(TL Note: Warning, this chapter is also dark)
By evening, Bading and his army had returned to Leang after completing their mission in Denmoju. The people of Leang, who had been tormented by the attacks of the Red Rose Count in recent days, didn’t need to be told that the cessation of those attacks was Bading’s achievement.
Numerous people cheered Bading’s return, but his face remained stern until he reached the Count’s mansion. His knight, Biang, who always followed him like a shadow, gently whispered, “You always said to remind you to smile in Leang.”
“Yes, I did.”
Bading knew how effective his smiling face could be as a weapon. The public sentiment had always been on his side. Though everyone around him naturally thought so, it had all been orchestrated by Bading himself.
When he first entered Leang, Bading had asked Biang for advice. Should he be the apostle of justice in Leang or should he become an evil tyrant?
Biang had advised, ‘You should appear to be on the side of justice.’
So, Bading had done just that. At least in Leang, he was more popular and wielded greater influence than Count Lumerier.
“Today, it’s really hard to smile,” Bading confessed.
“Looking tired can also have its own set of advantages,” Biang replied, glancing back at the carriage following them. “More importantly, the condition of Latilda Johnstein is not good at all. She neither eats nor drinks…”
“It must have been a shock for her, seeing the heads of her loyal servants fly off right before her eyes.”
“It seems to be more than just that.”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
“Very well.”
The gates of the mansion opened, and it was Jacques Lumerier who welcomed Bading.
“Where did the ever-smiling Bading go, and why has a face as rigid as my father’s returned?”
Count Lumerier had three sons, of which Regeni was the youngest. The eldest had been banished to the outskirts for years and hadn’t returned. Bading had seen the eldest son’s face maybe once. He was interested in scholarly pursuits, not power, and was not on good terms with his father, Count Lumerier. It seemed he would never return to Leang in his lifetime.
There were rumors that Jacques had driven his brother away to become the heir. Bading hadn’t cared enough to remember.
Spotting Jacques, Bading conspicuously made a face of distaste. “Where is the Count?”
Jacques looked provocatively at Bading. “Are you still mad about me inviting one of the women who follow you to my room? Let it go. I don’t even remember her name. I even gave her some gold coins when I sent her away. She’s just the daughter of some poor merchant, after all.”
“She may be ‘just’ a daughter of a poor merchant to you, but to that merchant, she was a treasure, and you—”
“Ah, enough of that. I’m tired of hearing such talk. Once or twice is enough. How many times do you want to hear it?”
Jacques waved his hand to cut off the conversation.
“Father is in his room. After Regeni’s death, he’s often shut himself in the room where his portrait hangs. Even when Leang was under attack, he was there. Seems like he wants to hear that little whiner’s voice again or something.”
Throughout the conversation, Jacques had glanced at the carriage.
‘He’s prolonging the conversation to sneak a peek inside the carriage,’ Bading thought, hoping Latilda would take her time exiting the carriage.
“I’ve heard enough of your welcome. I plan on seeing the Count; would you care to join me?”
As much as Bading wanted to drag Jacques along, he sidestepped smoothly.
“But before that, Bading, I must say I’m once again in awe of your tactics. Who would’ve thought that while Leang was under attack, you would strike back at Denmoju and halt the assault! The enemy must be feeling blindsided. How did you manage such a quick response? I’d like to learn that incredible strategy.”
“I thought we would win at the Drupho Plains, and after defeating their main force, I intended to swiftly capture Denmoju and end the war in a short period. The only reason we are calling it a ‘counterattack’ is because we lost the battle. There’s nothing remarkable about it,” Bading responded.
Moments later, maids who had been waiting inside the mansion rushed out. The head maid greeted Bading first, before belatedly noticing and nodding to Jacques as well. Jacques, however, paid her no mind; he’d always regarded women over forty as rubbish.
“Are these the chosen maids?”
Bading asked the head maid.
“Yes, they all have experience attending to a lady.”
“This is the daughter of the Red Rose Count. Attend to her with the utmost courtesy that you can muster.”
The maids bowed even lower than before, then approached the carriage.
Latilda accepted the maids’ help to cautiously step out of the carriage. But she seemed unsteady, almost wobbling. The strong maids supported her and helped her inside.
