The Rosenberg Heiress
As expected, the youngest daughter of the Rosenberg Viscountcy was staying at Brutein, so I sat quietly in the drawing room, waiting for her to arrive.
No need to prepare any other corpse.
The luxurious coffin placed on the floor. The body of Isabel Ron Pierre Genova lay slumbering within. That would suffice for our duel.
Neither she nor I had ever manipulated Isabel's corpse before, so our proficiency with it was zero either way.
Knock knock.
Just as my boredom began to stretch thin, a perfunctory knock sounded, and the door opened. In walked the youngest daughter of the Rosenberg Viscountcy, accompanied by her attendants.
“……”
Social gatherings teeming with people were a source of extreme stress for Ferzen, so naturally, he had never attended one. This made it the first time even he had laid eyes on the Rosenberg heiress. I took in her overall appearance with a vague curiosity, my vision blurred as always.
An albino?
Otherwise known as albinism—a genetic condition where a lack of pigment turned the skin and body hair snow-white, like her eyes.
“L-Laura… de Ch-Charles… R-Rosenberg… g-greets… y-you…”
Her words crawled out like a tortoise, slow and dragging.
“Pleased to meet you. Your speech is quite slow. Is that normal for you?”
I had imagined her brimming with confidence and energy, driven by her bold ambition to outshine her elders.
“S-Sorry… I-It… is. If I… s-speak… f-faster… the s-stuttering… g-gets… w-worse…”
Her albino complexion betrayed her shame, flushing a vivid crimson.
“No need to apologize. I should have noticed sooner and not made you expose your flaw.”
Though I had never met her, I knew the viscount had raised her with utmost care due to her congenital frailty. Add to that her stutter, her albinism requiring long sleeves even on sweltering summer days, and more—it seemed she had been born with every pitiable affliction imaginable.
However…
More than pity, her asymmetrical side ponytail—hair tied on one side only—grated on me fiercely.
Even with my focus deliberately unfocused, the imbalance leaped out, igniting an urge to reach over, seize her locks, and yank the ribbon free.
Clench.
I can endure it.
I balled my twitching hand into a fist and calmly addressed her.
“I hear your ambition is quite bold. Shall we begin with you?”
Her slender neck, fragile enough to snap with a squeeze, nodded slowly in affirmation.
“As a Keter-rank black mage from the lower realms, I’ll match my mana to yours. Don’t hold back.”
“Th-The c-corpse…”
“We’ll use Isabel’s.”
I smirked at Laura.
When mana output and rank were equal, a corpse’s pre-death implementation rate hinged heavily on comprehension and proficiency.
Proficiency, excluding blood ties, mostly came down to frequency of use.
Thus, the crux was comprehension.
Black magic’s Corpse Servitude didn’t just replicate a body’s former abilities—it mimicked the corpse’s very life.
Personality. Habits. Likes. Dislikes.
The black mage’s accurate grasp of these elements boosted the implementation rate.
Among Brutein’s past heads whose flesh endured, those with diaries showed far higher rates than those without.
Isabel Ron Pierre Genova, the infamous witch, surely had ample records. Laura must have pieced together a persona from them.
How accurate it is remains to be seen… but the handicap works in my favor. After winning, I can use it as leverage for a small favor—getting her to undo that ribbon.
I set aside the thought and watched as Laura knelt gracefully, opened the coffin, and channeled her mana.
“Laura de Charles Rosenberg.”
“Y-Yes?”
“No further checks?”
“N-No…”
Impressive confidence.
Even with documents shaping her image of Isabel, she should verify and adjust upon seeing the body.
Let’s see…
I activated Quantification just in case, and Laura’s implementation rate for Isabel appeared.
Still early, it climbed steadily.
Finally, as she turned to me, it settled at:
Isabel was an Apollyon-rank elemental mage, so 27.3% equated to near-full Keter-rank power. Against anyone but Ferzen, it would be genius.
This seemed more proficiency-driven than comprehension—perhaps a talent akin to Ferzen’s Corpse Affinity.
“Done?”
“I-I… d-did my… b-best…”
“Now it comes down to whether I seize control or not. It won’t take long—maintain it.”
A flicker of tension stirred within, but I stepped forward to Isabel’s corpse.
“Wh-What… a-are y-you… d-doing…?”
Laura voiced her confusion as I touched the body.
“Isabel Ron Pierre Genova’s corpse was preserved in its death state and auctioned off. The vivid traces left on it yield fragments of her life.”
The discolored right index finger.
Heavy smoker, it seems.
Faintly yellowed, biased toward the right—her grip on the tobacco came to mind. The large white half-moons near her nails suggested chronic mental stress.
Twitch.
Her control over the corpse I aimed to seize grew ever so slightly. Comprehension of the subject’s life provided immediate feedback during takeover.
Thus, dedicated black mages amassed vast knowledge—even trivia.
“……”
“Ah…”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Th-That’s…”
“Hands off.”
I frowned as Laura interfered, her control pulling the lower body away.
“St-Still…”
“Laura de Charles Rosenberg. Didn’t you preemptively infer her life from documents? Yet now you hinder me as I gather info on the spot?”
“S-Sorry…”
“Tch.”
I clicked my tongue with a sigh.
“Don’t get too immersed.”
To control a corpse fluidly and raise implementation, a black mage had to deeply understand its life. Some even grew attached—history recorded mages marrying their servants or killing rivals for “molesting” them.
“No matter how deeply you comprehend, she’s a dead corpse. Not human—a body.”
“……”
Whether convinced or not, Laura bowed her head. I stripped off Isabel’s pants and continued my examination.
Finished, I placed a hand on her head.
Ferzen had sharp eyes, but this wasn’t tied to Corpse Comprehension.
Precisely, it was Psychometry—one-use per corpse, reading a fragment of core memory to frame personality.
For Ferzen himself, it might show the OCD-fueled near-murder of his brother.
!
And for Isabel Ron Pierre Genova… 26 years ago, the memory of the atrocious witch surged, forcing me to clamp my mouth against rising nausea, holding my breath.
So that’s why the Genova count family was so reclusive. Isabel was a killer, but ‘pleasure’ doesn’t fit—murder was her essence.
Twitch!
Grasping her personality—especially life-defining memories—skyrocketed the implementation rate via feedback.
“Hm? Ah! Uh… Wh-What…?”
Plus my Corpse Affinity, treating any corpse like kin, I seized control from Laura in an instant.
“Th-This c-can’t… b-be…”
“Laura de Charles Rosenberg.”
“……”
“Outshining elders is beyond you yet.”
Even as I spoke, cold sweat beaded. Her inferred Isabel mismatched reality greatly, but her 27.3% proved a talent mirroring my affinity—some merit in serviting corpses.
Had her version aligned perfectly, equal mana might have cost me the duel.
“W-Wait… j-just… a m-moment…!”
“Victory was yours if you had the edge. Losing and refusing to accept is pathetic.”
“……”
“Or do you think I was unfair?”
“If y-you were g-gathering… i-info… wh-why n-not ch-check the… u-upper b-body?”
Did she suspect my inspection was a smokescreen for foul play? Fairly logical.
But I couldn’t say:
—Big breasts would’ve been trouble. Can’t very well rip them off.
“What clues would breasts yield?”
Surprisingly convincing—I nodded inwardly.
Isabel died single, though unconfirmed. I’d gauged sexual experience from the lower body to aid comprehension.
Breasts? Useless.
“If that suffices, stop nitpicking and leave. I met you upon arriving at Brutein, before even resting.”
“Th-Thank… y-you…”
“And.”
I reached for her irksome hair, untying the ribbon to let it fall straight and even.
“Don’t wear this in my lectures. Ignore the warning, and I’ll call on you repeatedly to present.”
Her stutter made presentation threats perfect—she’d never side-tail again.
Twin tails were fine, but for a first meeting, this was subtler than praising pigtails.
Ah…
If class had 23 students? Couldn’t pair or triple evenly.
Damn…
I quelled dark thoughts, laid Isabel’s corpse back in the coffin, stored it in subspace, and left.
After a thorough bath to shed travel fatigue, I headed to Euphemia—to fulfill my promise of touring Brutein.