Chapter 8

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 8

Chapter Title: Ice Baptism

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“I wouldn't gift something like that.”

His denial sprang out immediately.

In that instant, his eyes met Clodel's.

The doll-like face, expressionless and subtle, held eyes that pleaded for help—now dimmed with disappointment.

He felt a pang of regret the moment he saw it, but his word was law within these castle walls.

What Kaiyan declared right was right; what he called wrong was wrong.

Even if he called blue red, the vassals would nod and say it was red. If he named white black, the castle staff would agree it was black.

Such was the absolute power of the lord of the castle. With so many eyes watching, he couldn't take back his words.

Especially not over something trivial like whether he'd given her a mere button ornament!

“Just as I thought. Typical Vermonte behavior.”

“So the rumor about Vermonte framing gold around Valmond Castle was just nonsense.”

“Ha! Liking trash like that. Looks like they've never even seen a gem before.”

Sneering remarks poured down on Clodel and her maid.

Kaiyan bellowed.

“Enough. Quit making a racket and get out of here, all of you.”

Even as the corridor emptied, the mocking glances and jeers at the two women from Valmond lingered. When someone shouted “Thief!” from the bottom of the stairs, raucous laughter echoed from afar.

Now Kaiyan was at a loss.

Clodel had clamped her mouth shut and bowed her head, while her maid—beaten and torn at by the crowd—sat slumped on the floor.

He had never comforted anyone or offered a helping hand.

That wasn't what was expected of a family head.

Kaiyan needed only to be a sturdy shield and a sharp, strong sword.

Could anyone imagine a shield or sword extending a hand of solace?

His words were always correct by default, so he'd never even apologized.

Yet now, for the first time in his life, an unfamiliar sensation spread through his chest.

A faint twinge of regret.

But Kaiyan didn't fully recognize or comprehend it.

That was how he'd been raised.

He chalked the awkward, uncomfortable feeling up to Clodel—for demanding something so trivial and even boasting about it.

“Don't cause a scene.”

Clodel flinched at his words.

“Live quietly, like a dead mouse. No one in Rowen Castle will take your side.”

He spat the harsh rebuke and turned away, relieved that the matter seemed settled.

'Why'd she have to ask for junk like that?'

Kaiyan strode off with wide steps.

“Can you believe that guy? Who does he think he is?”

As she applied salve to the bruised and bloodied spots, Hanna fumed, unable to hold back her anger.

“Ugh, total scum. The worst one I've seen since coming to this castle!”

“Enough, Hanna.”

“Enough? Why should I? We haven't even started!”

Clodel tried to calm her quietly, but Hanna burst out.

“He's harassing you so cleverly. You got hit once, but twice? No way. I'm not letting this slide.”

“He's not like that. It's a misunderstanding...”

“After all this, you're still defending him, miss?”

Clodel fell silent as Hanna yelled in disbelief.

Her gaze drifted to the ambiguous thing on her finger—ring or button ornament?—and Hanna, catching it, glared fiercely.

“Give it here! I'll take it to the kitchens and burn it for kindling.”

“Don't.”

Even as she tried to snatch it from Clodel, who looked increasingly gaunt and weary lately, Hanna eased her grip, afraid of hurting her precious miss's finger.

“I can't stand the sight of it. Seriously.”

“I'm sorry, Hanna.”

“Not you, miss. That thing.”

Clodel hesitated and covered her left hand with her right.

“I almost hated you for a second there.”

“Sorry.”

“Ugh. Just take it off and chuck it out the window. Didn't you see what that duke did earlier? And you still put up with it?”

Clodel covered her mouth and coughed softly.

“Cough. Cough cough.”

She felt sorry for Hanna, but she couldn't make her understand everything she felt.

Hanna had learned about the Herzol two months ago.

Valmond Castle lay far north in the Oberon Kingdom, a frozen wasteland half the year.

In that frigid land lurked Herzol, a cough that lasted a hundred days before spitting blood and death.

Highly contagious, it could wipe out four-fifths of a village.

But someone discovered a way to survive it.

Surviving a mild case granted immunity.

