Thud.
Immediately after slapping me, the heroine collapsed onto the floor.
Covering her face, she was stunned by her own violent act, resembling the way Erenscia would have sat down during her royal academy days.
How did things end up like this?
As a transmigrator, all I wanted was to escape to a cozy life and find a dash of romance; I merely wanted to avoid this troublesome fate.
So why did the heroine kneel before me in despair?
Why do I feel like I contributed to her misery?
Why can’t I just be a mere bystander?
Nothing makes sense.
I can’t wrap my head around it.
I simply cannot accept it.
After all, in the original story, I was portrayed as a character endowed with great insight, cool judgment, and rational thinking, always guiding and controlling situations with aplomb.
Rub.
I rubbed my tingling cheek.
Having taken countless slaps in my past life, I was supposed to be immune to pain.
How utterly absurd and ironically uncomfortable this situation is!
Just like Big Bro Kkwajjijju, jumping around on the vast prairies and shouting to the skies in *LOST*.
《Why doesn’t anybody understand me!?》
《All I wanted was one fleeting moment of happiness!》
《Why can’t I be happy!?》
I found myself wanting to express my grievances.
Lumia’s despair was neither my intention nor desire.
I have no vile hobby of wallowing in someone else’s misery.
And I certainly had no intention of ignoring or ridiculing someone already down in the dumps.
However, I couldn’t extend a helping hand to her either, since I had dodged every bait she had thrown my way up until now.
I wished to break the chains and run across the plains, not foolishly refuse to return to my own stable.
Yet,
At the very least, I felt the need to convey that I held no malice.
“…It may be hard to believe, but the Elden Raphelion of the past no longer exists. The Elden who tormented you has been erased, buried in eternal darkness. Perhaps he will never again see the light of this world.”
Possession.
I feared that my statement would be dismissed as nonsense or pity me as someone trying to escape responsibility—worse still, it might be misconstrued as mocking the Grand Ducal Betrothal.
That was why I had refrained from speaking out.
Lumia lowered her hands from her face and lifted her head.
Her pale expression resembled the faces of Deron and Blund, making me feel unnecessarily remorseful.
“So, please, do not allow the evil Elden to mar your life any longer.”
I prayed she wouldn’t get tangled in a cycle of vengeance.
“Don’t trample on the glorious declaration you present to the world.”
I knew she had suffered under the shadow of a terrible curse her whole life, and I didn’t want her to tarnish the name she had finally begun to see illuminated.
“For I simply hope to see you happy, my Duchess.”
And with that, I poured my sincerity into my words.
That would be the end of it.
Despite having declared my withdrawal, my fleeting presence in the contest was merely to fulfill my minimum obligations.
I hoped it wouldn’t derail her path to revenge.
And of course, the other reason was to make sure my culinary journey remains unblemished.
But now I had fulfilled my duty and conveyed my wishes; I had enough justification to leave.
Above all,
It was right that I vanish.
Like oil and water can’t mix, Lumia and I were a combination destined to fail.
My presence would spit oil onto her flames of vengeance.
The more we faced each other, the more unnecessary friction we would spark, leading to one side bearing all the pain.
So it was only fair for me to disappear.
“Then, I shall take my leave.”
I bowed respectfully toward the still-collapsed woman.
Even after she slapped me, even after trying to confine my freedom, I harbored no ill will.
After all, she was only a victim in this twisted tale.
Thus, with heartfelt respect, I offered my final farewell.
I raised my head.
I saw Lumia, her face a blend of despair and pent-up frustration, layered with complexity.
What might she be thinking?
Perhaps she was finally beginning to shed her obsession with this mere bystander?
Maybe she was pulling away somewhat from her vengeful grip?
I fervently hoped so as I turned to leave.
But then,
“…Why did you help that fallen maid? You’re not the type to do that.”
Lumia’s voice called out to me from behind.
Her question took me by surprise, forcing me to pause and process it.
Since my transmigration, I had only helped one maid who had collapsed.
A maid who twisted her ankle after bumping into me around a corner.
She cried for help, pleading for someone to save her.
In the original story, there was only one maid who served the heroine, Lumia.
That’s why she seemed familiar…
“So that maid was your handmaiden.”
And it appeared that she had broken the promise made between us.
What did it matter now, really?
“…I had no idea.”
“Indeed.”
“But why did you help Marien? Aren’t you the type who stands by and mocks the suffering of others?”
“I helped her because it was my fault she got hurt.”
For someone from the modern world, that logic was obvious.
Though for someone living in this era, it might seem miraculous.
“….”
As if to confirm my point, her response was silent.
I tried to move again, but her voice snagged me as if capturing my ankles.
“My wounds.”
“…?”
