KFBRV Ch 44

He felt as though he could never stop these impure thoughts while in her presence.

His emotions had always been neatly refined. The feeling of becoming vulgar, or the sensation of being unilaterally unsettled, was foreign to him. He felt that if he met those calm, blue-green eyes, he would feel like a criminal facing interrogation in a torture chamber.

What if she saw through these dirty feelings? What if she mocked his desire?

What kind of torture complex is this?

What is she supposed to see through?

I’m the one with mind control powers, not her. Besides, would she even be bothered if she knew I was having these dreams?

She’d probably just laugh at me.

But when he imagined that calm, mocking smile, he felt as though every ounce of pride he had built was crumbling. The most irritating part was that even in his imagination, her mockery held a certain allure that stirred something within him.

I'm losing my mind. Should I just cut it off to stop these thoughts?

If he didn't have the body of a Transcendent that regenerated, he might have actually done it.

Crunch.

He chewed on his cigar with nervous intensity, but then a flicker of mild absurdity entered his violet eyes.

Why am I... wasting such a stupid amount of time over that woman?

Why should his pride be wounded by simply going to meet her?

Why should he feel vulgar just by facing her?

What meaning did a dream even have?

A dream was essentially nothing more than a processing plant for the subconscious.

The strange anxiety he had felt just moments ago seemed like an illusion.

Has my logic circuit shorted out because I haven't been sleeping lately?

He let out a dry, hollow laugh as he removed his monocle. He rose gracefully and lightly adjusted his clothes.

[Max] "Is the bullying finally over?"

[Zion] "What nonsense are you talking about?"

[Max] "Lady Albrecht. You left her in the reception room specifically to torment her, didn't you?"

He looked at Max with a look of pity and began walking toward the door with long, purposeful strides.

[Max] "Was that not it?"

[Zion] "Why on earth would I go out of my way to bully that woman?"

[Max] "Ah, so it wasn't. I naturally assumed you did it because you hate her so much."

[Zion] "Good grief. Bullying? Do you really think she’d be bothered by that? The one who was suffering for an entire hour wasn't that woman, it was—"

He did not finish the sentence. His hand, which had gripped the office doorknob, stopped with a flinch that was unlike him.

It wasn't that woman, it was me.

The words that were about to follow were unbelievable even to himself.

[Max] "Well... no matter how much you hate someone, you’ve never been the type to bully a woman, have you? Especially considering what happened with your mother."

Max, seemingly having missed Zion’s unfinished sentence, followed behind him without any questions.

Zion threw the door open, his brow furrowed deeply. He was clearly not in his right mind. How could such nonsense almost escape his lips?

However, when they arrived at the reception room, it was empty.

[Max] "Eh? Where did she go? Did she step down to the lobby for a moment?"

While Max busied himself looking around, Zion’s gaze fell upon the table. A single envelope lay there.

Please forgive the rudeness of leaving early. I hope the compensation I've left alongside this meets your expectations.

The handwriting on the envelope was elegant, not at all like someone who had only recently learned to write. The period at the end of the sentence held the stiff, distinct personality he recognized.

Compensation?

Only then did he notice the white handkerchief lying next to the envelope. As he realized what the object was, his body froze.

May God's grace and protection be with you.

[Max] "Marquis, what is that low-quality embroidery?"

Max was right to see it that way.

To anyone's eyes, the stitching was crooked and amateurish; it was clearly not the work of a professional. Despite the high-quality silk and thread, the skill involved was clumsy at best. It looked like the messy result of someone’s very first attempt at embroidery, but Zion knew better.

He knew it was the result of a person with absolutely no talent for sewing, who had tried thousands of times and put every ounce of their soul into the work.

With trembling fingers, he touched the back of the embroidery. He found the habits of a woman he knew well. There, hidden on the back, were tiny embroidered initials.

He knew instinctively that this was a handkerchief his mother had made.

[Zion] "..."

[Mother] "Don't laugh, Zion. Your mother worked on this for eight hours."

An S-rank Transcendent, the brilliant heir to the Kleist family, and a twelve-year-old boy hero who would save the Empire. He possessed a terrifying amount of power. So much so that no one dared to worry about his future—no one, except for his own mother.

Until the moment she died, his mother worried that a Purifier would not appear, and that her son would live a life filled with pain. To her, her son came before the Empire he was meant to save.

Therefore, the Marchioness had worked tirelessly to create a gift for the future Purifier who would one day appear. To produce a piece of this quality, she must have embroidered thousands of even worse attempts.

He had assumed she had asked the Imperial Palace to handle the gift when the Purifier eventually surfaced. That was why he was even more shocked. He never imagined that whoever had received this would have kept it until now.

Even if someone had received it, the embroidery was too unsightly to be considered precious. A plain, high-quality silk handkerchief would have been hundreds of times more valuable.

And yet, that woman had kept this so carefully? Why on earth?

The fact that she brought this meant she knew his mother had made it.

The relationship between Zion and Odette was already one ruined by loathing. Even if he was a victim of abuse, the fact remained that to the Transcendents, she was a perpetrator.

So why did she keep an object that she could have easily thrown away long ago, and why did she store it with such care?

[Groom] "Excuse me... Marquis."

At that moment, the voice of the groom calling to him from the stairs broke his thoughts.

[Groom] "The lady has departed, so I came up to inform you."

[Zion] "I believe I told you never to release her horse."

His voice had become incredibly cold.

[Groom] "Of course! It was your command, so I certainly didn't give it to her! But the lady insisted on walking away anyway."

He was stunned by the words.

[Zion] "That crazy woman..."

The area surrounding this bank was entirely the private property of the Marquis of Kleist, so no hired carriages operated here. It was a considerable distance to the main plaza, and it was nearly midnight.

There’s a limit to being fearless.

He leapt out of the window and checked the stables in an instant. Looking at the black horse still tied there, he felt a sense of futility.

Why did she feel she had to leave that badly?

This reception room is better than your mansion, isn't it?

How could this reception room be worse than the place where she was treated like that? He couldn't grasp her logic at all.

He looked down at the handkerchief he was unconsciously clutching.

The image of Odette he had glimpsed one night was so unlike her. It didn't match the woman who sat upright and requested a deal with such an elegant, calm demeanor.

[Odette] "Is it alright if I say this? Actually, I’ve admired you all for a very long time. If that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take it back."

He had dismissed the words she whispered that night as mere sleep-talking.

[Odette] "I'm so happy. It's the warmest thing I've ever heard in my life."

And yet, here was this handkerchief, kept so preciously. The handkerchief seemed to suggest that the woman from that night was, in fact, the real Odette.

It was bothering him intensely. He felt a headache coming on.

He hated anything that fell outside of his control. Yet, Odette kept defying his expectations.

From the moment she sought him out to reveal the truth about the Count of Albrecht’s household, to the tears he had accidentally witnessed, and now to the handkerchief she had handed him today.

Which one was the real Odette?

Was the feeling he had for her pity or loathing?

This was worthless information, so why did he care so much?

His eyes fell on the handkerchief again.

Dammit.

He made up his mind. He felt that the only way to find the answer was to thoroughly investigate every detail about her.

He stepped off the building and began to run.

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