Chapter 20
Taking Control (2)
Recently, the lord’s castle had been in complete turmoil.
Far too many changes had occurred without warning.
Betra, who had tormented the servant girls, had disappeared, while the baron seemed frightened by something and remained hidden in his room.
At some point, the treasurer had also stopped appearing.
Even the knight had begun acting strangely.
Once talkative, he had not uttered a single word lately. He merely wandered around the castle, as stiff as a wax figure.
He looked exactly like a puppet soldier.
With those who had wielded authority now subdued, the servants could finally breathe more freely.
Even when they gathered in the kitchen to chat, no one descended upon them with a furious reprimand.
The maids spoke one after another while looking at the young servant girl.
“Rowan, there aren’t many days left until we won’t see your face around here anymore. I’m going to miss you a little.”
“Miss her? We should be celebrating. They’re sending her home.”
“That’s right. Unlike us, Rowan was dragged here against her will. You must miss your parents terribly, don’t you?”
Rowan smiled brightly.
“Yes. Once I return, I’m going to learn how to use the loom and help my mother. Someday, I’d like to get married too.”
“Of course. Live your life and do everything you want. Just don’t forget about us.”
“Of course not. You’ve all treated me so well. I’ll write often.”
“And one more thing. Make sure you thank Young Master Johan.”
Without Johan, the servant girls would have been destined to wither away under constant abuse. Broken beyond repair, they would likely have spent the prime of their lives rotting in brothels.
Now, their futures had changed. To them, Johan was nothing less than a savior.
Rowan spoke with a dejected expression.
“Whenever I visit him, he’s always busy, so I haven’t had a chance. But I’ve continued praying for him.”
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands.
“Saint Margiel, please bless Young Master Johan.”
Just as she finished her prayer, a calm voice rang out.
“There is no need to pray for me.”
Everyone gathered in the kitchen bowed their heads.
Rowan beamed.
“Young Master Johan!”
“What is your name?”
“My name is Rowan.”
“I see, Rowan. I appreciate the sentiment, but I must decline your prayers. The Great Saint hates me.”
“What? Why…?”
“As you know, I’m a half-blood. Your prayer might return to me as a curse.”
On the surface, Johan was an illegitimate child born of a noble and a commoner. In truth, he was a hybrid born of a human and a demon.
If a prayer directed toward him became imbued with divine power, it might sprout into a holy spear fatal to a demon.
“N-no! The Great Saint may despise hybrids, but that only applies to those born between demons and humans. There is no reason whatsoever for the Great Saint to hate you, Young Master.”
Johan shrugged.
“What if I were a hybrid of a demon and a human?”
Everyone was startled.
“Y-Young Master!”
“What if someone hears you?!”
Johan chuckled.
“That joke went too far. Pray for yourself instead of others. That was all I wanted to say.”
Rowan stepped closer.
“I will. But I will never forget your kindness for as long as I live. Thank you very much.”
Johan stroked her hair.
“Go home and live happily.”
Rowan smiled bashfully and bowed her head.
“I should be going now. I must bring tea to the baron.”
“I’ll go in your place.”
“What? But…”
“Don’t concern yourself. I was planning to visit Father anyway.”
With that, Johan snapped his fingers.
The baron’s knight emerged from the darkness.
Startled, the maids stepped backward.
“Rael, carry it and follow me.”
Holding the teacup, Sir Rael followed behind Johan.
No one could hide their bewilderment.
The knight’s perpetually sharp gaze was now as hollow as an empty shell.
Johan headed straight for the baron’s room.
“I’m coming in.”
Just as he was about to open the door, a loud commotion erupted inside. It sounded as though glass bottles and flowerpots were shattering.
Frowning, Johan threw open the door.
The baron was sitting awkwardly at the central table.
“Y-you’ve come?”
The baron greeted Johan with an awkward smile. Shards of broken glass lay scattered haphazardly around him.
“My voice must have startled you.”
While wiping up the spilled wine, the baron spoke obsequiously.
“You came without any warning, you see. Ha ha.”
“It is only natural for a son to visit his father. Is there any need for such formality between us?”
“O-of course. You are absolutely right. Please feel free to visit whenever you wish.”
Johan nodded.
“I shall. However, I came today because I have another matter to discuss.”
Tension settled over the baron’s face.
“Is there perhaps something about your accommodations that displeases you…?”
“There were a few things, but I dealt with them myself. I’m here for another reason.”
The baron sighed in relief.
“Please, tell me.”
“It concerns my uncle. Did you send him the message?”
Several days earlier, Johan had instructed the baron to summon his uncle to the castle.
The baron had clearly been reluctant at the time. Although he had agreed verbally, he had been unable to conceal his displeasure.
There was a chance he had ignored Johan’s command.
If so, punishment would be necessary.
The baron spoke with an uncomfortable expression.
“Of course. I have already received his reply.”
Johan had expected him to rebel at least once, but contrary to his expectations, the baron had been perfectly obedient.
It came as a surprise.
“What did he say?”
“He intends to visit alongside the pilgrimage delegation. He obviously plans to hide behind the Order.”
Early in the original story, there had been an episode in which the Order’s pilgrimage delegation passed through the Myatro territory.
The delegation was traveling across the continent to recover fragments of the Great Saint’s corpse, and its route happened to overlap with the lands directly governed by House Myatro.
It seemed Krill intended to coordinate his journey with theirs.
