Chapter 15: Chapter 14

The Academy ended, and my lady’s two friends parted ways with us at the gates, with Beth casting me looks that I could only label as throwing daggers. Well, quite literally. The two girls dropped by my bread lad’s booth, and Casey cast [Spark] at him, earning his disgruntled mutters.

“Those hateful noble villains!” he cursed when we stopped by the booth, his short curly hair all straight. “I can’t even retaliate!”

His eyes paused at me, then at my lady, casting an apologetic glance at the latter. He fished out thirty shins and handed it to my lady. “I had meant to pay you for a long time now, lady Letitia. And I honestly haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Weren’t you, crazy mutt? How come I never saw you at the booth whenever I passed by the gates?” My lady asked, almost ready to smack Garlan, who had come out of his booth to chase away Casey.

My bread lad loved money more than bread, unlike me, so he was quite hesitant to pay us for the adventures of last week. When I visited him at the tavern two days ago, he chased me away, saying the roasted rabbit was the payment, so I had conveniently reported the same to my lady.

I laughed from the sidelines, earning a hateful gaze from my bread lad. “This servant apologizes, lady Letitia. It’s just that I’ve been running short on funds these days.”

“Are you? I heard you were at the tavern when I sent my mongrel to fetch money from you.”

“That faithful dog!” he snarled at me, and my lady’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I mean, that faithful butler is indeed worthy of being your aide, lady Letitia.”

“If you withhold our payment next time, mutt, I’ll start cutting your digits once a day.”

“Next time? Are we going on adventures again?” he looked pained as if we were tagging along with him just for fun.

“Do you have problems with that?!” my lady raised her voice, and bystanders snickered around us as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. They had preconceived notions about my lady, which I was least bothered to address. They were at a loss when she became the strongest mage in the world.

“No, lady Letitia! I’m more than happy to have you with me,” he beamed his brightest smile, which looked too forced to be true.

My lady turned around coldly and walked away.

“I’ll catch you later, bread lad,” I said, my smile reaching my perked-up ears.

“You!” He stopped his curses midway when he noticed my lady turning around.

“Mongrel!” she called out. “I’m leaving.”

“Yes, my lady,” I patted Garlan's shoulder and followed my lady through the busy streets. We had stopped using carriages for over the week since I had convinced my lady that it would help her strengthen her foundation while using spells. As you might guess, my true intention was indeed getting myself a few extra loaves of bread.

The usual streets were bathed in the glow of the setting sun, carriages trudging back to the noble residences amidst the commotion. The stores were wide open, filled to the brim with commoner students who preferred walking back home. Usually, they were in search of hangout spots, and stores offered good ones, so despite the unusual crowd, the shop owners were least excited about it.

“My lady,” I broke the comfortable silence between us when we reached a relatively less busy street. Houses populated us now, instead of the market plaza, grime-covering most of the residences since the commoners were happy with just having a roof overhead.

“Mm,” she acknowledged me, but her eyes were glued to the front, to the mother-daughter pair walking close to us. They held hands, the atmosphere too amicable for my taste.

The streets diverged close by, so I waited until the commoners turned away from the locality meant for nobles. Carriages passed crossing, so I was vigilant.

“Lady Beth and Lady Casey asked me if they could stay over to train with you,” I said, and she stopped in her tracks. Usually, servants always walked behind, but my lady never liked me doing that, so I was a step ahead of her. I turned around and asked, “My lady?”

“Have you grown fond of them, mongrel?!” she asked, gritting her teeth. Her nails dug deep into her palms, and I debated designing a nail-cutter one of these days.

I walked to her and knelt before her so that she was looking down on me. “I cannot love, my lady. Not anyone, so you don’t have to worry about my growing fondness. They are your accomplices in delinquency, so it only makes sense for them to be as strong as you.”

If she were alone at the peak of the world, then I would destroy the world just so that she could live a carefree life. That isn’t what I intend to do, for my handicap wouldn’t let me do that. When I transmigrated to this world, I had decided that I wouldn’t use destruction as a means to achieve my goal. Torture and murder would be my weapons and not fear of the unknown power. Both these things are different, and if you don’t see any, then you don’t know me yet.

