"Do you want me to wring out another reason?"
I glared at Cruello, but eventually, I sighed in exhaustion.
It wasn’t something I particularly wanted to talk about.
But... I was curious.
"You’re really pushing for a sensitive topic."
"Then say whatever’s on your mind."
"Cruello, how did you feel when your parents died?"
He stilled for a moment at my question.
"Well... both siblings seemed to hate the Count, but they mourned more than I expected. It made me wonder if I was the strange one."
Siora Velvet had been in the same situation. That’s why I had no hesitation in asking.
When my parents died, I hadn’t felt sadness.
There was a sense of loss and emptiness.
And if I were to be completely honest, a feeling of liberation.
We hadn’t even been that close, and yet, that was how I felt.
"I barely even remember it."
"Ah, I suppose that makes sense."
"I think I was shocked, but it wasn’t grief. It was just... something else. It was the first time I had experienced death."
"Hm."
"You wanted to confirm you’re not the strange one?"
Maybe.
It could have been a new habit I had picked up.
Since leaving the temple, I had been thrown into a world I didn’t understand.
I couldn’t afford to stand out as ‘odd’ in people’s eyes, so I was constantly comparing, learning, adapting...
Not the most pleasant realization.
"Don’t think too much about it. People are weird by default."
"That coming from the strangest person I know?"
Cruello’s offhanded remark made me burst into laughter.
His words had no real weight, but they were just the right amount of lightness to settle in my chest.
I rolled the last bit of candy over my tongue.
It had shrunk to the size of my pinky nail, melting away as if saying its final farewell.
Sweet.
Sweetness was always right.
My mood lifted.
"Judging by your smile, I guess you’re feeling better."
Cruello straightened, following my lead.
Then, as his gaze momentarily drifted to the sky, now clearing after the rain—
I seized the opening.
"Ankle!"
I had played at being weaker for this moment—not that my weakness was fake, but still.
I swung my wooden sword at full force—only for Cruello to effortlessly lift his foot and step on it.
With my balance thrown off, I nearly tumbled forward, but he caught me with ease.
His face remained composed, not the slightest bit flustered.
I muttered in frustration.
"Ugh, you won’t even pretend to get hit?"
"Try again next time."
Tch.
***
Could things possibly go any worse?
Receiving the latest report from Ares, the Grand Elder was speechless.
"There’s still no news of the Ninth Elder?"
"Julian Minerva is continuing the search."
"Is there not a single thing you people can do properly?"
The old man’s beard quivered with rage.
After ruining everything, Qudil had disappeared.
‘Disappeared’ was putting it lightly—he had clearly fled, fearing the consequences of his failures.
The Harvest Festival, the temple kidnapping, the attempt on Siora Bonetti—three wasted opportunities.
With nothing left, Qudil was as good as dead.
The Grand Elder didn’t even entertain the idea that Qudil might actually be dead.
Because—
"The key hasn’t returned. You know what that means, don’t you?"
Unless someone forcibly extracted it from his body, a deceased Elder’s key would always return to the Grand Elder.
And that had not happened.
Which meant Qudil was alive and still in possession of his key.
"I will increase the search teams."
The Grand Elder gritted his teeth, glaring at the man before him.
A figure built like a mountain, packed with muscle, thick eyebrows, and an expression as impassive as stone—the Tenth Elder.
Ares had failed as well.
"How difficult is it to eliminate a single lowborn girl?"
Failures in other matters were one thing.
But Siora Bonetti?
Unacceptable.
Even if Cruello had been protecting her, surely there had been some moment to strike.
Ares, however, did not attempt to justify himself.
He simply bowed his head in silence.
His restrained demeanor tempered the Grand Elder’s rage—just slightly.
Truthfully, his outburst was unnecessary.
The goal of marrying off Cruello was merely a contingency—to ensure a bloodline, should something go wrong.
Who his partner was didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
And yet, the Grand Elder couldn’t shake his unease.
At first, his hatred had been directed at her common birth.
But that feeling had twisted into something else—
A growing certainty that something was going wrong.
An inexplicable instinct that told him she must die.
Even if it sounded foolish, even to himself.
With a long sigh, the Grand Elder asked,
"Why was the Count of Bonetti killed?"
"The assassin was discovered just before the target was eliminated."
"...He was a spiritist, wasn’t he? His sensitivity must have been heightened."
Ares nodded.
"Grand Elder, I intend to use this to our advantage."
The Grand Elder slowly stroked his beard.
"The Bonetti Elder Council will likely use this chance to secure Minuet Bonetti’s loyalty."
"You suggest indebting her—forcing her to eliminate the girl?"
"No. Minuet Bonetti’s role is simply to lure the target to the Bonetti estate."
"Hm."
"Foolishly enough, the target appears to have grown fond of the Bonetti siblings."
A mere child’s sentimentality.
Did they truly believe that capturing the young Bonetti heir would be enough to lure her back to the estate?
He had to admit—it was a youthful approach to the matter.
"Even if she is drawn to the estate, an assassination will be difficult. The Duke of White Desert moved when Qudil was in danger. He won’t leave her unguarded now."
