The hall had turned so cold that it seemed it could freeze even death.
Elden had left the Grand Hall, leaving Lumia, Deron, and Blund behind.
No, they had been left behind.
Lumia, sitting pitifully on the floor, struggled to stand up.
Once.
She swayed heavily, and just managed to grasp the round table to prevent herself from collapsing once more.
“……”
With her right hand still propped against the table, she stretched out her left hand and looked down at her palm.
That was the hand that had slapped Elden.
The heat from that slap still lingered.
The tingling pain was persistent.
And the horrible feelings were still very much alive.
The hand that had never experienced violence was now transmitting such alien and filthy sensations.
The very hand that had longed to avoid resembling that which she despised the most had now committed its own act of violence, and it disgusted her.
Clench.
She balled her fist, her nails digging into her palm, drawing blood as she squeezed tightly.
The pain as her flesh was pierced was there, but oddly enough, she didn’t mind it at all.
Gritting her teeth, the veins in her neck bulged.
As if punishing herself, she wrapped her right hand around her left, making sure her nails pressed into her palm.
Then she opened her hand.
Crimson liquid oozed from the injured flesh.
“…Blood.”
Lumia muttered blankly.
The same thing had dripped from the spot where she had slapped Elden.
Not only had she slapped him, but she had also seen his blood.
Of course, compared to what Erenscia had suffered, it was nothing, but the despair of shattered beliefs leaves scars that a mere scratch cannot erase.
She lowered her hand.
Her head drooped helplessly.
The chandelier overhead was beaming with a bright and splendid light.
Heh.
A dry chuckle escaped her.
She should be basking in moments far brighter than that chandelier’s light; she should be wearing a victorious smile instead of this hollow grin filled with nothing but regret.
How did it end up like this?
Where did it all go wrong?
Why had he expressed a desire for her happiness?
Why had he wished for no further misery on anyone?
How could he, of all people, hold such lavish dreams?
And why, oh why, did those words sound so sincere?
“…Happiness…”
With a vacant expression, Lumia mulled over Elden’s wish as she gazed down at Deron and Blund.
Ha.
Looking at their wretched faces, similar to what Erenscia would wear, brought her another mirthless chuckle.
Their pitiful state encapsulated her misery perfectly.
It was absurd to obsess over a flea only to burn down the entire barn because of it, expecting someone to understand her the way Marien had.
And,
The slight sincerity embedded in her proposal to Elden was absurdly funny, making her want to laugh hysterically.
Click-clack.
Cleaning her bloodied hand against the round table, Lumia drew closer to Deron and Blund.
“You two are really lucky.”
Her softly spoken words echoed through the heavy silence in the Grand Hall, wrapping the cold atmosphere in an uneasy frost as the faces of Deron and Blund turned pale, mirroring Erenscia’s despair.
“Y-Yes…?”
“It must be nice. Now your chances of getting pardoned have doubled.”
Lumia stood in front of the two who were kneeling.
Her once vibrant, gem-like blue eyes had dulled, shrouded in darkness, swirling with a multitude of feelings like a sailor lost at sea.
The radiant light that once shone in her eyes had been replaced with shadows of loss and regret.
Where that light had vanished, a dense fog now clouded her vision, leaving no clarity.
The eyes of someone who had lost everything settled down on the filthy hands of the two men still kneeling on the floor.
Their hands, soiled from eating like beasts,
Were as ugly as their characters.
And now that she thought about it,
It had always been like this.
Hadn’t she pleaded for them not to step on her hands all the time?
Because she needed them to study,
To conduct her research,
To record her findings,
Yet, her pleas were mere jokes to them.
Click-clack.
“Shall we have a contest of endurance? The one who holds out the longest will be crowned the winner of today’s event.”
As she took a step closer, Lumia brutally stomped on Blund’s hand with her heel.
The sharp heel mercilessly dug into the back of his hand.
“Gaaaaah…!”
Blund writhed in agony as if he were a squirming octopus.
Perhaps it was like punishing herself for having turned a pristine pond into a muddy mess while trying to catch a slimy eel, as she pressed down harder.
