An Incurable Body

It must be my imagination. Just a side effect of focusing too hard on sword training.

That was what he told himself as he fired back at her words with a crooked edge to his voice.

"So you do want something from me, then."

"Don't worry. It'll never be something that costs you anything."

With that, she hopped down from the tree stump and landed lightly on the ground.

"Go finish your practice, Eusilif. I'm heading back early — the imperial messenger has probably returned by now."

There was, in fact, a reason Arabella had tagged along every single morning whenever Eusilif went out to train in the woods on the estate's outskirts.

Ever since the day she had snuck into the Secret Royal Archives, Regita had been sending people to the mansion every day without fail. Dodging them — men who had obviously come to demand the return of Eusilif — had been wearing Arabella down terribly.

"If you keep snubbing the princess like that, it's going to blow up in your face sooner or later."

At his remark, Arabella gave an indifferent nod. "True. Probably."

Eusilif stared at her, frowning, at how casually she spoke as if it were someone else's problem — then lost interest and drew his sword. Whatever schemes that suspicious woman was cooking up were none of his business. He already knew she was a scheming, shadowed creature anyway.

He had no time to spare his attention elsewhere. This was the season to grow stronger. He had to drill every last lesson from that miracle of a secret manual into his body and make it his own.

In an instant, his eyes turned cold and level, and he breathed to quiet the heat swirling around his danjeon. Then he began swinging his sword again.

Avoiding Regita like this has its limits, I know. Sooner or later, I have to settle this situation for good. And for that, Eusilif absolutely has to grow strong enough….

I watched his back as he threw himself back into training, then turned and made my way out of the forest.

At some point, the sun had been lazily sinking beyond the trees. Days of leaving the mansion early each morning and passing my hours in the woods had caught up with me — my whole body ached, my head throbbed, and my stomach churned queasily.

This useless body of mine…. Ugh.

Climbing the low wall between the forest and the mansion grounds made my head spin so violently I nearly collapsed right there.

By the time I had barely cleared the wall and started toward the house, the sun had slipped away entirely and the sky had darkened. The mansion, standing tall against a deep indigo sky, looked as bleak and ghostly as a haunted castle. In horror games, there was always some sinister secret hidden in places like this.

There's definitely a secret here. Between the imperial family and House Miona.

I recalled the conversation between Sota and Regita I had overheard in the Secret Royal Archives.

'We're going to d-destroy the Staff of the Saint.'

'I know it's hidden here.'

'I-I'm imperial family too! I know at least how important it is. Count Miona died because he tried to take it back — that's the truth, isn't it?'

Judging by Sota's reaction at the time, everything Regita had said had to be true.

What on earth is the Staff of the Saint?

If I trusted my memory — which had once earned me the word "prodigy," even if only back in elementary school — then it was certain that the "Staff of the Saint" had never appeared in the original novel. So why did I feel an increasingly uneasy chill every time the word "staff" came to mind?

Well, either way, judging from Sota and Regita's mood back then, it's a given that some ugly truth is buried there. The question is whether Count Miona didn't actually fall in battle — but was eliminated by the imperial family instead.

Was it really a coincidence that the head of a powerful noble house and his daughter were nearly killed one after the other? In the original story, Arabella was murdered without ever knowing why; in this life, I had survived by pure accident, thanks to possessing her body. Which meant there was nothing stopping them from trying to kill me all over again.

They said Count Miona died because he tried to reclaim the staff. So what if I just live my life pretending the thing doesn't exist at all?

But could I really survive in this world with such a head-in-the-sand, see-no-evil approach? If anything, wasn't the only real way to protect myself from a threat that could strike at any moment to dig into it and find out exactly what it was?

On top of that, Crown Prince Sota's reaction — the way he had seemed so strangely averse to Eusilif and me growing close — weighed heavily on my mind.

"Haa… you stick me in this pathetic excuse for a body, and then why is the quest list a mile long?"

I grumbled as I dragged my heavy feet to the mansion door and pushed it open with effort. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I was so worn out I practically crawled up them.

I finally reached my bedroom, but I didn't get to collapse into bed the way I wanted — because Becky, who had been lying in wait for me one way or another, greeted me with a racket.

"My lady! Where have you been this time? I waited all day. Where on earth do you keep disappearing to every single day… hm?"

There was an anxious edge beneath the wounded note in her voice. I gazed quietly at Becky's gaunt face, worn thin over the past few days, and then let my eyes drift down to her swollen, puffy palms. Noticing me sighing at the sight of her hands, Becky sheepishly tucked them behind her back.

"It's just… I tripped and fell earlier…."

"Did you fall onto a roasting grill or something? Those welts are lined across your palm like a grid."

I yanked Becky's hand toward me and examined the palm — streaked with a good dozen bloody welts.

"It's not like that, my lady…."

"Did someone hit you? My uncle? Or the head maid?"

"It's nothing like that…."

But for all her denial, tears were already welling in Becky's eyes.

"My uncle wouldn't bother exerting himself over disciplining a mere maid — so it was the head maid, then."

Faced with my confident guess, Becky could deny it no longer and bowed her head low. When I let go of her hand and walked into the bedroom, she trailed after me, shuffling hesitantly at my heels.

I skipped the dressing room and stopped in front of the nightstand instead, pulling open the drawer. From inside, I took out an ointment and held it out to Becky.

"Here. Put this on."

"Y-you really don't have to, my lady."

"Apply it and heal fast. How am I supposed to make use of a maid who can't even use her hands properly?"

At my clumsy attempt at comfort, Becky's face went bright red.

"I-I'm fine. These always healed quickly before."

So this isn't the first time. I pressed the ointment into Becky's hand despite her protests, then sat down on the bed and sank into thought.

The hellish fatigue of a full day out had come crashing down on me, but I decided I had to deal with Becky's situation first.

Becky had almost certainly been suffering Graham's threats and coaxing on a constant basis. The head maid, who clung to him like the tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, would have had a hand in tormenting her as well.

Of course, she hadn't been touched for free — she must have been paid something for it. That was how she had endured and stayed by Arabella's side all this time.

But lately, since I kept slipping away from Becky and moving on my own, there would have been nothing for her to report the way she normally did. Those welts across her palms were the result.

"Becky, you mentioned your family before — who do you have?"

When I asked in a voice thick with fatigue, Becky answered hesitantly.

"I have two younger siblings…."

"And your parents?"

"They passed away a little over three years ago."

"…I see. So you've been supporting your siblings all on your own."

"Yes, well…."

Perhaps because it was the first time her mistress had ever asked her such a thing, Becky mumbled and let the words trail off.

Arabella. You should have spared a little attention for the people around you.

I clicked my tongue inwardly. The original Arabella had known only that her personal maid was spying on her at her uncle's orders — she'd had no idea the girl was a young head of household, raising two younger siblings on her own.

Arabella had understood better than anyone that everyone had their own circumstances, having lived a lifetime of loneliness herself. Her world must have been terribly narrow. But in the end, that world never expanded even a single centimeter, and she died lonely and alone, trapped inside it.

And now, I intended to change that.

I yawned hugely and forced my body up, shuffling into the dressing room. The moment I bent down to lift the silk box hidden in its corner, a wave of dizziness crashed over me and the ceiling seemed to flip upside down.

"Oh no, my lady!"

Becky cried out in alarm, but unfortunately she was standing much too far away to catch me.

Oh… don't tell me I'm going to die of a concussion like this? This would be a pathetic way to go. Truly pathetic.

The instant I tipped over, harboring belated regrets about pushing myself too hard, someone caught me firmly from behind and held me upright.

Huh. This situation feels oddly familiar.

"Fainting really must be your hobby."

The moment that jeering voice cut into my ear, I knew exactly whose it was.

"Eusilif?"

Without a word of reply, he swept my limp body up into his arms.

"When did… you get back?"

I had clearly watched him leave, absorbed in his training. But he ignored my question entirely and strode straight toward the bed.

I tightened the arm I had around his neck and clung to him like a child.

Maybe when the body aches, the heart just naturally softens with it. In that moment the dizziness hit, a deep weariness had surged up along with the helplessness and the hollow emptiness.

It was probably an emotion etched into the real Arabella's unconscious — something achingly familiar to her.

It was the moment I fully understood her heart: how she must have worn herself out, again and again, before a body that broke down every time she resolved to accomplish something, and a reality that never changed no matter how hard she struggled.

How desperate must she have been, to want to pin her hopes on even someone as twisted as Crown Prince Sota?

I really can't do it alone after all. I think I need you, Eusilif. No matter what.