Chapter 11: One Week Left

“…Failed again? And, they vanished without a trace, again?”

The door closed silently, and a low, middle-aged man’s voice spread through the conference room like ripples.

The tapping of dry fingertips on the armrest was rhythmic, and an unbearable impatience hid within the chill of his words’ end.

“…Yes, that is correct. We couldn’t even find a bloodstain.”

The reporter didn’t even have the leisure to wipe away the cold sweat trickling down arbitrarily in the dense air.

The windows were closed, but the room was chilly, and the fireplace, unlit, was cold and black.

Such cold and silence only made the speaker uncomfortable.

“Didn’t you say you received the entry signal? You succeeded in getting a foot on the windowsill, yet I have to hear for the third time that you failed to kill one defenseless girl?”

Tap—.

The chair scraped back, groaning, and the figure dominating the space slowly rose from his seat.

Heavy fingertips crushed a pile of documents on the desk.

The reporter couldn’t lift her head.

Sweat cooled along his, no, her spine.

“……I have no excuses.”

“Ha, the task deemed lowest in difficulty isn’t working out like this. What are you planning to do about future plans then? What’s the problem?”

His steps slowly circle behind the desk.

The hard click of his shoes, like hooves, echoed with a strange rhythm, and the air in the room felt increasingly dense.

“…I believe there might be something about her. If there’s no trace of magic, and no powerful figure from the duchy is guarding her, then perhaps that assumption—”

“Nonsense.”

He sighed, then reprimanded the woman before him with a sharp gaze.

“Our side has already confirmed it multiple times. There were no signs of accumulated mana in her. She’s just a sickly commoner.”

“However, the duchy side hasn’t noticed the assassination attempts, have they? If there were a strong protector helping her, they would have informed the duchy side long ago.”

“………That is a point we also find strange, but it’s not like there aren’t one or two eccentrics here. As long as we’ve confirmed no mana accumulation itself is occurring, it’s the most meaningless hypothesis.”

He sighed, placing both hands on the desk.

Silence flowed, and for a brief moment, the only thing filling the room was the sound of a carefully flicked fingernail.

“…Then, for now, we will maintain the current personnel distribution. When is the next execution date?”

“First, let’s postpone it for the time being. While we have plenty of usable manpower, there’s no need to take unnecessary losses. It will be much easier to aim for the time of the examination, so we’ll postpone the plan until around then.”

“…Under, stood.”

The reporter quietly bows her head.

A belated silence lingers in the air.

Within it hangs only the responsibility for failure, and fear of the near future.

***

One week remained until the Knight Examination.

Time seemed to have flown by quite quickly, but considering I had quite a few things to do, it was only natural.

My past life was busy from the start, so considering only this life, the past three weeks were the busiest period I’ve lived.

Saying it like this makes it sound like a truly messed-up life, but since I lived aiming to be messed-up in the first place, it wasn’t something to be particularly ashamed of.

I am merely living according to my true nature, and rather, living busily suited me less.

If I showed my past self my current appearance, they would likely send back a look of contempt, asking what kind of foolish act I was committing.

Normally, the opposite would be true, but considering how unconventional a person I am, it’s quite a reasonable assumption.

Beyond just a look of contempt, perhaps they would seize upon my own weaknesses and mock me.

That too would be a thrilling pleasure.

…Being so busy, random thoughts naturally arise.

It seems I too am gradually regaining my past self’s form.

The unhinged and eccentric—madman, ah, this time, madwoman.

No, my mind was still male, so should the pronoun be ‘man’?

But my current body is female.

Anyway, those who aspire to be leaders always have a screw loose somewhere, so perhaps it’s an attitude I need to adopt moving forward.

In that sense, indeed—

“…Young Lady?”

As I stood in the middle of the library, lost in thought while staring at a bookshelf, a deep male voice interjected from the side.

Turning my head, it was the Head Butler.

However, he was holding something in his hands.

“…Hmm, it seems to have arrived.”

A middle-aged man wearing a monocle, with brown pomaded hair, dressed in a suit.

The man, impeccably attired in the stereotypical, perfect butler fashion, held a cloth-wrapped object in both hands.

It was undoubtedly the item I had been waiting for.

Reaching out and picking it up, cloth and all, a slightly heavy feeling enveloped my hand.

As the cloth slipped off smoothly, a rather well-forged small sword emerged.

It was a weapon specially custom-made considering my body’s length and strength.

Given the nature of the Knight Examination involving real swords, I needed a weapon tailored to my body to be certain, so I had requested it two weeks prior.

I had considered using a weapon from the training grounds or my brother’s weapon.

Hmm, they were quite heavy.

Considering I almost showed myself collapsing pathetically in front of my brother while trying to lift a weapon, choosing a weapon of appropriate weight was a good decision.

Shing—

As I drew the sword from its scabbard, the metallic luster shone exceptionally bright.

Although I lack the talent to distinguish fine swords, I could still feel it certainly wasn’t cheap.

While not comparable to holding Batory, the perceived weight and the unique coolness of the sword were not those of common items.

“For a rush order, it’s quite well-finished. Make sure to reward the blacksmith handsomely.”

“Yes, I shall do so.”

As I lightly touched the sword, the Head Butler’s gaze, wanting to say something, bore down intensely.

At that uncomfortably sparkling gaze, I inadvertently turned my head towards him.

“………Young Lady, are you truly serious about taking the examination? I heard the young Grand Duke already spoke to you once, Lady…”

‘Is this human saying that too?’

Lately, everyone I encounter says the same thing to me.

‘You don’t need to be serious,’ ‘Even if you forfeit immediately, the family’s prestige will be fine’—such words, just like my brother’s, I had been hearing tiresomely.

From my perspective, having become a frail young lady forcibly dragged onto the battlefield, it’s simply amusing.

Normally, we acted as if the other didn’t exist, but now that I step up for the sake of the family, seeing them grovel like this—if that’s not funny, then what is?

“…Yes, I am. I thought you, at least, were quiet, but it seems you’re the same after all. Recently, other people have been chattering similarly.”

What emotion drives them to say such things to me?

A sense of belonging to the family?

Or perhaps, pity for a poor soul?

“Oh dear, it seems I am quite late then. I suppose I’ve only troubled the young lady’s ears unnecessarily.”

Neither side made sense to me.

Belonging felt close to brainwashing for voluntary group action, and unless one cared about social prestige, pity was closer to self-satisfaction.

“It’s fine. Worry is always good to hear, isn’t it? In that sense, I’m only grateful. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll act according to the worry.”

From my abnormal perspective, things considered socially normal just felt abnormal.

Nevertheless, to live as a member of society, I would have to act ‘normally’ regardless of my own will.

“…Young Lady.”

Therefore, acting according to those pitiful expressions every time is a matter of necessity.

If I put on a grand show of being the world’s most pitiful person, 맞춰 to that tiresome pity, the one showing interest would typically satisfy themselves and laugh it off.

Such laughter was a sign of dismissal and self-satisfaction, but also a safety signal that the opponent had become complacent towards me.

Because pity is an emotion established when the other party is below oneself in at least one aspect.

Of course, since this evaluation would likely change soon—what I was doing now was essentially just maintaining my kind image.

Small rewards for effort were never welcome.

“Even if I’m scared, I must make at least a minimal attempt, mustn’t I?

For reasons unknown, the Holy Sword chose me. If that’s the case, then at the very least, the only reason I cannot become the next Grand Duke should be solely due to my chronic illness.”

However, acting in accordance with the Head Butler, whose face was filled with such pity—

“…I always respect the young lady’s will. Please just consider it the worry of this anxious old man. However, please, just don’t get hurt.”

—wasn’t exactly about cultivating an image.

“Anyone would think I’m going off to die. Well, I’ll accept the sentiment anyway. You must have much to do, so please go ahead. I’ll call Mary when I return to my room.”

