“Yes, Master.”

With a brief bow, the house steward withdrew. I had listened in on their exchange the whole time, but there hadn’t been anything particularly important—nothing but trivialities.

“Master.”

At least, that was what I thought—right up until the moment he returned.

“This is him.”

The house steward reappeared, this time accompanied by an unfamiliar man. The man standing beside him had a solid, imposing build. They had said he was a former swordsman, and indeed, he radiated a rugged, battle-hardened air.

What was unusual, however, was that everything but his eyes was wrapped in bandages. I couldn’t tell how far they extended, but they clearly covered him from the crown of his head down to his neck. His hands were wrapped as well—did that mean that was bound too?

As my gaze drifted down to the nape of his neck, a chain necklace caught my eye. It looked heavily rusted and worn with age, yet a jewel of unmistakable value was set into it.

I glanced at Louis afterward. As expected of someone with no eye for such things, he seemed completely oblivious.

By the way, the flashes of snow-white silver hair peeking through the bandages were striking. If anything, his hair looked even better than mine.

“Isn’t he actually disabled?”

Louis clicked his tongue at the sight of the new servant.

“How stupid does he think I am, calling this a gift? D*mn it.”

Aside from the bandages, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the man—yet Louis hurled ab*se straight at him, right to his face. Watching the way he treated those beneath him, a sigh slipped from my lips without me even realizing it.

“……”

Then, the moment my gaze met the new servant’s, I unconsciously held my breath.

Sharp eyes, visible between the bandages, were fixed squarely on me.

What…?

His eyes were a clear, luminous gold—like a full moon. I hadn’t noticed at a glance, but seen properly, those eyes seemed to possess a strange pull. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be this hard to look away.

Those golden eyes, as if gazing down at me, made my breath catch, goosebumps rising along the back of my neck.

It wasn’t fear.

It was because those beautiful eyes were chillingly captivating.

And yet, why did the coldness that accompanied them feel so oddly gentle?

I couldn’t understand it.
Not at all.

D*mn it.

It seemed I had clearly been overwhelmed by the gaze of a mere servant. Were servants from the Duchy of Balthazar all like this?

From the moment our eyes met, I had been quietly observing him. And in doing so, I noticed something else—the wheat-toned skin faintly visible beneath his eyes was far too fine for a servant. Did he receive special care of some sort?

Louis was still saying something about the new servant, but none of it reached my ears. It was as though only the two of us existed in this space—the servant and me.

“Mia, where are you looking?”

How long had I been lost like that? It was only after hearing his shrill voice that I finally came to my senses. The moment my gaze returned to him, Louis raised his hand—and without even a pause, struck my cheek.

The reason was simple: I had met another man’s eyes instead of his.

“I was just curious because of the bandages, Louis.”

Out of all the countless lives I’d lived, there hadn’t been a single one in which he hadn’t hit me. Perhaps because of that, being slapped didn’t make me feel wronged or even hurt.

All I thought was, Ah. He’s having one of his fits again.

“Then why did you look at him with such a clingy gaze?”

From what possible perspective could he have seen it that way?

Thinking about it, the reason this estate employed only female servants didn’t seem to stem solely from Louis’s l*st. That cursed possessiveness of his—ranting about things being clingy just from a glance—clearly played a part.

I was tired. Exhausted. Sick of it.

“You weren’t thinking about rolling around in bed with that b*stard, were you?”

Louis glared at me, one corner of his mouth twisted upward.

“If you so much as lay a finger on him, I won’t let it slide. So don’t you dare entertain any strange thoughts!”

You’re the one who should stop thinking such disgusting things.

“Now that I think about it, that little smile of yours looks suspicious.”

Listening to such absurd nonsense left me dumbfounded—I’d laughed simply because it was ridiculous. Yet Louis twisted it into another pathetic fantasy.

“Oh, Louis. You’ve misunderstood.”

“A misunderstanding?”

Arms crossed, