Downfall

The source of her power to act as master of this house had vanished.

"What the hell?"

"Doesn't something feel off to you?"

Men's voices from outside stabbed into her ears. Rather than pursue the intruder, they had begun arguing about this far more important matter.

"My head feels clear all of a sudden."

"You're right. Something strange just hit me all at once."

"What was it? What were we under?"

Then one of them asked:

"Come to think of it—didn't that phantom thief call Tilda a witch?"

"Did the witch really cast some kind of spell on us?"

"Could be."

At the same time she heard footsteps approaching this room.

No!

Tilda ran to the door on pure instinct and locked it.

Click-click!

"Open the door, Lady Tilda!"

"Are you all right? Say something!"

Bang! Bang!

They pounded on the door, but Tilda did not answer.

Confusion curdled into rage.

"She really was a witch, just like the thief said!"

"That witch cast magic on us, no question!"

"Break the door down!"

Every person who had once been loyal to her now roared with the rebound of the broken spell. She was a rat driven into a corner.

I have to run.

Even so, Tilda had prepared for the worst of the worst. She bolted into the washroom, threw the rope she had stashed there out the window, and climbed down. She hauled the rope after her so no one would know which way she had gone, slipped out of the mansion, and ran.

The last voices she heard from the chaos of the estate were these:

"The master of the house is dead!"

"That damned witch killed the master too!"

Rico Dandolo's death. Tilda had no idea how it had happened—but it no longer mattered. She was the witch who had cast magic over the mansion, an unforgivable creature.

She had saved her life, if only for a moment. Even that life was no better than a candle set before the wind.

Where do I go?

How was she supposed to survive a disaster like this? She thought and thought, but there was no future. Just as Yohre had said, she was incompetent. She had wanted everything, yet she had never been worthy of it. She had even obtained power, and still she had failed to keep it.

I'll survive.

Even so she clawed and flailed, ugly and desperate. She ran and ran through the dark forest.

I will survive!

But even that thought scattered before long, like a midsummer dream.

"Ah…"

Shadows that had been waiting in the night stirred and took form. Men in black masks closed in on her. Tilda Pascal tried to resist, but in the end she lost consciousness.

On a road not far from the Dandolo mansion, three carriages disguised as a merchant caravan waited. A man with brown hair tied in a ponytail climbed into one of them and let out a long breath.

"Whew. That was harder than I expected."

"Did you really have to go to all that trouble?"

Jed grinned.

"I did. If I hadn't, there's no way it would've been finished in a single day."

"No loose ends left behind?"

Garnet's face asked if he was serious.

"Bunny Swallows?"

"It's a fun name, isn't it?"

Garnet glared at him fiercely; Jed only answered with a smile. She sighed as if she had lost the round.

"I already knew you talked too much for your own good, but I didn't know you had that kind of skill as well."

"Family secret. Disguising ourselves as a circus troupe and scouting marks to fleece."

"Don't the guildmasters usually handle that sort of thing?"

"When your father is the guildmaster, you don't get to refuse."

"I see. That would explain it."

Garnet nodded. Jed felt a presence outside and glanced out. Masked men were loading a large bundle into a carriage.

"So what about that young lady?"

"She'll be delivered to the castle. We move according to the contract."

"Hmm. Then we're headed the same way. No problems, I assume?"

"…Not entirely none."

"What is it?"

"Uuuung, Je-je?"

The moment he heard the nasal voice, he understood. Across from Garnet, a pink-haired woman in a bunny-girl outfit was grinning slackly—exactly like someone thoroughly drunk.

"What's wrong, Pe-pe?"

"Ehehe, Je-je. I was totally amazing, right? For only one day of practice I crushed it, didn't I? Huh? Huh?"

"…?"

"Where else in the world is there a phantom thief like me? Even I think I looked crazy sexy. Look. Sexy~."

"…Did she hit her head?"

Garnet nodded calmly. Jed checked the back of Penelope's skull and found an arrowhead sunk deep into it. So that was why she was like this.

"Ahaha! The arrows went whoosh whoosh, and I totally couldn't dodge all of them~. Ah~ who knew one would stick in my head!"

"Whoa, whoa—don't shake your head."

She clung to Jed's arm with a vacant laugh. Garnet exhaled.

"I checked. It's most likely temporary shock, so there's no need to worry. We'll meet a healer along the way and pull the arrowhead out there."

"What, miss? You're sexy and you say smart things too? Wanna burn up the night with this big sister? I'll take real good care of you."

Penelope growled like a filthy old man. Garnet's face went stone-serious.

"She's taken a severe blow to the head. Even her sexual preferences have twisted. We need to treat her quickly, or it could be dangerous."

She was always like that.

Jed somehow could not bring himself to say it out loud.

Tilda opened her eyes in the dark. She did not know where she was, but one thing was certain: she could not escape her own deeds.

Who was it that would deliver that judgment? Merchet? Stefan? Herman? Or Rico??

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, and her breathing grew sharp and shallow. No matter which of them it was, surviving would be hard.

Creeeak—

A moment later a door opened in the darkness. Someone entered.

Click. Click.

By the light of a single wall sconce she saw polished black shoes.

"We meet again, Tilda Pascal."

A young man's voice weighted with a middle-aged gravity—a strange, unsettling impression. Tilda knew that voice well. It was the voice that had once humiliated her.

"L-Lord Regent Ferda…?"

He leaned back against the chair, then forward. Gray hair and deep blue eyes caught the light and reflected in hers.

"Tilda Pascal."

Ferda spoke her name again.

"I disliked you from our first meeting… but you exceeded even my imagination."

There was not a scrap of emotion in that voice. Because of that it was infinitely cold, sharp as a drawn blade.

"Did you truly believe you could harass a merchant who supports the Grand Duchy and still walk away alive?"

Tilda opened her mouth.

"I didn't do it. Everything was my fiancé's—"

Slap!

Ferda snatched up a sheaf of documents and flung them to the floor. Written on them was a full record of Tilda Pascal's actions. The information had been supplied by the Black Bandana.

"Go on. Keep talking."

Tilda could only shut her mouth like a mute who had swallowed honey. But only for a moment.

"…I had no choice."

Her lips trembled as the words poured out.

"That man who called himself my father never intended to leave anything to anyone but that damned Stefan."

She finally released the feelings she had bottled up for so long.

"It doesn't make sense! Why can't I have it? I'm the same blood! The same blood…! I contributed to the Pascal guild too—so why only me…!"

The emotion she was feeling—Ferda understood it. The boy Ferda, born into a proper knightly house, who had always fallen short of every standard. There had been no warmth to receive from family. He had hated that father.

"Even so, the fact that you struck a blow against the Grand Duchy remains unchanged."

"I deeply regret that crime. Truly! I'll make restitution."

Bound to the chair, Tilda thrashed until she toppled forward. She slammed her forehead against the floor and begged.

"From this day on I will live within my station. Take pity on this girl and show her mercy."

Tilda sobbed. Ferda looked down at her in silence.

"There's one thing I'm curious about."

Ferda said,

"If you answer properly, I will consider letting you go."

"W-what is it you want to know? I'll answer anything."

"Jed told me something."

"Jed…?"

"The man who broke into your house. The one who destroyed the garden-contract medium."

She clenched her fists, a brief flash of fury at the name. Ferda continued.

"Anyway, he said the medium you chose was a family portrait."

What Jed had seen was a family painting with every member in it—a picture of them all smiling and happy in childhood.

"Why choose a family portrait as the medium?"

Ferda wanted the reason. A woman who could barely restrain herself from devouring her own family—why choose a family portrait? He needed the answer to that contradiction.

"Because…"

Tears spilled as she answered.

"Because of course I love my family."

Ferda's gaze followed those falling tears.

"So that was it."

He murmured.

"D-did that answer satisfy you? Are you going to spare me?"

"I never intended to kill you in the first place. I will let you live."

The moment the phrasing landed with that particular weight, something felt wrong—as if he meant to take everything except her life.

"I gave you the answer, didn't I? Why…?"

Ferda looked down at her.

"In Mist Valley, far to the west of the continent, there is a monster called a Flurryman. Do you know what that is?"

She did not. How could she?