“My word,”
Jacques rested his chin on his hand, unable to take his eyes off Latilda’s face.
“No wonder Regeni was so distraught. Can a woman who wears no makeup shine like that? And that frail charm, too.”
Jacques let out a soft whistle.
‘I should have covered Latilda’s face with a hood or something.’
Bading actually liked Latilda. She was strong and dignified. Unlike all the other women who showed their frailty in front of him, she fought back fiercely. She was logical, did not appeal to emotions, and that was what he liked about her.
‘She used to be the type to resist being kidnapped, to refuse the touch of the maids, and to walk alone.’
Bading had thought that if all his plans came to fruition and Latilda ended up marrying Regeni, he would serve as her knight for the rest of his life. She was worth it. But now, she was broken.
The resilient lady he had fallen for at first sight was not here. Lady Latilda died the moment Anna slit her throat. The woman they had kidnapped was nothing more than a pawn for the victory in this war.
“Be mindful of our distinguished guest,”
Bading warned Jacques, who was trailing Latilda’s hem with lustful eyes as she struggled up the stairs.
“Is she a hostage according to the plan? Are you going to lock her up? Chain her?”
For some reason, Jacques seemed unusually excited.
“Next to my room,”
Bading cut him off.
“You’re going to lock the daughter of an enemy lord in such a vulnerable place?”
“I said I would protect her, not imprison her. Is there anywhere in this mansion safer than next to my room?”
“Well, fair enough,”
Jacques retreated back into the mansion. Bading, with his hand on his hip, waited until all the soldiers and maids had retreated, then followed Jacques and grabbed him by the collar. Jacques’ face, which had never seen hardship, was pulled close. It was pale and smooth. Bading felt like scarring that pretty face.
“Listen well, Viscount Jacques de Lumerier. If even a finger touches Latilda, I swear on my knight’s honor, you won’t be forgiven.”
Jacques seemed momentarily frightened but soon smiled nonchalantly.
‘Right, he thinks I won’t kill him no matter how angry I am. And he’s not wrong.’
Bading roughly let go of Jacques.
“You’ve grown too big for your boots,”
Jacques warned as he rubbed his throat.
“Bading, remember, you came here of your own accord and pledged your loyalty. And many still believe you assassinated the Duke of Sheffield. Be cautious; I’m investigating it myself.”
“If you wish, suggest to the Count that he dismiss me anytime. Viscount Jacques de Lumerier will be remembered for having the grandeur to chase Bading away.”
“So, if I touch Latilda, you’ll slap me or something?”
“I will kill you.”
Bading didn’t blink as he spoke.
“And I will report to the Count exactly what happened. That you touched Latilda, and I killed you. I wonder how the Count will then punish me.”
“It was just a joke; you’re too intense.”
Jacques shrugged and walked away.
Biang, who had been watching from behind, spoke to Bading.
“You were overly agitated.”
“I know.”
“He won’t listen just because you say so.”
Jacques may have been the heir to the Black Lion Count, a lineage known for its intelligence, but he always interpreted situations to his advantage. He was also quick to forget fear, almost as quickly as he forgot favors.
“I’ll go to the Count. You protect Latilda.”
Bading added this instruction almost as an afterthought, just before sending Biang on his way.
“Don’t leave Latilda’s protection to the household guards.”
“I understand what you mean. I’ve already taken care of it.”
Biang had never disappointed Bading. While he may not have been the best at fighting, he was the best at quietly getting things done. It was precisely the skill needed at this moment.
Bading had even arranged for tasks to continue in case of his death. Biang accepted this responsibility reluctantly, under the condition that if he died first, Bading would look after his family. Their relationship had evolved into a bond of trust that even death could not break.
The Black Lion Count was sunk deep into a comfortable chair. Even on his best days, his face was flushed from drink—a rarity for him.
“You’re back, Bading? You’ve captured Latilda?”
The Count inquired as if asking whether he had dined.
“She is safely in our custody.”
“Treat her well. It’s hard enough being born to the wrong father. In that sense, she’s as unfortunate as Regeni.”
The Count poured the last of his wine into his glass and stared at a wall where a portrait of Regeni hung. There was no specific emotion in his gaze.
“What are our casualties?”
“About twenty men.”
“More than I expected.”
“Considering we seized a fortress, the casualties are not excessive.”
“Did you take your elite knights as well?”
There was a note of irony in the Count’s voice that made Bading hesitate.
“Yes. And we lost five of them.”
“You were so confident in their skills. Did they encounter the Thorn Knights?”
There was nothing to say. Those five knights were stationed at the retreat as a precaution. He had expected them to follow soon after, but they didn’t. What was even more vexing was that all of this happened after everything was seemingly over.
“It was an accident.”
Further questions were pointless, but the Count had already lost interest and moved on to another inquiry.
“How long will it take for Varda to respond?”
“By the time I arrived in Denmoju, I heard that the main force attacking Leang and the one besieging Normant had already withdrawn. The response will be quite swift.”
Even though he didn’t want to think about it, such calculations automatically took place in his mind.
“No later than a week? If he acts recklessly, he may attempt to retake Leang in about three days. However, if he’s wise, he’ll propose negotiations instead of an attack. All you have to think about, Count, is how to gain the upper hand when the Red Rose proposes negotiations.”
“Do you really believe he’d give up the war just for Latilda?”
“The war started because of Latilda. If told to write a surrender, he will. What you should consider is how to break his power so thoroughly he can’t rise again after accepting his surrender.”
“You lack confidence. I don’t believe he started the war just for his daughter, any more than I started a war due to Regeni’s engagement.”
Bading already knew this. It was a fact even before others came to know it. However, the Count’s words had an ominous undertone.
“What are you implying, sir?”
“Never mind, Bading. You must be tired. Rest. Indeed, you’re all I have.”
It may have been praise, but it didn’t feel that way to Bading.
As he left the room, he heard the Count’s sigh, tinged with regret.
‘I can’t get a handle on him.’
The Count had always resented his weakest child. In his view, his second child, with his daring actions and calculated judgments, was far more suitable as an heir. He had not stopped his eldest, whom he disliked, from leaving for a remote place. Perhaps, in a way, he thought the second son resembled him the most.
Regeni had always been compared to the second born, Jacques. Though this complex drove Regeni to admire and seek to emulate Jacques, Jacques merely treated his younger brother as if he were an inconvenient pet.
Interestingly, while Regeni was around, Jacques couldn’t lay a finger on a woman. Regeni’s tender nature subconsciously curbed Jacques’s grotesque lust. This became evident when, after Regeni’s death, Jacques began to act like an escaped sex offender.
The Count felt the same way. He didn’t show much interest in Regeni while he was alive but changed his mind after his death.
‘Does he regret it now? Does he think that the best person to rule Leang, a place he had zealously guarded, isn’t his greedy second son but his considerate and thoughtful youngest? Rightfully so. He lost not only his son but also his successor. If that sense of loss even stripped away his fervor for war, it’s understandable.’
The murderer who killed Regeni was the Black Knight, a being without a physical form, so it seemed impossible to even feel motivated for revenge.
“It’s problematic, Lumerier. Don’t lose your spirit here. Otherwise, I can’t finish what I’ve set out to do!”
Bading muttered to himself.
After eating a late dinner, he was overwhelmed with sleepiness. Barely holding back from face-planting into his plate, he went to bed without even realizing how he had managed to wash up. However, his body, conditioned by his mercenary life before becoming a knight, was prepared to wake up and wield a sword at a moment’s notice. He always kept a sword by his bedside, even in the most relaxed times.
‘Don’t waste that youthful energy. Use it for me, and I will grant you the greatest honor a knight can achieve.’
Bading had pledged to serve under the Duke of Sheffield for life, swayed by a few impactful words from the aging Duke. As the Duke promised, Bading’s reputation soared, attracting even Captain Derick from the royal knights.
‘If you were a mediocre knight, I would’ve wanted you under me. But you’ve already surpassed me. Continue to serve your lord. In a broader sense, that’s also serving alongside me.’
Captain Derick was one of the knights Bading admired the most. Although he was tempted to work under him, Bading stuck to his initial decision to serve the Duke.
Refusing Captain Derick’s offer only boosted Bading’s reputation further. By the time he received the burdensome title of “Camort’s finest knight,” the Duke of Sheffield had passed away.
It was as significant as the King’s death.
Less than a month later, Bading entered the service of the Black Lion Count. Many knights who once sang his praises now criticized him for his dishonorable action. Some, however, thought it was only natural for an exceptional knight like Bading to serve under the Black Lion Count. Bading didn’t care either way.
Count Lumerier was overjoyed when Bading sought him out and gave him all the authority he could offer. In no time, Bading became the Black Lion Count’s right-hand man. Wealth and power from Leang naturally gravitated towards him. Rumors even began circulating that ‘Bading assassinated the Duke for Count Lumerier.’
Bading took no action against the rumors. He didn’t care. He had foreseen all this when he planned it.
It was already night when he heard Latilda’s scream. Almost reflexively, Bading grabbed the sword he had kept beside his bed and dashed out.
In front of the adjacent room, servants handpicked by Bading stood. They had orders not to enter Lady’s room uninvited and were calling for a maid. A maid, waiting at the end of the corridor, began running toward them.
“Miss Latilda, are you alright?”
The maid knocked and asked. There was no response. Bading gestured, and the maid opened the door first. He instructed the other servants to stand back for a moment and followed the maid inside.
Latilda sat heavily on the bed, gasping for air. Dressed in a white nightgown, her neck glistening with sweat, she exuded an unintended aura of mystery. The moonlight streaming in through the window caught her red hair, making it stunningly beautiful. Even Bading, who had entered the room armored in cold rationality, found himself momentarily distracted.
As a maid approached to wipe Latilda’s face with a damp cloth, Bading initiated a conversation.
“Are you alright?”
“Don’t come any closer!”
Latilda yelled in a cracked voice.
Bading immediately halted his steps.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
“You’re as horrific as a nightmare… Get out!”
Latilda swatted away the damp cloth that the maid was using to wipe her forehead. The maid, unfazed, bowed her head and took a step back.
“Leave. Everyone, leave.”
Despite the dullness in her eyes, an inexplicable force could be felt. Bading was uncomfortable, as if he had received a command from a witch.
He had anticipated such hostility. But it was not what he had intended. Bading had planned to finish everything without shedding a drop of blood before Latilda. He had been the most surprised when Anna slit her own throat.
‘Why?’
Anna’s conditions stated in a letter from a year ago had been simple.
‘I have Latilda with me and know all the geographical details and secret passages of Denmoju. I will tell you everything you want to know. Just let me stand before Latilda at the most decisive moment.’
Bading had thought Anna’s revenge was simple. His investigation revealed that Anna’s mother had died; it could be revenge for that. Latilda could have stolen the man Anna loved; she had the beauty to do it even if she didn’t want to. It could also be as simple as Latilda having an erratic temperament; a servant being hit by an egg could seek revenge. But nothing had been so terrible to justify Anna taking her own life.
Bading had underestimated Anna. He had considered her revenge as naive, a simple tactic to defeat an enemy. But he was wrong. The one who had oversimplified things was Bading.
‘And what did she mean by, “All is as you, my lady, wills it!!” What could that possibly mean?’
The thought was even eerie to Bading.
He felt as if everything that had happened to Latilda was his fault.
“Look at me, Latilda.”
Defiantly, he grasped her shoulders. Latilda screamed and struggled like a wild animal.
“Come to your senses. You are Latilda Johnstein! Accuse me, blame me, berate me. You are that kind of woman.”
“I don’t want to!”
Latilda violently shook her head and clawed at Bading’s arms and face. Yet, Bading did not let go.
“Get away! Get off!”
Latilda screamed, tilting her head back in what seemed like a state of near insanity. Bading had no choice but to release her.
“Latilda.”
She was huddled at the head of the bed, shaking like a leaf.
“I’m sorry.”
For what, he didn’t know. If she had asked why he was sorry, he could have given no coherent answer. Sorry for killing Bene, for using Anna, for kidnapping her… Fortunately, Latilda was not in a state of mind to ask such questions.
“Take good care of her.”
Bading said to the maid and left the room.
