AMLSL 5

Chapter 5

Luniel Mistilane**

“Y-Young Master?”

“Eek.”

“Oh my goodness.”

Whitney, who had left the estate at dawn without an escort claiming something urgent had come up, returned by carriage—and Sasha, who had been sweeping the courtyard with her fellow maids, went wide-eyed.

“Good morning, Sasha?”

“……”

Because standing beside him, wearing that suspicious smile of his as usual, was a girl she had never seen before.

“That, the person next to you is…”

So Sasha, glancing nervously and wearing a timid expression, tried to ask—but her words soon caught in her throat.

It wasn’t because Whitney’s chilling advice to “kill her curiosity” had come to mind.

It was because the girl standing beside him was in such a miserable state that Sasha could hardly bear to look at her with both eyes open.

A gaunt face that looked like she hadn’t eaten in days, bruises and wounds scattered all over her body, and above all, empty eyes in which not a single glimmer of light could be found.

That appearance—so eerily similar to the version of herself that sometimes appeared in her nightmares, the one who got locked in the estate’s basement for botching something important—made cold sweat begin to bead on Sasha’s forehead.

“Ah, yes. Certainly, this person’s appearance is quite a sight, isn’t it.”

“Y-y-yes, it really is.”

“So would you mind helping her a bit?”

What exactly was she supposed to help with? Was she being asked to fetch torture tools or something?

Sasha squeezed her eyes shut for a moment at all the grotesque thoughts that flashed through her mind—but fortunately, Whitney’s request was not that kind of thing.

“First, please have her wash up a little and treat her wounds. As for a room, there are plenty of empty ones in the servants’ quarters, so that should work.”

“Ah…”

“And please feed her as well. She’s someone who’ll have a lot to do from now on.”

It was certainly a more benign request than she’d imagined. But even so, Sasha couldn’t shake her ominous thoughts.

Where on earth had her master picked up someone this close to death, and what on earth was he planning to make such a person do?

“…I’ll do my best!”

Of course, having already received a “spiritual education” disguised as a private meeting in the carriage, Sasha swallowed all such questions down her throat and answered with the brightest smile she could muster.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

At Whitney’s next words, that smile faltered slightly.

“When you wash her, please don’t touch her shoulder area.”

“Pardon?”

“Her shoulder is a bit sensitive, you see.”

The girl flinched instinctively at those words—but perhaps not as much as the maids who had been watching nervously beside Sasha.

“As expected… they’re not just a one-or-two-day kind of relationship, are they?”

“Shh! Do you want to die?”

However, even they—well, perhaps not as much as Sasha, who, thanks to her unfortunate family history, knew that the slave brand, banned for years now, used to be commonly engraved on the shoulder.

‘I must forget, I must forget, I must forget…’

And so Sasha, now thoroughly pale, repeated that inwardly as she took charge of Luniel, who stood there with a dazed expression.

* * *

‘She should be recovering by now, shouldn’t she?’

It had already been a week since Luniel arrived at the estate.

When I first brought her out of the slave market, her condition had been more serious than I’d expected, and I’d had many worries—but after a week of Sasha and the maids caring for her with the utmost devotion, she should have regained at least some measure of health by now.

But what I’m truly worried about isn’t her physical health—it’s her mental health.

According to the report I received after calming down Alfred, who had been whining about not having the face to see the Count, her expression apparently hadn’t changed at all from when I’d seen her in the prison.

Well, considering her past and the humiliations she’d endured, that’s hardly surprising. After all, I’m going through all this trouble to avoid becoming a fallen noble myself, and she already bears the label of a fallen noble—plus she has a slave brand engraved on her shoulder.

In such circumstances, no matter how luxurious the treatment she receives, she wouldn’t be able to recover her mental health.

‘But it’s not as if there’s no way at all.’

Unfortunately, it seems I won’t be able to remove the slave brand on her shoulder anytime soon.

Simply put, removing a slave brand requires a fairly high-ranking mage, and astonishingly, the brand engraved on her shoulder has dark magic seeped into it as well.

So to remove it, I’d need at minimum a cardinal of the Holy Kingdom, or a white mage as capable as my father.

Of course, the former would be perfect for getting accused of heresy if things went wrong, and the white mages in the latter category wouldn’t exactly be cooperative with our family, which is essentially their competitor—so until Father returns, it’s a distant prospect.

Actually, it would be best if I could solve it myself, but considering that sweat-inducing incident at Lady Merdia’s tea party, it’s probably better not to attempt it until my research is complete.

Anyway, for those reasons, the remaining method is just one.

‘I just need to solve a slightly more fundamental problem for her.’

I just need to help her reclaim what was essentially her very life—something that would make a mere slave brand on the shoulder seem like nothing.

Of course, if that were easy, she wouldn’t have ended up in this state, and she wouldn’t be called the Emperor’s dog as a derogatory nickname.

But I know.

The reason she, once praised as a genius of the sword, was unable to wield a sword—and the method the Emperor used to solve it.

And it seems it’s about time I told her that method.

“Sasha, are you there?”

“Yes!”

I needed to call Luniel first, so I rose from my seat and called for Sasha—and her immediate response echoed from the hallway.

She seems to be working too hard these days—I wonder if she’ll end up sick from overwork.

“Could you please bring Miss Luniel to me?”

“Lu-Lu—Miss Luniel is right next to me, actually?”

Just as I was about to say a word of concern, Sasha poked her head through the door with a flustered expression and answered.

Surely she hadn’t carried out the order before I even gave it? But no matter how enthusiastic Sasha is about her work, that seems a bit much.

“The Young Master said to put her on maid duties once she recovered, so…”

“Ah, I see.”

I was briefly puzzled, but after hearing her follow-up, I understood the situation.

We can’t hide it forever, but for the time being, it’s better to keep the fact that Luniel has become my sword under wraps.

If rumors spread that she took up the sword again because of me while I still lack power and influence, things could get unnecessarily complicated.

So I planned to keep up appearances for now by framing it as having kindly hired her as a maid at the estate since she had nowhere else to go—and it seems the orders I’d given to that effect were already being carried out diligently.

Anyway, her body seems to have recovered properly, so there’s no need to tiptoe around anymore—I can proceed with the plan as is.

“Are you adjusting to the work?”

“…Yes.”

I organized my thoughts and spoke to Luniel, who was sweeping the hallway in her maid uniform as Sasha had said—and a listless answer came back.

“Y-you should try to speak more energetically…!”

Sasha, who had been watching from the side, poked her in the ribs anxiously and muttered something—but Luniel just kept her head down, maintaining that soulless expression.

“It’s true that Sasha will take good care of you, but if you’re having a hard time, please tell me.”

Feeling sorry for her, I took a slight step forward and patted her shoulder—partly to check whether I might be able to slightly weaken the slave brand.

“Nngh.”

But perhaps the white magic remaining in my hand had reacted with the slave brand, because Luniel frowned with a pained expression—and I hastily pulled my hand back.

“Well, anyway, that’s not the important thing…”

I felt like I’d done something unnecessary. I should just get to the point…

“Ugh…”

“Ah? What’s wrong?”

Just as I was about to open my mouth with an awkward expression, Luniel—who had been wearing a pained look—suddenly staggered.

“Are you alright?”

“…I apologize. I’m fine now.”

Fortunately, Sasha, who was beside her, caught her, so nothing serious happened—but her complexion looked visibly poor.

It doesn’t seem to be aftereffects from the slave market—so it really is “that problem,” then? If so, talking right now might be too much for her.

“Then that’s a relief, but for now, please rest thoroughly.”

“Thank you…”

“When you’re feeling better, come to my office alone and quietly—even if it’s nighttime, that’s fine.”

So, out of consideration for her, I whispered that low into her ear.

“Because I have something important to discuss.”

At those words, Luniel stared at me blankly for a moment, then soon bowed her head deeply and fell into silence.

“…Understood.”

That sight was truly pitiful, and I was about to say that if she was in too much pain, we could talk tomorrow instead—but before I could, a subdued voice came back.

For some reason, it felt like I was tormenting her, and it ached my heart—but for Luniel’s sake, I need to hurry, so it can’t be helped.

“Sasha, please help her—”

“Eek! I didn’t hear anything!”

“Pardon? Understood, so please help this person right away.”

“Yes yes, yes!”

And so I watched for a moment as Luniel was led away leaning on Sasha’s shoulder, then quietly smiled a bitter smile and turned on my heel.

“Anyway, that expression of hers will be the last of its kind today.”

“I can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything…”

By the way, I keep hearing strange muttering lately—is it just my imagination?

* * *

That night. Darkness had fallen over the Lingard estate.

In the early hours when most of the household was asleep, there was someone quietly walking the hallway alone.

“……”

She was none other than Luniel Mistilane. Thanks to Whitney’s consideration over the past week, her physical condition had improved considerably—but her footsteps toward the office on the top floor were heavy.

“…Ngh.”

Even so, she pressed forward in silence—but the maid uniform she was wearing for the first time in her life suddenly felt suffocating.

Of course, it wasn’t that the maid uniform—which kind-hearted Sasha had carefully adjusted several times to make sure it wasn’t uncomfortable—was actually constricting her body.

But to Luniel, that outfit, which so vividly displayed her current station in life, pressed upon her with a pressure that seemed to cut off her circulation.

Yet such trivial discomfort was merely the beginning compared to what was to come.

There was no way that boy—whose very existence radiated an eerie aura—would have spent a fortune to purchase her just to have her do menial chores.

Of course, there were those who took pleasure in making the daughters of fallen noble houses into servants—but Luniel held no hope that the reason for her purchase would be limited to such childish games.

Whatever it was, her life had already plummeted to the depths. Now it was simply the moment when it would be decided which depths she would be plunged into.

So Luniel could only pray—that before she was completely broken, her past as a knight would be highly evaluated and she’d be sent as a disposable piece to some dangerous place.

That was the brightest thing the current her could imagine.

“Come in.”

As she finally arrived at the office door after forcing her reluctant feet to move step by step, that characteristic gentle voice came from within.

—Creeeak…

The bone-chilling sensation she’d felt when she first met him in the prison filled the room and rippled through the air—but since she had no choice but to open the door, Luniel gritted her teeth and pulled it open.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

And there was Whitney, sitting at the desk with his chin resting on his hand, entering her field of vision.

“You didn’t push yourself too hard coming here, did you?”

“…No.”

“Haha… That’s a relief.”

Whitney, meeting her eyes, curved his already narrow eyes even further and smiled quietly—and Luniel’s body trembled.

His smile, blended with the moonlight streaming through the window, had enough destructive power to make even her—who had crossed the line between life and death countless times—flinch.

“Well then… shall we get to the main point?”

But even in such a situation, she merely stood still in place—and as Whitney finally began to speak, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“What I want from you is just one thing.”

And she quietly began preparing herself, vowing that no matter what was done to her from now on, she would never show the man before her any reaction that would satisfy him—but.

“Please take up the sword again.”

At Whitney’s utterly calm declaration, that resolve crumbled in an instant.

“And then, to me—”

“Impossible.”

She had thought she no longer had the strength even for that—but at some point, her once-empty eyes were blazing with fury.

“To begin with, if I could just pick up a sword again, I wouldn’t be standing before you in this state.”

No matter how many horns were broken and scales plucked, a dragon still had its reverse scale. And for Luniel, that reverse scale was the sword.

“Do whatever you want with me. Enjoy yourself. But…”

So Luniel, grinding her teeth, began to vomit out all the anger that had accumulated toward the man before her—but.

“If you insult me with the sword once more, I’ll devote the rest of my life to making sure you—”

“What if I told you I know how to make you wield a sword again?”

At that, Whitney—whose expression hadn’t changed in the slightest until then—spoke once more, and she could only stop mid-sentence with a dumbfounded look.

“What?”

“To be more precise…”

And the next moment, she doubted her own ears.

“What if I told you I know how to regenerate your completely burned-out mana circuits?”

Her body was now trembling several times more violently than before.

“Can you offer everything, as you just said?”

But it wasn’t because of the helplessness or despair she had felt so keenly all this time, nor because of Whitney’s sinister aura still filling the room.

“…If that’s true.”

It was simply because a faint possibility—one she didn’t know was real or false—that she might be able to wield a sword again had entered the vision of her, who had been sunk in an endless abyss.

“I’ll offer my soul as well.”

“I don’t particularly need that, but well, anyway…”

And for that small possibility, she could do anything.

“The contract is sealed, then.”

Even if it meant selling her soul to the devil before her.