Snakes Do Not Shed Tears
She was dressed in a bunny-girl outfit that would have looked right at home in Halim, the kind that clung to every curve of her body.
Though she wore a swallow-tailed coat that kept her skin from being fully exposed, the way it revealed her figure was still something the conservative empire would find hard to tolerate.
That woman, wearing a white mask fit for a ball, opened her mouth.
"Silence, everyone!"
She cried out vigorously, like a circus showman.
"Injustice has come, and the world is thrown into chaos!"
There was an awkwardness to it, but she raised her voice to hide it as best she could.
"I have descended upon this place from the shadows to uphold justice!"
The people whose gazes she had stolen each spat out a remark.
"Who the hell are you?! Do you even know where you are, barging in like this?!"
When one of the servants demanded an answer, the mysterious pink-haired masked woman laughed and shouted,
"I am Pepe of the Bunny Swallows! I have come to this place for the justice everyone else turns a blind eye to—to stop the atrocities unfolding in this very mansion!"
"What?! How dare you spout such nonsense here of all places?!"
"And where exactly do you think this is? The whole world knows this is the place where all wealth and evil gather to hatch their schemes!"
The mysterious masked woman planted her cane on the floor and made exaggerated gestures.
The household staff, outraged, tossed remarks one after another.
"Do you have any idea how many people Lord Dandolo has fed and kept alive? How can you say such things?!"
"Rico Dandolo! I never imagined so many would still be loyal to his children! But why do you only shout loyalty with your mouths?"
"What kind of crap is that?! Do we look like the kind of small-minded bastards who aren't even loyal when we look at our lord?!"
"How utterly lamentable! You are the blind who can see and the deaf who can hear! You brought a witch into the household and yet you pretend not to see her—how can that be?"
"A witch? Who exactly is the witch supposed to be?"
At the word witch, everyone looked around in confusion.
Tilda Pascal, too, glanced about uneasily.
She hoped that damned phantom thief would put her foot in it.
"Tilda Pascal!"
The woman called her name with perfect accuracy.
At once another spotlight fell upon the spot where Tilda stood.
Every eye locked onto her.
"You filthy dog of a witch. Why are you acting like a frightened cur?"
Tilda, under every gaze, was thrown into confusion.
"You wicked serpent who devoured your father-in-law, who would devour your husband as well, and who even schemes to devour your own blood. Your evil deeds end here. I shall show everyone in this place exactly what leash you use to hold this mansion!"
Just as the masked woman reached into her jacket to draw something out—
The moment Tilda glimpsed the object, her pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"There! The intruder!"
At that instant countless soldiers stormed through the doors, crossbows in hand.
"Fire!"
Thwip!
Crossbow bolts streaked toward the pink-haired phantom thief.
Thud-thud-thud!
Just before the bolts could reach her body, pure white smoke burst from the mysterious pink-haired thief, completely blanketing the area.
"Kyaa!"
"Cough, cough!"
"It's the intruder! Don't let her escape!"
The servants fled while the soldiers rushed about in a frenzy.
In the midst of it all, Tilda kept her eyes fixed on the spot where the pink-haired thief had stood.
Where is she?
She was trying to track the woman's movements through the white smoke.
Where are you?
She had to find her.
She had to find that woman before anyone else.
"My lady!"
Someone seized Tilda by the arm.
"This way—please evacuate!"
Thinking she had been stunned by the shock, the servant pulled her along.
She played the part of a panicked woman and let herself be led.
"I shall take you to the shelter at once. From there—"
"No!"
Tilda cut him off.
"There's no need to go all the way to the shelter. I'll hide in my room."
"Understood. Then this way…!"
The servant escorted Tilda to her chambers.
"You must not come out! Please wait until the situation is under control."
"I know."
The door closed.
Tilda paced the room with a restless face.
She tapped the door once with her index finger.
In that instant a vivid crimson membrane spread from her fingertip and completely sealed the door.
No one could cross it now.
"What the hell was that crazy bitch?"
Tilda's face twisted hideously.
She had drawn every eye with that shameless outfit and called herself Pepe.
"Bunny Swallows? What even is that? Who the hell is trying to screw me over by pulling a stunt like this?"
A phantom thief from an organization she had never heard of.
She considered who might be behind it.
Stefan? Merchit? Herman?
Or was it some scheme Rico Dandolo had prepared long ago, before she ever started feeding him poison?
But that was not the real problem.
How does she know I contracted with a witch?
A garden contract had the advantage of remaining undetectable so long as one did not cast magic right in front of someone's face.
Tilda had always used her magic with the utmost caution.
