein was mid-tier—Euclid-rank black mage—so cross-referencing that should reveal the special ability.
Black mage.
Unlike typical media where they're reviled taboos, here they're not publicly scorned.
A black mage's identity is Corpse Servitude.
Depending on aptitude, skill, corpse damage, comprehension, and familiarity, they could manifest up to 90% of the corpse's living power.
Thus, prestigious noble houses preserved Aura Knights' or elemental mages' corpses indefinitely against decay.
'No discrepancies here……'
Memories flashed of standout talents from Corpse Comprehension and Corpse Affinity, but nothing unmentioned or lore-breaking.
'Then……'
Rubbing my temple, I delved deeper into the past.
Black mages, beyond Corpse Servitude, could bargain with the Netherworld.
The summoned otherworldly being was random; the tribute, valuables of high worth.
Long-sustained value outweighed mere expense for higher rank.
Thus, useless ostentation for the poor.
'Found it.'
Retracing memories, I spotted the inconsistency.
Black mages had personal altars.
Once a ritual trade succeeded, it became sub-space—Ferzen surely attempted it for convenience.
But on first trade, the Netherworld entity deemed the offering excessive and returned part—contradicting the lore that discounts required VIP status via multiple trades.
'But is this enough……'
To warrant unmarked status?
Frowning, I probed further, but the smoothly rolling carriage jolted to a halt.
"We have a problem."
The coachman calmly opened the small partition, vaguely conveying the outside situation.
I rose, glanced at deeply sleeping Euphemia, opened the door, and stepped out.
"……"
The instant I exited, translucent, sticky threads clung thickly to my body.
Far off, a hazy something—per Ferzen's memories, an Erbet Arachne from the northern snow mountains.
'Come to teach luring and hunting young ones, eh.'
To remove Erbet Arachne webs, normals oiled and burned them for 10+ minutes.
Obviously fatal delay.
I reached into my pocket, donned my glasses.
For Ferzen with extreme symmetry OCD, glasses held special meaning.
Ting—!
Webs shuddered everywhere, hatchling Erbet Arachnes swarming like bees.
Spotting their asymmetrical body markings, instinctive revulsion made me bite my lip.
Swish.
Ferzen's altar was his left-ring finger ring.
Via its sub-space, I set down the coffin of Bayern von Grieel Brutein, 27th Brutein head.
Corpse Servitude scaled with familiarity; blood ties gave advantage.
Clank!
Not mana-binding, I opened the coffin courteously; Bayern von Grieel Brutein rose, and I nodded in greeting.
Gratitude to predecessors who left bodies for the house, even soulless.
'Indeed……'
Worth Ferzen's awe: strong chosen-blood pride, house devotion.
Black magic arts.
Linking past and present, coexistence of dead and living.
Thud—!
The 27th head slammed his favored staff heavily to the ground.