“P-Please…! It hurts so much—Aahhhh!”
She finally lifted her foot.
A perfect imprint remained on the back of his hand.
Then, she shifted to the side.
Deron’s face, the mastermind behind her ordeal, was twisted in fear.
Drawing upon the resentment she felt since Elden had rejected her — running away from their grand betrothal — she ruthlessly stomped down on Deron’s hand.
“AAARGGHHH…!!”
She would break that hand.
Shatter it completely.
Once, she believed she was different from them.
That she would never resort to violence like those villains.
But now, those innocent beliefs had crumbled with that single slap, and now she brutally crushed Deron’s hand.
And as she did, a thought flickered in her mind.
Indeed,
Didn’t you wish for my happiness?
Don’t worry.
At the end of this revenge, I’ll be the happiest I’ve ever been.
I’ll laugh at the very hope you’ve held, and I’ll be happier than anyone else in the world.
Run,
Run away while you can.
I want to see if hope will embrace you where you end up, or if regret will be waiting with open arms.
“Ugh…!!”
So go ahead, run until the end.
Do you really think I’ll let you escape?
There’s a saying that history happens at night.
The night, separated from the light of day, has its own rules to follow.
It’s a time when deeds left undone in the day are carried out in darkness, a moment for violence and pillaging—and for the superstitious, a time of dread.
That’s why in some regions, curfews are enforced to protect the people from the lurking dangers of night.
A time of both rest and anxiety.
And Gelwood was spinning plans for the steadily approaching disaster of the Grand Ducal Betrothal amidst this apprehensive darkness.
Then,
When Elden arrived at his office later that night, it felt like Gelwood’s worries had become all too real.
The objects he held and the marks on his cheek seemed to carry an ominous weight beyond mere concern.
Eventually,
The items began to stack up on the table, one by one.
A note was unfolded.
What was supposed to be a supportive message turned out to breach rules regarding the Second Evaluation.
Gelwood was left speechless.
Next, a Mana Recorder was placed down.
The tape included a clear violation, where three candidates threatened the wellbeing of another.
Gelwood was at a total loss for words.
Another recorder followed suit.
This one confirmed that the long tail they’d feared was indeed stepped on.
It was irrefutable evidence of unethical secret surveillance linked to the Grand Ducal Betrothal.
Gelwood’s silence was becoming unbearable.
And at last.
“These wounds came from the Third Northern Duchess herself.”
With all those ethical violations, including acts of violence against a finalist, Gelwood had no option but to bow his head in representation of the Grand Duchy of Winterfell.
Of course, a single act of violence wouldn’t ordinarily be a huge deal.
However, given the circumstances he found himself in, this was enough to disrupt familial traditions and spark chaos around the biggest festival in the northern territories.
Thus, a swift response was mandatory for Gelwood.
Moreover,
He had formally declared his withdrawal from the Grand Ducal Betrothal before final evaluations began.
Even without any legal grounds to detain a withdrawer, the Duchess’s stubbornness held him captive, and if he suffered significant harm from that, bowing was unavoidable.
This was then.
An official acknowledgement that the three remaining candidates were now down to two.
“What do you seek?”
“There is only one thing I desire.”
Elden pulled out a piece of paper from his coat.
A document with several clauses concluding with a space for a seal.
“What is this…?”
Elden, with a light smile, eyed the Winterfell seal laid on Gelwood’s desk.
“It’s a mutual benefit agreement.”
A pardon for a sin he didn’t commit.
An apology for a sin he didn’t incur.
Freedom from unjust detention and unwarranted oppression.
A pledge to fulfill certain promises.
And above all,
A fundamental right for a transmigrator wrapped in a villain’s skin.
The right to live as a human being.
The freedom to chase romantic ideals and peaceful aspirations.
And,
A legitimate escape from captivity.
This document encapsulated everything.
It was the fulfillment of a long-awaited desire.
The following day,
With only seven days left until the Grand Ducal Betrothal’s conclusion, the public schedule shifted to a fully private arrangement due to personal reasons.
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