Flower of Evil

As a daughter-in-law brought into the Dandolo household, Tilda found fault with everything.

The reason was simple.

The mansion was not hers.

Unable to play the mistress in a house that did not belong to her, Tilda found the place nothing but an irritation.

“Hmm-hmm~.”

Yet today she sat on the sofa humming a cheerful little tune.

There was only one reason for her radiant good humor: the ring on her finger.

A band of lustrous silver set with a massive diamond.

It was no ordinary stone.

From the Tomb of the Gods in the western continent—mined only by those who had crossed the boundary into hell itself—came the red diamond. Called a blood diamond for the tens of thousands of lives it had claimed, it was a rarity among rarities, something mere money could never buy.

The thought that such a prize, forever beyond the reach of others, now rested on her own hand filled Tilda with pure delight.

But the pleasant smile did not last long.

“My love, is something good happening?”

The moment she heard the voice, her happiness vanished as if doused with cold water.

The culprit was Henri Dandolo, the young master of the Dandolo mansion—her fiancé, and the very man who had gifted her the ring.

Tilda turned. A theatrical smile was already fixed upon her face.

“I was thinking of you.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking of you as well.”

Henri beamed with an utterly guileless face and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. He squeezed himself onto the sofa beside her without invitation.

Even the brush of fabric against her skin annoyed her. Tilda shifted away a fraction and asked,

“How is business these days?”

“Business? Flourishing! Word is the dwarves out west have discovered a rare-earth vein used in magical materials. Money will pour down like rain from the sky.”

Henri clapped and rocked with pleasure. All that escaped Tilda’s lips was a sigh.

His cheerful expression clouded with confusion.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t that good news?”

“It is. For the moment, of course it is. But why is it that I can’t see any future at all?”

“Can’t see a future? From where I stand, it looks as though we’re only going to keep rising…”

“That’s because you’re an optimist. I don’t see it that way. I have no idea how we’re supposed to live from here on. And those beasts are still circling, trying to snatch what’s mine.”

“Your brothers, you mean?”

Tilda nodded.

“Those two are far more vicious than you imagine. Do you know how much I suffered because of them when we were children?”

Emotion surged up her throat. She continued in a voice thick with passion.

“Those animals think I came into this family just to use you. They’re trying to paint me as the villain of the century and turn me into a powerless fool who can’t lift a finger anywhere!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks one by one. At the sight of even a single drop, Henri’s heart lurched.

“Tilda, my love. Do not be anxious. My love exists for you alone.”

He gently took her hand.

“Look at this diamond. Is it not the jewel you love most?”

“……”

“When I slipped it onto your finger, I swore I would make you happier than anyone else in this world. So there will be no more cause for you to worry.”

“……Really?”

“Really and truly.”

He kissed the back of her hand again and spoke with soft conviction.

“My love, for you I would pluck even the stars from the sky.”

Only then did Tilda, still shedding fat tears, manage a smile.

This idiot is this easy, isn’t he?

Every man became simple around a woman, but Henri was especially so. That was simply the kind of man he was. Unlike his father, who had expanded through aggressive investments and methods, Henri preferred gentle, unhurried approaches. He lacked meticulousness and leaned toward the impulsive.

Still, he has ability.

Even the development of the western regions had been possible thanks to that impulsive talent of his. Ugly and middle-aged he might be, but his competence alone made him worth enduring. She would have to use him until he had cleaned up every troublesome matter for her.

Just then a servant approached and whispered into Tilda’s ear.

“The fire has been successfully set.”

Good news.

“Faster than I expected. Understood.”

“What’s faster?”

Henri asked.

“A secret.”

“Must we keep secrets between fiancés?”

“It has to be a secret. I’ve prepared a gift for you.”

“Oh—f-for me?”

A smile bloomed on Henri Dandolo’s lips. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“This gift for me… could I have just a tiny peek?”

Tilda matched him with an innocent smile of her own.

“No. I’ll tell you later, so be patient for now.”