“Are you alright? Your face is bloody…”
When a guard asked, Bading swiftly wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Guard the room. Especially… no, never mind.”
He almost mentioned the name “Jacques.”
Perhaps the real danger wasn’t Jacques. Bading was still bothered by the fact that five of his soldiers had not returned. Neither had the archers. He had felt watched while escorting Latilda to Leang.
He had never considered that someone would penetrate the security of Leang, which had stood unwavering even against an army of ten thousand, and sneak into this mansion guarded by only two hundred to rescue Latilda. If Bading had been Latilda’s bodyguard, he would have targeted her during the escort. That’s why he had been most cautious then. But nothing had happened.
Bading returned to his room and sat on the bed, but sleep eluded him. He spent the rest of the night at the window, staring at the night sky tinged with an ominous aura, waiting for dawn to break. Despite spending considerable time trying to collect his thoughts, his mind kept drifting back to Latilda’s frightened eyes. And then there was the gaze of the Duke of Sheffield just before he died, which seemed to intertwine with those eyes.
The Duke was publicly known to have died of old age and sickness. But Bading knew he had been poisoned. The Duke had collapsed from his chair the moment Bading walked into the dining room, late from training. He died in Bading’s arms without uttering a final word.
The chef who prepared the meal had already fled. But the poison used was unique and its sources were few. They caught the chef, and then caught the one who hired him. It took less than a fortnight for Bading, having exhausted significant resources and manpower, to trace it back to the assassin group known as Blackfoot.
Blackfoot never disclosed their clients’ names. He’d expected as much. Hence, Bading had always operated through intermediaries. But the moment he found out it was Blackfoot, he stepped in himself.
‘I want the same poison used last time.’
Bading sent a letter to Blackfoot. Soon after, one of their agents appeared from the shadows, handed him the poison, and vanished. It was the same poison that killed the Duke.
With that, Bading had discovered who was responsible for the Duke’s death.
Vengeance was near. The moment the feud between the two Counts ended, he planned to exact the most wicked revenge he could imagine.
As he tried to shut the curtains to finally get some sleep, Bading noticed that the sky near the village was turning red. For a moment, he mistook it for the rising sun in the east. But it wasn’t. Squinting, he stared intently below the reddening sky. The village was ablaze. Yet what startled Bading was not the fire itself.
“What is that?”
Bading muttered, transfixed by the spectacle beyond the flames.
A dark object with flapping wings was soaring above the fire.
It was the Black Knight.
☆ ☆ ☆
Jacques meticulously planned his operation. He had gathered details about the guards who would be protecting Latilda’s room and had learned Bading’s entire schedule. Sometimes, Jacques couldn’t help but adore his own analytical skills at moments like this. His window for action would be tomorrow, around three in the afternoon, but he had plenty of time for repeated attempts depending on the circumstances.
Breaking down a proud noblewoman wasn’t hard. It was tricky with women who understood men, but naive maidens like Latilda were easy prey.
Jacques had long forgotten about Bading’s threats. If Bading was out of the way, so much the better.
The opportunity came easier than Jacques had anticipated. For some emergency he couldn’t understand, Bading had left his room, taking all his servants with him.
Only one guard and a dozing maid were stationed outside Latilda’s room. Knocking them unconscious was child’s play. Now only two of his own hired guards remained, guards who would not be protecting Latilda but rather preventing any intruders from coming in.
‘This is too easy.’
Entering the room was simple, and getting to Latilda was even simpler. She was sobbing in a corner of the bed. When he touched her shoulder, she jolted and looked up. Her eyes, red from crying, were hauntingly beautiful.
‘Oh, thank the Gods. I thought I’d have to wait until Regeni got married and brought her into this house to taste this.’
With a hoarse voice, choked by tears, Latilda asked, “Wh-who are you?”
Jacques reassured her with a smile, well aware of how charming he looked under the moonlight. Then he took his time, leaning against the wall and looking down at Latilda, who was crouched and sitting on the bed.
‘I bet you’re curious who I am. And you must be trembling in fear. Go ahead, scream if you like, run away. That’s what I want.’
Jacquess was thrilled to the point of madness about what was to unfold next. The more excited he got, the slower he moved.