"In that case, Grand Elder—please take a look at this."
Ares handed over a set of documents.
The Grand Elder slowly unfolded them, reading their contents.
As the Grand Elder's eyes trailed down the document, the corners of his wrinkled lips slowly curled upward.
By the time he reached the final page, all traces of irritation had vanished from his gaze.
"How convenient. Almost... too perfect."
Surely, this was His will.
However—
"If the Duke does not succumb, it will all be meaningless."
"That is why I make this request. Grant me permission to use Beatitudo, Grand Elder."
"Ah."
That would seal all possibilities.
A miracle would occur.
Even if an uncontrollable disaster befell that land, it would not be the Grand Elder’s concern.
A light sense of relief settled over him.
He decided to reward his devoted subordinate.
The old man stepped forward, passing Ares and approaching the back wall.
With a push of his cane, the wall rotated, revealing a pitch-black chamber.
"Come in. Perhaps all these failures were due to a lack of prayer."
Ares quickly surveyed the chamber below.
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A statue of a woman, carved from pristine white stone, loomed over a massive altar.
This was the altar of the demon revered by the Black Serpent Cult, the organization that had once been the precursor to the Elder Council.
The very same demon they believed had taken root in Cruello, devouring Morion.
"With gratitude, Grand Elder."
Ares could not conceal his exhilaration.
The old man smiled kindly.
***
The funeral had ended, but that did not mean everything was resolved.
Minuet left for Whistle—the heart of Bonetti’s territory—accompanied by the Countess.
The Countess had gone for convalescence. Minuet, on the other hand, had to secure the Elder Council’s approval to inherit her title.
Wherever one looked, the Elder Council’s influence loomed large.
Within the family, one would assume the head of the house held absolute power.
Yet, the reality was different.
Watching it unfold, I made my own preparations.
Cruello’s swordsmanship lesson had lasted only a day, but I would be using this body for a long time.
Now that the Elder Council had begun moving in earnest, I needed to at least build my stamina.
So, I began running laps in the training yard every morning—before the knights arrived.
Today, I had barely finished two laps before collapsing in exhaustion.
"...Siora."
I turned my head as someone handed me a towel in Betty’s place.
A young man, looking far more haggard than I had last seen him.
"Gavotte?"
I had heard that he had locked himself in his room since the funeral.
The days of absence made the moment awkward, and I hesitated before taking the towel.
He spoke.
"I need to go see Minuet."
I felt suffocated. A deep unease gripped me. The ticking of the clock was deafening.
Even when I had first become Siora Bonetti, I hadn't felt like this.
Every three seconds, I glanced at Gavotte.
He had called me here, yet he remained silent.
His eyes weren’t swollen like they had been at the funeral, but he didn't seem well either.
I had deliberately kept my distance to maintain some separation.
Perhaps I should have checked on him at least once.
No—wouldn’t that be deceitful?
Gavotte didn’t know the Count had died because of me.
Nor did he know the Count had tried to kill me first.
I needed to put distance between us.
But the silence was unbearable, so I spoke first.
Lowering my voice into a cold tone, to remind myself of my goal.
"What is it—"
"I have to go to Minuet."
Failed to sound cold.
Gavotte ran a tired hand down his face.
"I just... needed to tell you before I left."
"Uh... You’re heading to Whistle? Why?"
"Minuet’s situation won’t be easy. I need to be there to handle it."
"Hm."
What did he mean? Was he going to comfort her?
That didn’t seem like the right interpretation.
His face was too grim.
I debated asking, but his expression was too dark. Instead, I simply nodded.
"Should I go too?"
"You need to stay and watch over this estate, Siora."
"Mm. Sure."
"I’m counting on you."
And before I could stop him, he was gone.
The door slammed shut.
***
"Yes, I have to deal with this myself."
As he left the office, Gavotte steeled his resolve.
This was not something he could leave in someone else’s hands.
The Elder Council held power over many noble families, but Bonetti was especially vulnerable.
Because Bonetti was a spiritualist family.
Once, their head had been powerful enough to summon spirits akin to guardian deities.
But that was all in the past.
Over time, the spirits’ strength had waned, the head’s influence had diminished, and vultures had begun to circle.
The Elder Council had steadily gained control, even over the head of the house.
One of their methods was marriage.
The Count’s direct descendants—especially the heir—were expected to wed a partner chosen by the Elder Council.
Gavotte’s father had. His grandmother had.
Wendy Velvet had been exiled from the family because she had refused.
But Minuet had also refused.
"What political benefit is there in marrying the Third Elder’s adopted son?"
She had sought to restore the balance between the Elder Council and the head of the house.
That was why, even past the age of twenty, Minuet had no betrothal.
It was also why Gavotte had remained unmarried.
Perhaps by luck or misfortune, Minuet had been a remarkable heir, and Gavotte had no interest in power.
Her position had remained unchallenged, though the power struggle continued.
The Elder Council had not outright forced her into submission, but they had never stopped pressing.
If nothing drastic had happened, a compromise would have been reached—
Minuet would have become Countess without issue.
But then, suddenly, the Count of Bonetti had died.