Chapter 23
Fortunately, the Monster flowers were unable to move once they took root; they could only tempt him with their petals, anchored firmly to the spot.
Gerald tried to slice through a stalk, but his blade deflected without a single scratch, as if he had struck solid steel. Only when he imbued his sword with aura and struck again did a faint notch appear.
*Clang. Clang. Clang.*
He hacked at the stalk repeatedly, like a woodsman felling a tree. Finally, with a sharp crack, the stalk snapped.
The Monster flower, which had been gaping its maw as if in agony and releasing an even thicker, cloying scent, went limp.
They were easy targets since they were effectively chained to the ground, but their hide was thick enough to resist aura, making the process of clearing them agonizingly slow.
Gerald decided to strike at the center of the patch, which they seemed to be guarding. As if sensing his intent, the heads of every nearby flower turned toward him in perfect, eerie unison.
Ignoring the peripheral threats, Gerald swiped through the nearest petals and lunged for the center.
Upon arriving, he found a flower slightly smaller than the rest, its petals shimmering with a kaleidoscope of shifting hues. It was the most flamboyant of them all.
Gerald coated his sword in aura and slashed. Unlike its brethren, this one collapsed in a single stroke.
Perhaps it had been the heart of the colony, for as it fell, the other flowers began to wither and die, their stalks sagging into the dirt.
As the field fell silent and gray, Gerald noticed the central flower remained vibrant, its colors still pulsing on the ground.
*What if it isn’t dead yet?*
He stepped over the withered husks and approached the fallen blossom.
In that heartbeat, the Monster flower snapped its mouth open toward his face, spat out a fine mist, and instantly crumbled into dust.
For a moment, it was as if lightning had seared his vision, and then, he saw nothing.
To think the last thing he would ever see was a monster.
And so, he was blinded by the colorless, odorless poison.
***
“Sleep well.”
Gerald woke at the sound of Imsi’s voice.
It had been a long time since he had dreamt. Even the nightmarish recollection of how he lost his sight had faded into a dormant, distant memory. He hadn’t dreamed in ages.
Her cautious footsteps retreated until the door clicked shut.
“Kay. How long have I slept?”
“You slept for an hour, My Lord.”
Kay replied, his voice kept to a respectful, low murmur.
“Sleep… is a good thing.”
A mere hour of rest had flooded his body with vitality, leaving him feeling strangely refreshed. His senses remained erratic, but he felt as though they would be easier to rein in now.
When he had been pushing through life, ignoring the very concept of rest, he hadn’t known it could feel like this. Now that he had tasted it, he didn’t even want to imagine returning to a state of permanent wakefulness.
“What am I to do with Imsi…”
A strange and wondrous woman.
And… a dangerous one.
She was a woman who could exert infinite power over him. She possessed the ability to either deliver him from this agony or trap him in it forever.
She had become, quite suddenly, a dangerous yet indispensable presence.
***
As soon as she returned to the annex, Marin went straight to her room, bypassing her usual habit of checking on Roanna first.
She sat at her vanity and looked at her reflection, her face contorting in horror.
“My goodness. So that’s why Mr. Olive looked at me like that.”
Her hair was a tangled bird’s nest, and a long, angry scratch marred her cheek. To think she had appeared before the Duke in such a state.
It was fortunate, she realized, that the Duke had been unable to see her.
*Knock, knock.*
As she sighed, a knock echoed at the door. Marin hastily smoothed her hair and called out.
“Yes?”
“Pardon the intrusion.”
Yuria pushed a trolley in, entering with cautious steps.
“Lady Marin. Are you alright?”
Yuria examined her with wide, worried eyes.
“Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry, the Duke didn’t scold me.”
Marin offered a playful smile to reassure her.
“Phew. I’m so relieved.”
“Are you alright, Yuria?”
Marin studied the girl’s face. Fortunately, there were no visible wounds.
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ve had this happen many times before, so I’m quite accustomed to it.”
Hearing Yuria speak so casually of such abuse tugged sharply at Marin’s heart. This was the life of a commoner. And Yuria, an orphan, likely viewed even the smallest kindness as a miracle.
Marin hid her emotional surge and spoke with forced cheer.
“Yuria, if something like that happens again, come running to me! I’ll fight alongside you again. Do you promise?”
Yuria responded with a bashful smile, as if to say she didn’t want to be a burden any longer. She reached into the trolley and pulled something out.
“The Butler gave me this ointment.”
“Oh, how kind.”
Just as Marin reached for it, Yuria hesitated, clutching the jar.
“May I apply it for you?”
“I can do it myself, really.”
“I… I want to do it for you.”
Seeing the girl’s nervousness, Marin relented with a smile.
“Well, that would be wonderful.”
As Yuria carefully dabbed the ointment onto the scratch, she spoke again.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For what you said earlier, and for fighting with me. You didn’t have to.”
“Actually, I have a confession of conscience to make, too.”
“Yes?”
“At first, I tried to pretend I didn’t see it. I’m just a temporary hire here, someone who will leave at any time. I didn’t want to get involved. If they hadn’t insulted my mother, I would have kept walking. I’m sorry.”
Marin bowed her head. At her honest, sincere apology, Yuria beamed.
Although Marin and Roanna claimed to be commoners, their gestures and speech hinted at something more refined. Yuria had often wondered if they were fallen nobility.
Marin had said she would have ignored the situation if not for Roanna, but she had rolled in the dirt to fight beside her nonetheless. And now, she was being this vulnerable.
“Please don’t apologize. I’m just grateful to you, Lady Marin.”
“I’m grateful, too. We’re comrades who defeated the same enemy.”
Marin and Yuria looked at each other and burst into genuine laughter.
“And Lady Marin, please, speak comfortably to me.”
“That’s…” Marin trailed off, troubled. “You are older than me.”
“That may be true, but please. I beg of you.”
At Yuria’s plea, Marin had no choice but to comply.
“Alright. I will.”
Marin nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“Thank you. Let me brush your hair, too. If you go to see Lady Roanna like this, she’ll be surprised.”
“Thank you.”
“Hehe.” Yuria smiled shyly.
Marin was a good superior. It was a stroke of immense luck to serve such a person. Yuria made up her mind to do anything she could to help her from now on.
As she unraveled the tangles, long platinum locks cascaded down to Marin’s waist like a waterfall.
“Wow, it’s beautiful. Why don’t you wear it down?”
Yuria marveled at the color—a shimmering blend of pale gold and silver.
“It’s cumbersome.”
As Marin stroked her hair, the dangling sleeve of her dress caught Yuria’s eye.
“Lady Marin. May I mend your dress?”
“You can mend clothes, too?”
“I’ve often been told that I have nimble hands.”
“Really? I’d be very grateful.”
“Yes!”
Yuria, happy to have found something useful to do, beamed brightly.