Slowly, calmly, and smoothly. Jacquess knew how to handle women. After all, all women pretended to dislike what they actually enjoyed.
Jacquess gently stroked her flowing red hair and sat down beside her. Latilda didn’t even think to move on the shaky bed.
“I’ve long pondered how to touch a beautiful, lonely rose without being pricked by its thorns. But you seem more willing than I expected. My name is Jacquess, the son of the Black Lion Count and the heir to all his power. My brother has suffered for you. Would you like me to take on that pain and comfort you?”
These were lines he had prepared since the moment Latilda stepped out of the carriage.
Latilda listened with a vacant gaze.
‘Is this the part where I’m supposed to laugh or get angry?’
Latilda said nothing, leaving Jacquess to improvise.
“Ah, Lady Latilda, screaming will do you no good. No one will hear you; no one will come to your aid. So…”
Jacquess slid his hand inside her nightgown and grasped her breast. There was still no resistance. Latilda simply blinked her vacant eyes and continued to stare at him. Her instinctive resistance was so feeble that it didn’t even require suppression.
“This is getting dull.”
Jacquess pushed Latilda back onto the bed and removed her nightgown. He admired her naked torso.
“Or should I be thankful?”
He was ready to freely explore Latilda’s body. He intended to slowly remove his pants, and her skirt too. But then, Latilda began to whimper.
“No, no, don’t come near, don’t…”
He thought she was finally resisting. But Latilda was only clutching her own face in agony, not even looking at Jacquess. Pausing momentarily, Jacquess was about to grab her breasts again when her hand shot up and gripped his throat.
Jacquess recoiled in surprise, but this time Latilda wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t an overpowering grip, yet he strangely couldn’t break free. She slowly pulled his face closer to hers. Her red lips neared Jacquess’ ear, and he was paralyzed by her irresistible allure.
“Make everything happen according to my will,” Latilda whispered.
☆ ☆ ☆
Before Bading left and Jacquess entered, Latilda had lain alone, clutching the blanket and quietly groaning. It was the sound of agony as she strained herself not to cry.
‘I can’t sleep; if I sleep, he will appear again.’
The Black Knight would reappear in her nightmares.
Always the same dream, always the same place, the Black Knight would stretch out his dark hand. This time, the snow-white wolf didn’t appear to rescue her. And Anna wasn’t there to lovingly embrace her when she awoke from the nightmare of dying pierced by white light.
‘I’m sorry, Anna, I’m sorry.’
Anna’s voice still echoed in her mind. “All is as you, my lady, wills it!!” Latilda covered her ears, but she couldn’t block out the voice resonating in her mind. No matter how much she shook her head, the voice wouldn’t disappear. She saw the terrifying shapes speaking in foreign tongues. She saw herself, naked, stretched out, being drenched in a bucket of blood.
‘Don’t show me this. Stop.’
Latilda sobbed.
Throughout the carriage ride to Leang, Latilda had been tormented by hallucinations and auditory illusions. Eating even a little made her throw up. She told herself hundreds of times that she had to be strong, that her dignity as a lady was her only shield, but it didn’t work.
The weight of loneliness descended, leaving Latilda feeling like she was alone in the world. She hugged herself tightly.
‘I can’t feel it anymore, Loyal. The puddle you spoke of has dried up.’
She bit the back of her hand several times to prevent herself from crying. Crying only magnified her fears.
A man named Jacques appeared and knocked her down, his hands roaming her body. Latilda couldn’t resist; she couldn’t even comprehend what was happening. Her belated revulsion only served to excite Jacques further.
She let her hands fall to the ground, listless. Even as Jacques’s damp tongue grazed her ear and moved over her chest, she felt nothing. The paralysis of helplessness had settled in, transcending her loneliness.
‘Loyal, weren’t you supposed to rescue me?’
Latilda found herself staring blankly at a closed window. She half-expected someone to shatter it and rush in to save her. But no such miracle occurred.
‘Dad? You said you’d do anything to protect me, didn’t you? Where is Bene? Shouldn’t you be here by my side, at least at a time like this?’
Tears refused to come, as if they’d dried up; only a stinging sensation lingered in her eyes.
‘What is everyone doing?’