“Come now, you can’t even show your fiancé a little?”

“I love surprises. If you figure it out, all my effort will have been wasted, and that would make me sad.”

She let the corners of her mouth droop and puffed out her cheeks. Henri looked at her face and grinned sheepishly.

“All right. Even if I see it with my eyes wide open, I’ll pretend I don’t.”

“If you’re pretending not to know, that means you already do.”

“I may not look it, but I’m a good actor.”

“Oh, you! Hohoho!”

Tilda laughed gaily. Seeing her mood fully restored, Henri’s expression eased with relief.

“I should get up now. It’s time for Father-in-law’s meal, isn’t it?”

“You could just leave it to the maids. Isn’t it a bother?”

“I was rather neglectful while sightseeing in Halim, and after all, he’s none other than your father.”

“Haha, my word. Both Father and I are far too blessed to have such a daughter-in-law!”

Henri scratched his head and beamed. He hummed a tune about how happy a man he was, and Tilda laughed along as she watched him.

That laughter lasted exactly until she stepped outside and the door closed behind her.

Her face settled into cold stillness.

She walked the red carpet toward the family head’s chambers. Midway, a maid quietly fell into step beside her.

“His condition?”

“Same as always.”

“Is that so? All right. Preparations are complete?”

“Yes.”

“Give it here.”

Tilda took the tray and the door opened.

“Father-in-law, it’s Tilda. I’m coming in.”

She entered the head of the family’s chambers.

Inside, wallpaper chronicling the history of the Dandolo line and a genealogical tree of roots caught the eye. A house that had endured for more than two hundred years naturally carried fierce pride. The man who had expressed that pride most strongly was Henri’s father, Rico Dandolo.

Rico Dandolo had been the most aggressive merchant in the entire history of the family. To check Herman Pascal’s relentless expansion, he had thrown himself into high-risk, high-return ventures. Skill and heaven’s luck had both clung to him; his enterprises grew and grew until they produced the renown the house enjoyed today.

Yet no merchant, however wealthy, is free before time. Rico had become an old man with little of it left. He no longer possessed the strength to lift a spoon; merely breathing was as much as he could manage—an old man living day by day on the edge of death.

“Hello, Father-in-law. How is your body feeling today?”

Tilda asked him. She already knew no answer would come. She simply continued speaking to herself.

“The weather is lovely today. A short outing outside might not be a bad choice.”

“……”

“Of course, in your condition even sitting somewhere must be difficult. How regrettable.”

“……”

“Still, doesn’t it give you a little strength that this daughter-in-law is speaking with you?”

She pushed porridge into Rico’s mouth.

“Henri says the place he contracted has discovered a rare-earth vein. They claim the mana conductivity is excellent and that he’ll be rolling in money.”

“……”

“Isn’t it truly impressive? Only a few years ago you cursed him as a worthless piece of trash and lamented that the Dandolo Trading Company would collapse if a man like him became chairman—yet that same son is about to bring the company another golden age.”

“……”

“Who do you suppose made that worthless son of yours into such a man?”

“……”

“No one but me. It’s my achievement.”

Lost in self-admiration, Tilda wore a deep smile.

“I am this remarkable a woman.”

She forced the wooden spoon into his mouth.

“I am not the kind of woman you should treat as a demon who will destroy this company.”

She stirred inside his mouth.

“Everything is mine. The Pascal Merchant Guild, the Dandolo Trading Company, this mansion…”

A little rougher. She shoved the spoon deeper—so deep it seemed impossible it could go any farther.

“…and even your life, which is little better than a plant’s.”

Ghk—ghk—.

Rico’s face grew pale as he choked. Tilda looked thoroughly entertained.

Just before he suffocated, she withdrew the spoon. Air returned to his blocked throat.

“But you must stay alive. Right now it’s more profitable for me if you live a little longer than if you die immediately.”

“……”

“They say the will you hid away can only be changed while you’re still breathing. Why go to the trouble of making secrets that cause me all this bother?”