Rather, it was said to satisfy my own interest.

“…Understood. Then, I shall take my leave.”

The Head Butler bows his head, maintaining his expression.

And that appearance was unmistakably identical to Mary’s.

So it couldn’t help but be amusing.

That there were so many individuals in the mansion wearing masks like me—it couldn’t help but be amusing.

How much has been infiltrated? How far have they come in?

Acting out contrived behaviors and falsely fabricated emotions, those who threw such words of pity before my eyes were not just one or two.

Of course, there were those with genuinely pure pity, but some showed an appearance remarkably similar to that Head Butler.

Yes, in summary, the mansion was already being eaten away.

It was gradually being filled by fledgling actors, whose origins and motives were unknown.

Actually, it’s something I’ve known for a while.

Having lived my entire life pretending to empathize, there was no way such false masks would be invisible to me.

The momentary muscle stiffness, the wavering pupils, the unnaturalness of movements.

For me, who struggled my whole life to live as a member of society, detecting such minuscule traces of acting wasn’t very difficult.

However, I had left it alone until now, thinking the Grand Duke would handle it, or perhaps had reasons for letting it be.

But if they show this much interest in me, I can’t help but become interested too, can I?

Right, those who tried to sneak into my room recently—could they have entered solely on their own power?

Could they possibly enter the Weiss Grand Ducal residence, boasting arguably the world’s highest level of security, independently?

With so many planted like this, they could commit such discourtesies three times over.

Does that mean the Knight Order has also been infiltrated?

Or perhaps among the duchy’s nobles too?

Hmm, how curious.

The situation, where a part of the place I live is composed of those trying to kill me, was enough to make me scoff automatically.

I thought the Grand Duke was rather perfect, but perhaps my brother’s naivety was genetic?

Since the Grand Duke was already announced to have died for an absurd reason, perhaps he too merely relied on his martial prowess and maintained his naivety?

If so, it was truly a pathetic death.

Such obvious, such awkward things were scattered everywhere, yet he failed to find out until the end and died, leaving his son behind?

I had to completely revise my assessment of the Grand Duke.

From a reasonably decent leader, to ‘like father, like son’.

He was simply a naive and ignorant person whose emotions just didn’t show well on his face.

“…Heh.”

Ah, I shouldn’t laugh.

Considering how much mocking the dead damages one’s image in society, I shouldn’t laugh over something like this.

But, since it was a feeling that sent a thrill through my chest for the first time in a while.

Since I learned that the Holy Sword had a clear reason for choosing me as Grand Duke, aside from the fact of being the suitable one.

“…Pfft, ah.”

This much of a chuckle should be permissible.

But one cannot laugh forever.

I slowly trace my lips with my hand, quickly suppressing the laughter.

Laughing is something I can do anytime; rather, I should do other things.

I pick up the sword the Head Butler brought.

It was possible some trickery had been done to this sword as well, but it didn’t particularly matter.

This sword wasn’t commissioned to be used as is.

The raw material needed to create a work—there’s no reason for me to use it raw, is there?

The design was already complete, and the materials received, so now was the time to start proper production.

It might have been the masterpiece of a blacksmith whose name was somewhat known, but having fallen into my hands, this sword is merely a means.

Just a means to reach the eternal rest of not being born again, a means to do what must be done as the suitable one for the Holy Sword.

However, this time, I would have to put more effort into even such means.

To properly strip the masks off those guys who think their act worked on me, giggling inwardly—an ordinary piece wouldn’t do, would it?

From my perspective, having already reached the breaking point, all I needed to do was watch the upcoming scene unfold and laugh back at them.

Seeing how they incite me like this, they must have surely arranged some trickery for the day of the Knight Examination.

How much time was left?

Ah, one week. About one week remained.

Short if considered short, long if considered long.

The problem was that for me, with only completion remaining, it was too short a time.

Ting-a-ling—

Grabbing my cane, I called for Mary to return to my room.

Perhaps soon, it would be good to memorize the Head Butler’s name as well—that was my only thought.