Suddenly, a flare of anger surged from her chest. With half-lidded eyes, she stared at the ceiling and muttered,
“What is everyone doing?”
Jacques, engrossed in fondling her body, didn’t even hear her words. His hands slid from gripping her chest tightly down to her waist, while another hand crawled up her thigh. The warmth of his tongue curling around her neck filled her with an intense sense of repulsion.
Drowsiness returned.
‘I can’t fall asleep.’
Because she would experience nightmares again.
The knight in her recurring dream had said something new to her. Latilda realized this time that the nightmare was different. Had the knight ever spoken before? She might have forgotten because she always died at the same point in the dream. But this time, she heard him clearly. His eerie voice resonated within her.
‘All is as you, my lady, wills it.’
At some point, Latilda found herself burying her head into the pillow, letting out a scream filled with terror. Memories far worse than the nightmares about Anna’s death flooded her mind.
“No, don’t come, don’t…”
‘When did the nightmares begin?’
Loyal had been dredging up her memories recently, forcing her to revisit that time. Then it struck her. The nightmares started not when her father fell ill, but after he recovered. And they resumed a year ago.
‘All is as you, my lady, wills it!’
Anna’s voice was laden with resentment.
‘Never send me into the basement again!’
Latilda screamed a silent scream.
‘Don’t turn your eyes away from the truth.’
Loyal’s voice echoed faintly.
The voice was not encouraging her to seek the truth. Rather, it urged her not to flee from what she already knew.
She knew.
She knew it all.
Latilda’s breathing stopped. All past events flashed before her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Anna, I’m sorry.’
Her father had used Zookhla for his illness, but it didn’t help. He only grew addicted.
Then suddenly, his health started to improve. Up until that point, Latilda hadn’t been experiencing nightmares. The memory of having nightmares because she was worn out from her father’s illness was a self-manipulated lie. The nightmares began after that.
Her father stopped using Zookhla but often went to the basement. Curious, Latilda had secretly followed him down there during the time when even the stairs hadn’t been properly built yet. Her father, upon realizing she was there, was unsurprisingly unfazed. As if expecting this, he hugged her tightly and softly murmured,
‘The time has come.’
Latilda saw something enormous behind her father. Instinctively, she felt she should not see it.
‘My daughter, my Lady.’
Her father knelt before her.
That was the beginning of a nightmare. Latilda had lost her consciousness and her memories were buried altogether, obliterated in her unconscious mind. But every time she became intoxicated on Zookhla, she descended into the underground sanctuary and became a goddess before her equally inebriated followers.
Time in that euphoric night.
Everyone moved at her command, and all unfolded according to her will.
When she bathed in blood, she was lost in ecstasy.
Intoxicated by her own beauty, Latilda danced. Her devout followers raised their arms in utter obedience, shedding tears of joy.
Bring more blood.
An old woman was offered as a sacrifice, stripped bare.
Latilda knew who the woman was. She was Anna’s mother. Yet, she did not withdraw her command.
Bring more blood. Make me warmer.
The woman intoxicated by Zookhla willingly said,
All is as you, my lady, wills it!.
Anna’s mother knelt before her.
Another approached and slit the woman’s throat.
As the red blood poured over Latilda’s head from the bowl, all who gathered chorused, “All is as you, my lady, wills it!”
So Latilda spoke,
“Let all be done according to my will.”
She murmured these words into Jacques’s ear, and then, as if tempting him, she smiled a breathless smile.
A disgusting smell of meat emanated from Jacques’s mouth. His eyes, reminiscent of Regeni, shook intensely, soaked in desire. Yet, his eyes gradually began to shake with fear at the sound of Latilda’s laughter.
Latilda rose slowly and stepped down from the bed, her bare body covered by a blanket that billowed around her shoulders like wings. The blanket slid down her body, reflecting the moonlight on her pale skin, but she danced without any semblance of shame.
It was as if the music was coming from somewhere. As euphoric as when she drank Zookhla.
She danced a dance so slow it seemed as if she was standing still and looked back at Jacques, who sat on the bed staring blankly. He was gazing intently at her face, his eyes empty.
She took steps toward him, each step laden with music and dance.
“Who, who are you?”
Jacques couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.