I could have made her rule the world by making everyone succumb to my magic. Nevertheless, that would destroy my very reason for transmigrating. I fight for her, and not for me, but the enjoyment I reap from manipulations alone are my spoils. As twisted as my logic sounds, I have a clear idea of goals, and that would suffice for now.

I touched her palms with my gloved hands and cast [Heal] over the blood trickling down. Her resentment wasn’t for me alone but also for the commoner who had a mother.

“Mongrel,” she talked after I finished casting the spell. “I would kill you if you touch them with your bare hands.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You are not allowed to remove those gloves if I’m not around you.”

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“Yes, my lady.”

“I’ll talk to the bitch at home, so you can tell them to come over.”

“My lady?” she stepped away from me and continued ambling down the streets.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you informed them?” I asked, following her quickly.

“You don’t ask questions, mongrel!” she said but slowed down enough for me to catch up.

When we reached back home, my lady asked to wait for her in my room, and she walked to the first floor where the rest of the family lived. I silently waited in my humble abode after my lady had rejected my company, reading my diary.

My lady stabbed a guard.

That entry stood out from the rest of the monotonous records on the page. It was the first time I had witnessed the ruthlessness of my lady, and I couldn’t quite forget the feeling. It was addictive, and I was waiting to see my lady kill people. Good or bad didn’t make a difference to me as long as I witnessed the slaughter. This was another reason not to become an undead because your moral compass stops pointing north. Or anywhere else as a matter of fact.

I closed the book and walked to my lady’s room. I changed her sheets, cleaned up the soiled clothes on the ground, and put them in the laundry basket. It was made of some bark, and I had decided to use it as a laundry bin when my eyes fell on it in the market. Usually, I clear the bin in the morning unless extenuating circumstances, like eating bread, prevent me so that she has fresh pairs of gowns to wear every day, for her closet really pales when compared to other ladies her age.

I sprayed my bread perfume in her room, as per her orders, and walked back to my own. My lady had returned, and she was sitting on my cot, with a gash across her cheek, blood trickling down, seeping into her clothes.

“Heal me,” she said, not quite in her usual cold voice, and I sat beside her, casting [Heal] without asking questions. She leaned in my bosom, her hands clenched to a first on her folded legs, and said, “The bitch agreed. Can you leave a scar on my cheek?”

I nodded and healed just enough so that there was a visible scar right across her cheek. She didn’t move, and I placed my palm over her head.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Shut up, arse. I did this on my own. That bitch didn’t even dare to scratch my face.”

This was my lady; her pain, her sorrows, all hidden from the world. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, mind you, as she didn’t need saving. She would rather stab herself than ask for someone’s help. So when she said ‘heal me’, I was quite taken aback. She had accepted me as her own like I had.

“Tell them to stay over starting tomorrow,” she said after a while, now out of my chest, her face as calm as usual. She didn’t cry again, which was nothing short of my expectation.

“Yes, my lady,” I said. “When you want to remove the scar, just let me know.”

“Do you hate it?” she asked, touching her scar that ran along the left cheek. My long mirror hung right opposite us, so she was able to see her own face.

“I don’t, my lady.”

“Then I wouldn’t mind having it for the rest of my life.”

“I cannot give you anything, my lady.”

Love for noble ladies in the Otome world was like bread for me in any world. So, she should be prepared to throw it away if she wants to become the villainess. Since no men would give it to her because their inherent dominance wouldn’t let them acknowledge her. Exceptions exist, albeit not among nobles, but I will kill them if they approach my lady.

“I know. And I don’t mind. Even if you are a creature from hell, the most grotesque of all, I don’t mind.”

“I’m not,” I laughed.

“But you are not human,” she said, looking straight into my eyes.

That instant, I felt naked. If I say it was the most terrifying moment of my undead life, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

“I was, but not anymore,” I said because she and I both detested lies, particularly from my mouth.

She nodded in acknowledgment and leaned back on my hard cot. “You wouldn’t ask me how I know, mongrel?”

“I don’t need to know it, my lady,” I smiled. “For it is insignificant if you have accepted me for what I am.”

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