As meticulous as he was in the original story.
Anyone traveling with the Order was untouchable. Not even the king could lay a hand on those who accompanied them.
According to noble custom, it was already forbidden to harm a guest invited into one’s home. With Krill traveling alongside the Order, however, that custom went beyond mere etiquette and became an inviolable law.
Assassination would be utterly impossible.
The baron glanced cautiously at Johan.
“…May I say something?”
Johan nodded.
“If we are to avoid another predicament like this, I believe you should consult me before making plans in the future. The matter of the servant girls, as well as the treasurer’s dismissal—you did all of it without saying a single word to me…”
Johan raised a hand and cut him off.
“It seems you still require some education.”
He then looked toward the door.
“Rael, come in.”
The blond knight entered the room.
“The baron has forgotten his place. You’ll have to remind him.”
The knight’s unfocused eyes turned toward the baron.
No emotion could be felt within those empty pupils. Like a machine devoid of will, Rael creaked his way toward the baron.
“R-Rael…?”
The baron stared at his knight in disbelief.
But Rael was no longer his sword. He was nothing more than a scarecrow whose soul had been stolen by a demon.
Bam!
A stone-hard fist slammed into the baron’s fleshy face.
“Urgh!”
Blood erupted from his nose like a fountain. The baron toppled backward.
The violence did not end there.
Rael began viciously trampling the fallen baron.
His agonized screams filled the room.
The kicking finally stopped when the white carpet had been dyed crimson.
Johan approached the groaning baron.
“P-please… spare me.”
The baron’s body had been crushed in several places, like spoiled tofu.
Johan crouched down and stared at him.
“Grian, listen carefully. I do not consult with you. Nor do I need your advice. You are nothing more than a figurehead. Remember that the only reason I have not taken your soul is because of my capricious whim. Abandon your thoughts and free will, and live like a puppet. Do you understand?”
Had it not been for Raguel, the baron would have shared Rael’s fate—as a test subject for Johan’s soul-slaughtering authority.
He was not qualified to stand as Johan’s equal.
The baron nodded convulsively.
“I-I understand. Please, just spare me. I will never overstep my place again!”
Johan raised the corners of his mouth in satisfaction.
“I’ll believe you this once.”
Then he smiled gently.
“But Father, why are you speaking so formally to me? From now on, please speak comfortably to me during the day. We cannot remain awkward with each other forever when we are father and son, can we?”
The baron stared at Johan, his face stricken with horror.
“Answer me.”
The baron lowered his head.
“…Very well, my son.”
***
Time flew by like an arrow.
In late autumn, when the foliage had reached its peak, the pilgrimage delegation arrived in the lands directly governed by House Myatro.
It was a holy army composed of priests, holy knights, seminarians, and monks. The endless white procession wound between the crimson autumn leaves.
Its vanguard had just passed through the castle gates.
One by one, clergymen in ceremonial robes filled the castle’s vast central courtyard.
“My goodness, you must be exhausted after such a long journey. Our accommodations may be humble, but we welcome you. It is an honor to contribute even a little to your sacred journey.”
A white-haired priest addressed the bowing and scraping baron.
“I thank you for your hospitality. May the Great Saint’s blessing rest upon House Myatro.”
When he finished speaking, the priests and holy knights under his command traced the five-pointed holy sign.
Everyone from House Myatro’s side, including the baron and Johan, returned the gesture.
“Hospitality? You give me far too much credit. It is our duty to assist your pilgrimage.”
The white-haired priest smiled benevolently and stepped forward.
“You are as devout as one would expect of a distinguished house entrusted with watching over the Abyss. I am Hiles, the leader of this pilgrimage delegation and an archbishop of the Holy See. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Johan looked him up and down.
Archbishop Hiles.
He was not important enough to influence the course of the story.
There was someone else Johan needed to watch more closely.
Amid the pure-white procession stood a lone figure clad in red. A girl with hair darker than the autumn leaves was the greatest threat among the entire delegation.
At least, she was to Johan.
Shaperia.
She was the Great Saint’s sword and humanity’s shield.
Until her crimson hair was stained with the black blood of demons, Shaperia would never cease passing judgment.
To demons, she was terror itself.
For now, however, she was merely an inexperienced child.
He would have to crush her before she had the chance to blossom.
She might even need to be dealt with before his uncle.
Shaperia had been staring intently at House Myatro’s party for some time.
“I am Grian von Myatro. It is an honor to meet you, Archbishop Hiles. I have heard much of your renown.”
By the time the baron finished introducing himself, Shaperia had begun walking forward.
When she passed the archbishop, the priests rebuked her.
“Shaperia, how rude!”
“Return to your place at once!”
Shaperia did not stop. Instead, the archbishop restrained the priests.
“No, wait. Everyone, stand back.”
Shaperia’s eyes could see through malice. No disguise or deception could conceal one’s true nature before her.
She was the natural enemy of apostates and demons.
Having sensed evil, the judge slowly drew her sword.
Her gaze met Johan’s.
How chilling.
Shaperia’s eyes blazed with hostility.
Had she discovered his black blood?
Just as Johan tensed, the judge abruptly stopped.
She opened her mouth.
“You wear human skin. What are you hiding behind that beautiful mask?”
The tip of Shaperia’s sword was pointed at Ilea.
The judge and the witch stared at one another.
Johan raised the corner of his mouth in fascination.