“I am Red Rose Countess Latilda Johnstein.”
Latilda answered, placing her soft hand on his chin.
“Will you offer your blood to me?”
Jacques unsheathed the sword from his waist and held it to his own neck. Realizing too late what he was about to do, he sprung out of bed in shock. He stumbled and fell, offering the sword to the naked Latilda. The tip of the blade quivered.
“This crazy bitch!”
Jacques couldn’t bring himself to approach her. Nor could he flee.
Latilda saw through his inner turmoil.
In truth, he wanted to flee but couldn’t, entranced by her allure. He wanted to embrace Latilda and satiate his uncontrollable desire, yet he was too afraid. He would kneel and submit, become her servant, and if she wanted blood or life, he would offer it.
“If you’re afraid, you may leave.”
Latilda suddenly erased her smile, speaking with icy eyes. Her seductive gaze had turned scornful.
Jacques was seized by extreme self-loathing.
Unable to bear it any longer, he left the room. The door slammed shut behind him, his footsteps and those of his guards receding until silence filled the room.
Latilda sank down, collapsing onto her legs.
“What on Earth…”
She could do nothing but breathe.
Loneliness enveloped her. The fear that even if she left this place, there would be no one by her side gripped her.
‘The Lady of Darkness.’
As the past became clearer, she saw into the future. Leang was ablaze. The castle of Denmoju had fallen, Normant was destroyed. Everything was progressing as predetermined.
The next vision was of a city Latilda had never seen before in her life. Water cascaded from the cliffs, spilling into the fortress below, and gardens sprawled like forests. As a knight in black armor entered, everything darkened—white castle walls, white gates, and even a silver-haired woman in white attire all turned black.
The woman looked back at Latilda and spoke.
‘Everything will happen according to your will.’
Latilda clutched her head, overcome by unbearable pain, as if needles pierced through her entire body.
“Ah, ugh…”
The mystical city surrounded by a dense forest was being destroyed by grotesque monsters. The white gem that had brightened the city from atop a towering spire shattered. A mage, his face obscured by a deep hood, revealed a sad smile as he said to Latilda,
‘All will go according to your will.’
Latilda staggered to her feet, only to fall flat on her face. Blood spurted from her torn lips, but that pain seemed inconsequential.
A golden dragon collapsed, vomiting blood. A black dragon spread its wings and roared, staring at her and uttering in a terrifying voice,
‘The world will be destroyed as you desire!’
Unfamiliar monsters chanted in unison to Latilda,
‘Lady of Death, all will go according to your will!’
She crawled through the relentless cascade of visions, feeling as though her past and a glimpse of her future poured into her mind like a waterfall.
She opened a window, and the cold wind that blew in forcefully pushed the curtains aside. She was on the third floor, high enough to kill her if she fell headfirst.
Latilda kept muttering apologies to Anna like a mantra.
‘I’m sorry, Anna.’
Anna’s mother had been the woman who gave her blood for the last time. Latilda snapped back to reality at the sound of Anna’s scream from a year ago. She saw herself ecstatically standing in front of a headless female corpse.
With a shriek similar to Anna’s, Latilda bolted upstairs. Despite nearly tumbling down multiple times, she made it to the lobby. Bloodied, she yelled at the approaching servants,
‘Don’t ever send me back to the basement!’
And then, Latilda lost all memories of that day. Just as she had wished.
The wind that came through the third-floor window was cold. Latilda stood still, bathing in the moonlight. She had no regrets about life; if she could just escape this pain, she was ready to do anything. But the man standing by the open window stopped her resolve.
Seeing a suddenly disrobed Latilda, the man stood in astonishment on the balcony. With a painful gasp, she collapsed, her red hair sprawling over her chest being the only thing covering her.
The man rushed over and wrapped her with his black robe.
“Are you alright?”
Even after hearing his voice, Latilda couldn’t fully grasp reality. If he had been just a bit later, he would have discovered not a teary-eyed fool but a corpse with a broken neck. She simply reached out to touch his face, trying to feel his presence.
“You’re late, Loyal.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke, yet Loyal welcomed even her reproach with a joyful face.
“I’m sorry, Latilda.”
–TL Notes–
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