She had been careful, and more careful still, until this mansion became hers.
There was no way anyone should have known.
Even if they somehow found out…
One thing still made no sense.
How had they noticed the medium?
Whatever the phantom thief calling herself Pepe had been about to expose—
She had been interrupted before she could pull it out, yet Tilda had caught a glimpse of its outline.
Something thin, small, and convenient enough to hide against the body.
And the medium Tilda herself had set was exactly that shape.
Perhaps…
There's no way.
Tilda could not be certain.
Even if she wanted to dismiss it as mere intimidation, she found it hard to believe that was all it had been.
She had to check.
Tilda moved.
In her spacious room she went straight to the desk drawer—the place where a portrait of herself rested.
She opened the drawer.
Inside lay a single picture frame, face down.
She was about to flip it over when—
"I figured it would be somewhere in the room, but so that's where it was?"
A voice sliced through the silence.
Tilda spun around with a start.
In the place where no one should have been stood a man.
Brown hair tied in a ponytail.
He wore a mask similar to that shameless phantom thief's and was looking straight at her.
"Y-you, who are you? How did you get in here…?"
"How do you think? While that pink thief was drawing every eye? Or maybe from the moment I took your wrist and led you here?"
Only then did Tilda grasp the outline of this absurd situation.
The woman who had spoken like a showman was nothing more than bait.
The real goal had been to make Tilda herself approach the medium and confirm it.
The brown-haired man jerked his chin and asked,
"So that thing in your hand really is the medium of a garden contract, huh?"
Tilda reflexively clutched the frame to her chest and screamed,
"Die!!"
In that instant a magic circle flared into being and a snake's head burst out of it.
White scales and golden eyes—the classic form recorded in the texts.
"Whoa, so you really did contract with Yohre Philiaz. Guess the Black Bandana's information network really is something."
Yohre Philiaz's snake.
A single bite left nothing but melted sludge—an extremely dangerous venom.
The snake flicked its tongue, coiling around Tilda and threatening the intruder.
"Cute."
Jed was of the Red-Eyed Tribe.
Members of the Red-Eyed Tribe possessed the power to scatter and nullify the mana of magic circles.
Yet Jed did not reveal those eyes.
The reason was simple.
No need to use a butcher's knife to kill a chicken.
He leaned forward, then sprang like a released spring.
"Kill him! Snakes! Kill that man this instant!"
Dozens of snakes writhed and pursued the man's form.
They could not catch him.
This man was an acrobat who had easily dodged the attacks of two wolf-type monsters.
Ssshk—.
Thin threads of aura left pale afterimages as they moved.
Every time a line of aura brushed them, Yohre's snakes had their heads and bodies severed and tumbled to the floor.
It did not take long for dozens of snakes to become dozens of chunks of meat.
"Ugh!!"
Tilda's expression changed.
She meant to transform her face into a snake's and spray venom.
But by the time she finished deciding, the brown-haired man was already right in front of her.
"Tch!"
"Kyaa!"
He brought the hilt of his dagger down hard on the back of her hand.
Tilda's grip on the medium went slack.
The brown-haired man snatched it with deft fingers and stepped back.
"Let's see. What medium did our cold-hearted witch-in-training choose…"
He flipped the frame over and let out a soft "Huh."
"Wow, I never saw this coming…"
"G-give it back!! Right now!"
Tilda shrieked.
It did nothing to the brown-haired man.
He pulled the portrait free of the frame and gripped it in both hands.
"Nothing personal. Just business."
Riiip—!
He tore the thing with force.
The paper split as easily as a cheap flyer on a market street.
"Ah…!"
From the two torn halves a vivid crimson energy began to rise.
The power grew denser, condensed, then burst outward with a shockwave.
Boom!
"Whoa?!"
Jed's body was shoved backward.
From a distance Tilda leapt like a beast and snatched up the scraps of paper.
"No…!"
She tried desperately to press the pieces back together.
"Aaaah…! No…!! This can't be happening!"
Spilled water cannot be gathered again, and a shattered medium cannot be restored.
In that moment an ominous aura began to wrap around them.
A bad premonition settled over him.
"Looks like it's time for me to exit. Later!"
The brown-haired man left at once, unwilling to get caught up in whatever was coming.
Tilda could not match that kind of movement.
She remained on her knees, trembling violently.
It was coming.
She was coming.
Sssrrr—.
What rang in her ears was the sound of a snake's tongue.
Something long and wet licked sweetly around the curve of her ear.
—Uhuuhu…
And then a sinister laugh.
She froze without being able to look back.
Tilda's face drained of all color.
—Poor Tilda. Pitiful Tilda. The contract has been broken.