“Why won’t you help heal the wounds you’ve inflicted? Why are you ignoring them…!”
Her tone had taken on a childlike tantrum.
Sadly, Elden Raphelion, the one who was supposed to hear that plea, was long gone.
“If you need ointment, I can bring it to you. If you need aid, I will assist. However, I cannot accept your plea.”
With that resolute statement, I walked away.
Her voice did not call out to me again.
Her voice didn’t seize my ankles again.
I couldn’t see her face, but with that, I hoped she could finally focus on those who would remain.
Ultimately, I wished for her to be free from her past wounds by the end of this Grand Ducal Betrothal.
So I exited the Grand Hall.
And,
At least Big Bro Heungbu got some rice even after being slapped, huh?
As I departed, I couldn’t shake off the immense regret of not tasting the grilled wyvern fin prepared for me.
I was leaving the Grand Ducal Betrothal.
While I bid farewell to Lumia, it was still too soon for my Culinary Journey.
Rendler had mentioned something to me that morning.
With the Grand Duke in the Capital and his heir suppressing the remnants of the Northern Barbarian tribes, Gelwood was left in charge of the Betrothal.
Now was the time to play the cards I had collected; my first destination would be the annex where some of them were kept.
“Let’s go, Rachel.”
However, Rachel, waiting for me outside the Grand Hall, wore a surprised expression.
“What’s the matter?”
“…Did you get hit?”
“Oh.”
My cheek had ceased to sting, leading me to think the slap didn’t leave a mark, but it seemed it had.
I absentmindedly stroked my cheek while responding.
“Something happened, but it’s nothing serious.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
I glanced at my hand.
…Stained with blood.
Maybe her fingernails scraped me.
Of course, this injury was a minor price to pay for my freedom.
“Hm-. It appears the Duchess’ nails were rather long.”
I chuckled and was about to head to the annex when Rachel pulled something from her coat pocket and handed it to me.
It was a slim iron cylinder.
“?”
“Use this.”
“And what is this?”
“An ointment. It’s highly effective for healing wounds, even preventing scars from forming.”
Ah.
I had always pondered how Rachel bore no scars on her face despite living a life rougher than most.
Now I knew: it was thanks to this premium ointment.
I swiftly opened the lid.
The ointment resembled a murky white paste.
Scooping some with my index finger, I applied it to my cheek.
Swoosh.
Yet, Rachel wasn’t satisfied.
“What’s wrong now?”
“You’re applying it in the wrong spot. It needs to be a bit higher.”
Hmm, I see.
Scooping a bit more, I placed it a bit higher.
But again, Rachel seemed displeased.
“Why?”
“A bit higher?”
Scoop!
Taking a substantial scoop, I applied it higher still.
Rachel’s expression remained unchanged.
“…You’ve gone too high.”
“Ah.”
Plump! As I reached to dab some more ointment with my index finger, Rachel snatched it away.
My descending index finger had no choice but to poke my innocent palm instead.
“Give it to me.”
She had already taken it.
“…Is it expensive?”
“I’ll apply it for you.”
It must be pricey.
Indeed, in a medieval era where medicine was underdeveloped, an ointment that left no scars would surely be costly.
I wiped my index finger on my clothes as I leaned my head forward.
Rachel stepped closer.
She began applying the ointment on my cheek.
It was the first time I had felt a woman’s touch, but for Lee Jun-Woo, such warm interactions were distant dreams kept alive through countless lonely nights.
That could be why,
I found myself fixated on her.
Watching her apply the ointment, akin to a caring older sister.
“………W-Why are you staring at me like that?”
Ah,
Before I realized it,
Rachel had completed applying the ointment and hastily distanced herself as I awkwardly rubbed the spot she touched and remarked,
“Wait a second. There were several times I was hit hard enough to bleed… And you’ve been hoarding this good stuff all to yourself? My, what a stingy mentor I have.”
It was merely a joke.
Given that the original Elden was a battle maniac, his fists bore large scars and he had a fine scar on his chin.
And a brief look at his memories revealed he had indeed fought hard enough to bleed on several occasions leading up to this Betrothal Contest.
Rachel had always been present, yet she had never offered me this potion.
She didn’t even acknowledge those wounds.
“……”
However,
Rachel appeared to struggle to respond to my lighthearted joke, her face tinted with a faint blush.
“I-I’ll be going ahead.”
She stammered, then turned to lead the way.
But,
Wait,
I didn’t tell her where we were headed!
Why is she turning right? Is she going to the training grounds?
Isn’t it too late for training?
As I quickened my pace to catch up with Rachel, who confidently marched in the wrong direction,
“Rachel? We’re going to the annex.”
Wooosh-!
The Knight made a sharp turn toward the annex.
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