Especially deadly to infants—all ten out of ten perished—so centuries ago, the Duke of Vermonte built a small village to manage the disease.

Before a child in a nearby village turned one, they brought it for the Ice Baptism.

Rubbing a cloth used by a patient with mild fever and cough near the baby's nose induced a weak case.

Before the Ice Baptism, Herzol exterminated entire villages.

Offering a year's tax exemption per baptized child drew everyone. Gradually, deaths dwindled.

Clodel caught it because her father, Evan, was the duke's brother.

He'd been exiled to the southernmost edge of the domain, farthest from Valmond.

She learned later: straying from Florny Village meant surveillance reporting to the duke.

Blood of Vermonte ran truest in her, yet she never received the baptism—even Hanna, born in remote mountain Florny, had.

Southerners in warmer climes didn't catch it.

When Clodel—raised long in the icy north—fell ill, the cunning Duke Vermonte schemed.

Herzol had no cure.

“If you're dying anyway, wouldn't it help the domain's people?” he persuaded. Clodel nodded.

Nobles and vassals kept their distance from her.

Villagers waving cheerfully during her relief duties felt closer to Florny's warm neighbors.

If those children starved, and she was dying anyway...

A few months of humiliation would end it.

In her unaccomplished life, she could manage that much.

Her right hand pressed so hard the ring below grew warm.

Clodel knew it was worthless; that's why she'd asked.

In a month or so, it'd be burned as a relic of the innocent dead.

So maybe a tiny piece like this could go with her to the afterlife?

Ridiculous as it was.

“Cough.”

The cough worsened with each bout, so she tried to stifle it.

“I won't make you give it up. Rest easy.”

Hanna released her tense hands and massaged them gently.

“This cold isn't getting better. Tomorrow, I'll fetch a doctor somehow.”

“Thank you, Hanna.”

If Hanna knew it was Herzol, she might punch Duke Vermonte. Hanna seemed capable.

Her punching anyone rude to Clodel was infamous in Valmond.

Thankfully, no one in Rowen would help Hanna find a doctor.

It was the final day of the wedding feast.

The day the new lady of the domain appeared before the people.

But rumors already swirled in House Temneth and Rowen that Clodel resembled a wilted flower mashed in the rain.

Many had seen her drenched and disheveled entering the first feast; they gossiped at home.

Some wondered if she'd look different dolled up, but Clodel skipped the feast today.

“What? She's not attending?”

“Yes, Your Grace. She says illness prevents her.”

Kaiyan's brow furrowed.

Causing a fuss over nothing, now scheming to embarrass him.

“Tell her she won't be summoned to any more feasts.”

“Your Grace, such words...”

The butler, loyal since the previous duke, shut his mouth midway.

“I'll withdraw.”

Since the Oberon King's decree forced the marriage, his nagging increased.

'Even in a forced union, neglecting your wife harms your reputation, Your Grace.'

The butler was Temneth blood. Unlike most, his Vermonte hatred was milder; a bastard branch prioritized the family head's dignity.

He ignored the advice, yet it led to preparing betrothal gifts as suggested.

The butler knew today's commotion but hadn't mentioned it. What he'd almost said after “such words” piqued curiosity, but since it concerned Clodel, Kaiyan pushed it away.

She must be disappointed in him.

Yet it was absurd. After just two days facing the enemy from Vermonte, she'd expected his help?

Disappointment meant expectation.

Betraying it brought pointless self-reproach.

Vermonte deserved it.

That's how he'd lived.

He even planned to slaughter them—next month, Clodel's neck might've met his blade.

If not for the king's forced marriage.

Feeling like the villain around her made facing her uncomfortable.

That night, Kaiyan paced before Clodel's bedroom.

Whether from the day's events or her illness claim, the lamp-lit corridor was empty and silent.

'Sick, so that maid's probably holding out.'

Recalling Hanna's murderous glare, he couldn't enter rashly. Instead, he glared at the door from the hall.

But Hanna, whom he'd assumed nursed Clodel, was glaring at another door.

Kaiyan's bedroom.

“Come out. I won't let you get away.”

As early dawn broke, the bedroom door opened, a figure emerged, and her eyes widened, fists clenched.