"I-it isn't. It isn't…"
Tilda answered, shaking.
"I can fix this, Lady Yohre! Please…!"
—No, child. You failed. Did I not tell you to protect the medium of our contract by any means necessary? And you failed to protect it.
The voice laughed as though thoroughly entertained.
Tilda begged her again.
"I will kill that man! I will prove my worth!"
—No need, little one. From the moment you reached for greed beyond your station, your ruin was already decided.
A long strip of flesh brushed past her cheek.
What followed was pure mockery.
Tilda wept and pleaded.
"Please do not abandon me. I will be your faithful dog. Just one more chance…"
She begged and begged.
The answer that returned was this:
—Snakes do not shed tears, you incompetent thing.
The moment that presence vanished, she felt the change.
Something that had blanketed the mansion disappeared all at once.
The spell that had held Tilda Pascal together came undone.
In the Dandolo mansion, the family conference room.
The chairman's seat there belonged to the head of the house.
In other words, it belonged to Rico Dandolo.
Yet right now Tilda occupied it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She used the place as if it had always been hers.
"Where is Henri?"
"He said there are matters to handle regarding the trade deal and will not return until tomorrow."
"I already know that. He was being disgustingly clingy about it. What I mean is—there's no chance he'll suddenly show up, right?"
"That is correct."
"So tonight this mansion is mine, then?"
Tilda smiled.
"Before long this Dandolo mansion will belong to Lady Tilda."
"You will be able to stand proudly over this house not as a daughter-in-law, but as its head."
Men who sensed the moment for flattery.
Every one of them was cooperating with Tilda after being promised a share.
"It will be so. Therefore we must focus on the work, don't you think?"
Tilda prepared to deepen, one by one, the schemes she had set in motion between Stefan and Merchit.
"Stefan is currently locked in confrontation with Herman. He is trying to oust him over management rights, but it does not seem easy."
"And Merchit?"
"Merchit is sharpening his blade, if the expression is accurate. He is preparing to go head-to-head with Stefan."
"Even so, a blade is always closer than money. Would it not be better to intensify the pressure on Merchit a little more?"
Tilda toyed with her lower lip for a moment before answering.
"No. We only need to drive Stefan. Getting that bastard out of the game is the most important thing."
"Understood."
"The groundwork on the other side is already solid, isn't it? If we scatter proof across the empire that the mercenary company is actually a band of thieves, they will collapse in an instant."
"Indeed."
"Then we shall prepare as you say."
Subordinates who moved of their own accord, smoothly and efficiently.
Tilda wore a satisfied smile.
Everything was proceeding smoothly.
It felt as though she were watching puppets dance upon a little theater stage.
She was steeped in the intoxicating sensation that everything would soon fall into her hands.
If I can just find the will soon, everything will fall into place…
The will stated that after Rico Dandolo's death everything would pass to Henri.
Until Henri's child turned nineteen and could stand on their own, no one else was to be named successor, and all property would go to the vice-chairman.
For Tilda, who wanted the Dandolo Trading Company, it was the most fatal will of all—and the reason she was enduring this much trouble.
Everything would proceed like a chain of dominoes.
It would begin small, yet by the end it would create a ripple too vast for anyone to stop.
She would become the master of everything.
Just then a mansion servant hurried through the door and spoke into Tilda's ear.
"My lady, there is good news. We have obtained information that the will has been secured."
"Is that true?"
Could anything in the world go this well?
Tilda's eyes sparkled, and the servant nodded.
"The servants delivering the will are waiting at the front door even now."
"Understood. Let's go."
The situation could not have been more perfect.
Tilda walked lightly toward the main entrance, servants in tow.
"What?"
Yet no one stood at the front door.
She even stepped outside to check, but there was not so much as a glimpse of a carriage.
They said they came to deliver the will—so where the hell are they?
Just as Tilda's irritation began to spike,
a sudden fierce gust of wind flung open the windows and snuffed out every flame on the chandeliers.
"Oh my?"
"Where did this wind come from?"
"What are you doing? Call the mages! Relight the chandeliers at once!"
The servants flustered; the butlers directed them with calm efficiency.
The mages, late to arrive, began chanting to rekindle the candles on the chandeliers with magic.
That was when it happened.
The place that had sunk into darkness suddenly brightened.
Or more precisely, only a portion of it brightened.
It was exactly like a spotlight on a stage.
The light fell upon the upper landing of the central staircase and drew every eye.
There stood a woman.
A pink-haired woman wearing a mask.
Those who saw her each muttered a remark.
"What is that ridiculous outfit?"
"Oh my, how shameless…"