Chapter 105
Sayeong Cleaner
“Ilea, did you know? Sir Johan intends to take other wives besides you. Several of them, in fact.”
No sooner had the Count finished speaking than Ilea’s expression turned icy.
Her face stiff as wax, she spoke.
“...Is that true, Johan?”
Ilea’s gaze was terribly cold.
A slight chill ran down Johan’s spine.
For perhaps the first time since being transmigrated into this world, he felt fear.
This was far more terrifying than when he had encountered countless demons in Narak.
Johan stammered without realizing it.
“I-If necessary, I could marry several women.”
Ilea murmured in a subdued voice.
“I see.”
She said nothing more. She appeared lost in thought.
A long silence passed.
Johan felt as though he were sitting on a bed of thorns.
Unable to bear it any longer, he cleared his throat.
“No matter whom I marry, you will always come first, Ilea. As you know, our fates are bound together.”
Johan had no intention of neglecting Ilea.
She had helped him far too much.
No matter how many wives he took, he intended to prioritize Ilea above all of them.
Ilea stared intently at him.
“When you say I’ll come first, exactly what area do you mean?”
Johan answered firmly.
“Every area, of course.”
Ilea’s eyes narrowed.
“You had better keep your word.”
Johan nodded.
“Of course. No matter how many wives I take, I will always put you first.”
The chill in the air gradually faded.
Ilea’s expression also softened slightly.
A gentle smile appeared on her lips.
“Very well. I’ll let it go for today. Please continue your conversation with the Count.”
Johan looked puzzled.
“That was all you came for?”
He had assumed Ilea had something particular to say to him in the drawing room.
Ilea smiled brightly again.
“Yes, that was all. I simply wanted to show you how I look right now as soon as possible.”
She gestured toward the hem of her extravagant dress.
‘She has a surprisingly girlish side.’
Johan chuckled.
“It suits you very well. Clothes really do make the woman.”
Ilea pouted slightly.
“It’s the person wearing them who makes them look good.”
Johan shrugged.
“Fine. Let’s say that’s the case.”
Ilea turned her back on him. She was pretending to be offended.
“I’ll be going now. It seems I only interrupted you.”
She promptly left the drawing room.
The door slammed shut.
Only Johan and the Count remained inside once more.
The Count folded his arms.
“Sir Johan, do you even realize what sort of promise you just made to that mage?”
Johan did not understand the point of the question.
“What promise are you talking about?”
The Count sighed.
“How frustrating. You just swore to love one woman and remain devoted to her above all others.”
Johan flinched.
After freezing for a moment, he burst into uncharacteristically loud laughter.
“Love? You call that love? Ha! Count, your head truly is filled with flowers.”
As Johan saw it, the Count was undoubtedly a man consumed by the emotion known as love.
He was willing to sacrifice hundreds—perhaps thousands—of lives to resurrect his dead wife. Johan’s assessment could hardly be considered wrong.
The Count replied calmly.
“Then your head must be a barren desert, filled with grains of sand where not even a single seed of love can sprout.”
Johan frowned.
“You keep talking about love. Do you perhaps believe Ilea loves me?”
“Now we are finally getting somewhere. I can clearly see how she feels about you.”
Johan scoffed.
“You can only say that because you don’t understand Ilea’s true nature.”
Ilea was a witch.
Emotions such as love and loyalty did not exist within witches.
Love was inevitably accompanied by sacrifice and understanding for another person, whereas witches were fundamentally selfish beings.
They acted solely for themselves.
They were innately incapable of feeling love.
If Ilea felt affection toward something, that emotion could never be love.
It was closer to possessiveness born from extreme selfishness.
An obsession with claiming something by any means necessary could not be dressed up as love.
The Count spoke.
“Her true nature? If you mean the nature of mages, I know it better than anyone. They are selfish. But ordinary humans are no different. What we call love is ultimately nothing more than an expression of selfishness.”
Johan clicked his tongue.
“Then you’re saying that your desire to resurrect your wife is ultimately about satisfying your own feelings.”
The Count answered immediately.
“Precisely. I originally intended to turn Yeriyan into a demon. Because of my selfish desire to see her face again, Yeriyan would have been resurrected only to live in hell.”
The Count’s love was ultimately selfish.
And the Count himself acknowledged that fact.
Johan was dumbfounded.
‘Was he always this twisted?’
The Count was no romantic.
He was nothing more than a deranged, obsessive madman.
Johan stared at him, at a loss for words.
“You’ve truly gone senile. I have nothing more to discuss with you on this subject.”
Their values were far too different.
Unbothered by Johan’s insult, the Count continued.
“Ultimately, both humans and love itself are selfish. Someday, you will understand what I mean.”
Johan felt as though he had stepped in filth.
He could not understand why the Count was telling him any of this.
“Count, that’s enough pointless talk. Let’s return to the matter at hand.”
He wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.
The Count said,
“We were discussing the young lady of House Marcano, were we not?”
Serena von Marcano.
She was a woman who possessed the Mind’s Eye and Johan’s prospective fiancée.
Johan spoke.
“Correct. Write me a letter of recommendation to take to House Marcano immediately.”
With the Count’s recommendation, Johan would be able to meet the head of House Marcano privately without having to wait.
He would probably meet Serena at that time as well.
Johan intended to bring her over to his side.
The Count pointed at the stack of documents on the table.
“I have already written letters of recommendation addressed to every house on the Council. Take a look.”
The Count had prepared everything on his own initiative.