"They say it remembers the final words of the beasts it eats. And when it is itself about to be eaten, it spits those beasts' voices back out. Why do you think that is?"

Ferda's answer was ice-cold.

"Because it knows that if it speaks that way, it will be spared. It may not understand the meaning of the words, but it knows that saying them will keep it alive."

Ferda understood why she had chosen the family portrait as her medium. To appeal to pity, to thrash and claw and survive to the very last, ugly and desperate.

"Your behavior is no different from that creature's."

The claim that she had contributed—a lie. The claim that she had done terrible things under duress—a lie. Everything was a lie flung out so that she alone might live.

"Thank you."

Ferda spoke to her with genuine feeling.

"For making yourself into trash not even worth remembering."

He rose from his seat, stepped out of the light, and vanished into the dark.

Creeeak—.

Thud.

The door closed. She was alone in the room again. The question of whether she would survive lasted only a moment.

She was not alone in this room. Someone had been waiting here even before Ferda entered—waiting in the dark, invisible until now. That presence walked forward and revealed itself.

Tilda could not believe her eyes. The form that filled her vision was silver scales and a pair of horns that seemed to pierce the sky. By its shape alone it became majesty, became wonder, became awe.

A dragon.

That…

Her pupils shook.

It's fake.

There was no way a dragon like this could exist in such a cramped space. By common sense, by logic, it was impossible. She tried desperately to hypnotize herself with that thought, but it was useless. The immortal mystery paralyzed even reason and logic themselves.

With every exhaled breath came a hot wind and a low, bone-deep growl that gently rattled the eardrums—growing clearer and clearer.

Dragon Fear.

No matter how hard she tried to call it a lie, the unknown source became truth. And that truth became a terror no mere human could endure.

"Kyaaaaaaah!"

A long scream rang out, helpless and endless. But there was no one left to hear it.

Outside the castle gate waited Garnet and agents of the Black Bandana in black robes. With the work in its final stage, the tension had sharpened. A moment later a man appeared coming out through the gate. Garnet stepped forward and bowed with formal courtesy.

"I present myself before the Regent of Baldrova."

"I have prepared her exactly as you requested."

Then Tilda Pascal came into view. It was hard to believe this was the beauty who had once received the courtship of so many men. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face haggard, her eyes empty of focus. Her slack mouth drooled. She could not even resist Ruri's guiding hand as she stumbled down the steps.

Alive, yet not truly living—a living corpse. Overwhelming terror had broken the mind and left only the body behind.

Garnet offered her thanks with careful formality.

"Thank you for fulfilling the agreement."

"It's a little early for thanks."

"Is there something more?"

"There is."

Ferda set a dagger against Tilda Pascal's throat. The sudden hostage situation startled Garnet.

"What is the meaning of this, my lord Regent?"

"Isabella told me something. About how a corporate acquisition actually works."

Ferda said,

"She used every scrap of knowledge she had and searched imperial law and precedent, but no matter how hard she looked, she said a proper, legitimate acquisition would be extremely difficult—even with the Black Bandana involved."

"Are you saying we lied to you?"

"I'm curious myself. One of the two of you seems to have lied to me, and I can't tell which."

Ferda tilted his head slightly to one side.

"So why don't you explain?"

"…I did not lie."

"Then Isabella is the one who lied?"

Garnet bit her lip, then answered.

"She did not lie either."

"There will not be a second chance. You will have to convince me."

"That is…"

Garnet could not easily open her mouth. She was bound to keep secrets. At the same time she had a mission to complete. Especially at this final stretch, letting go was not easy. Garnet knew that, and so did Ferda.

It was an impossible situation—but Ferda needed answers. Who the client was, and for what reason they had wanted this woman driven mad.

"It is entirely possible."

What answered instead of Garnet's excuses or explanations was a middle-aged man's voice. The voice continued.

"If the chief executive is judged incapable of managing the company, a new executive may be appointed under the association's own rules. That is how the Dandolo Trading Company is structured."

A middle-aged voice. It came from among the black-robed men. One of them stepped forward and threw back his hood.

"You…"

And the true client was someone he had never expected.

The man approached and offered Ferda this greeting:

"Henri Dandolo, heir of the Dandolo family, presents himself before the great consort of Fire."