She stroked the old man’s chin with one finger. The pleasure of domination lasted only a moment. Tilda’s finger stopped.

“Oh my?”

The smile on her face went flat.

Rico Dandolo, who should not have been able to move so much as a finger, had moved. His eyes had rolled toward her.

Both pupils trembled violently. They were so bloodshot they looked ready to turn him into a vengeful spirit.

Killing intent.

Hatred so intense it was hard to believe it came from a mute old man fixed itself upon Tilda.

She looked down into those eyes and murmured coldly,

“It seems the medicine was a little insufficient…”

From her bosom she quietly produced a small vial and let one more drop fall into the porridge. Without even stirring, she scooped it up and fed it to Rico Dandolo.

The strength drained from his eyes once more. Once again he became nothing but a frail old man capable only of breathing.

“Rest, Father-in-law. There isn’t much time left for you now.”

Tilda smiled brightly again and whispered into the ear of the man who had become a plant.

“When you pass on, I’ll send your son along with you so you won’t be lonely.”

She carried the emptied porridge bowl outside. The household servants stood waiting.

“You’re certain it was properly pinned on Merchit’s mercenary company?”

She handed over the tray as she asked.

“Yes. Merchit went to Baldrova Castle late at night to speak with Stefan, but returned after only two hours.”

“Sent back so late at night… Clearly the conversation did not go well.”

Tilda smiled as though thoroughly pleased.

“Now we can start setting them off one by one. One by one.”

“Yes.”

“Proceed. Let’s bring everything into our hands.”

“Yes.”

The servant hurried away. The plan had begun.

Now everything will fall into my grasp.

Merchit Pascal and Stefan Pascal. Blood relatives they might be, yet to Tilda—who wanted the Pascal Merchant Guild—they were nothing more and nothing less than obstacles.

She raised her hand and held it to the light. The finely cut blood diamond sparkled with exquisite beauty.

“If only it weren’t an engagement ring, it would be perfect.”

Even as she voiced the small regret, she was happy. An engagement was a fleeting name; the beauty of the diamond would last forever.

Merchit returned that very day.

It was late at night, and the refusal to provide him lodging was as good as slamming the door in his face. From that alone, people could surmise that the rift between Merchit and Stefan had deepened.

Afterward Merchit began to show signs of preparing for a complete separation. He moved every business he had run under the mercenary company and made ready to split away. The intent was to force him into open action, and he had walked straight into it.

Herman Pascal stirred. Knowing that power must not be divided, he sought to block Merchit’s attempt at independence while simultaneously trying once more to reinstate himself as director in order to drive Stefan out.

Just as Stefan predicted.

Herman had no idea what was truly happening. He knew only that the two brothers had quarreled and that a schism was forming because of it.

The finest actor was the one who charged onto the stage knowing nothing at all. Herman had become the crucial player who erased everyone’s suspicions.

Father, Herman Pascal.

Elder brother, Merchit Pascal.

Himself, Stefan Pascal.

Beneath the name of the Pascal Merchant Guild, a three-way struggle among the three men had begun.

Everything was made to look as though it were moving according to Tilda’s plan.

Just as that thought settled,

“My lord Regent.”

Isabella entered Ferda’s office. In her hand was not the usual mountain of documents but a single thin handkerchief.

“A carpenter discovered it while organizing building materials. He said he could not read, so he brought it to me…”

What Isabella held out was a neatly folded black scarf. When she unfolded it, writing appeared in a color of blood so vivid it was chilling.

No—not blood. Dye.

Blood would never stay this brilliantly red. Whether blood or dye made no difference. As far as Ferda knew, only one organization wrote messages on black scarves with red dye.

Black Bandana.

A secret organization stretched across the entire Serdes Continent. An underground network that flaunted the provocative slogan “There is nothing that cannot be found, nothing that cannot be obtained.” True to its nature as an information broker, the content itself was equally provocative.