Setting aside his twisted values, Johan found that aspect of him quite satisfactory.
He immediately gathered up the documents.
“What about the house and money?”
“I have prepared everything.”
Johan would be living in the royal capital for the time being.
Naturally, he needed a residence and living expenses.
He was still poor, so he had no choice but to rely on the Count.
Johan smiled in satisfaction.
“I’ll repay you someday.”
The Count’s expression turned stern.
“Of course you will. I have the promissory note right here.”
He handed Johan a sheet of parchment.
It was densely filled with the amount borrowed, the date of the loan, the repayment period, interest terms, and other conditions.
‘He intends to collect every last coin.’
Apparently, Johan would not be able to pocket any of it for free.
The Count was an exacting man in more ways than one.
Johan groaned and tucked the promissory note into his clothes.
“One last thing. Take good care of Ilea. Avoid provoking her whenever possible.”
In truth, Johan thought Ilea and the Count would get along well.
A witch and a madman—it somehow seemed like a fitting combination.
The Count replied calmly.
“I am not foolish enough to provoke an Archmage. More importantly, how am I supposed to help her?”
There was nothing specific Johan could tell him.
“Simply do whatever Ilea asks. If she asks for a letter of recommendation, write one. If she mentions supplies she needs, provide all of them.”
The Count nodded.
“Very well. What do you intend to do about Sayeong?”
Sayeong, the underground city beneath Beldana, had now become the Count’s greatest headache.
The Count no longer had any business with the Grim God Society inhabiting Sayeong.
He had joined forces with them to corrupt the Heavenly Palace into a cursed relic, but the circumstances had changed.
The Heavenly Palace would be activated while remaining a holy relic.
Yeriyan would be resurrected as an angel rather than a demon.
At least, that was what Johan had promised.
The Count no longer needed Sayeong or the Grim God Society.
Johan said,
“As I told you before, Sayeong will disappear. Ilea should be making her move around now.”
Ilea’s first assignment was to eliminate Sayeong.
She would uproot the city in no time.
The Count spoke.
“Not even the faintest trace can be allowed to remain. I want it dealt with thoroughly.”
Johan chuckled.
“Don’t worry. Your blemish will vanish from the world.”
The Count rose from his seat.
“Good. Shall we bring this meeting to an end? My next appointment is waiting.”
The Count had received two uninvited guests today.
Johan and Wolfgang.
Because of them, his entire schedule had been pushed back.
It was now time to deal with the work that had accumulated.
Johan stood as well.
“Next time, I’ll contact you before showing up.”
The Count’s face remained expressionless.
“As if you would ever keep that promise.”
Johan chuckled and left the drawing room.
He headed straight for House Marcano in the royal capital.
***
Ilea walked through the entrance of an alleyway leading to Sayeong, the underground City of the Dead, with her hood pulled over her head.
Her eyes were heavy with conflicted emotions.
‘Why did I react like that?’
A short while ago, Ilea had nearly lost her temper with Johan.
She had found it difficult to control her emotions.
Hearing that he intended to take several wives had come as something of a shock.
‘It isn’t a big deal. Not when you think about it.’
As long as it helped Johan’s future, the number of wives he took did not matter.
At least, that was the rational conclusion.
Yet for some strange reason, it had upset her.
The cause was clear.
Ilea was becoming increasingly possessive of Johan.
Eventually, her emotions might become impossible to control.
It was a characteristic inherent to witches.
Once they became interested in something, they investigated it obsessively.
At some point, that interest could develop into fanatical fixation.
Johan was occupying an ever-growing place in Ilea’s heart.
It was a kind of instinct, making it difficult for her to resist.
‘Will he come to despise me?’
That, at least, could not be allowed to happen.
Being hated by Johan would be worse than death.
Just as Ilea let out a long sigh, a powerful voice rang out.
“Well, well. It seems there was still one little rat left. I thought I had slaughtered them all.”
She looked straight ahead.
A massive man stood at the far end of the alley.
Close-cropped white hair, a muscular physique, the eyes of a predator, and the thick stench of blood—nothing about the aura he exuded was ordinary.
He could not be an ordinary human.
Ilea sensed it instinctively.
She slowly opened her mouth.
“Do you have business with me?”
The hulking man raised both corners of his mouth in a broad grin.
The wrinkles across his face deepened.
“More than enough—if you happen to be a mage.”
“I am. Let’s talk.”
The man’s gaze sharpened.
He clenched one fist.
The space surrounding his closed fist twisted and fractured.
Ilea watched him with wary eyes.
The giant before her was undoubtedly a transcendent powerhouse.
He opened his mouth.
“My apologies, but I have nothing to discuss with a mage.”
At that moment, his enormous body shot forward like a streak of lightning.
Every inch of space he passed through warped in his wake.
His massive fist slammed into Ilea’s abdomen.
The thunderous explosion erupted a moment later.
Ilea remained rooted to the spot, unmoving.
The giant held his fist extended as he let out a sound of admiration.
His fist had been frozen solid.
Ilea spoke.
“There must have been many mages in Sayeong. Did you treat all of them this way as well, sir?”
The giant smiled cruelly.
“I killed every last one of them. For the sake of my worthless son-in-law.”
Ilea’s eyes curved into a smile.
“You did my job for me. Thank you.”
The giant stared intently into Ilea’s eyes.
“Young mage, what is your name? You are the first human to withstand one of my blows in... perhaps fifty years.”
“You should introduce yourself first, sir.”
The giant chuckled.
“My name is Wolfgang Eisenfeld.”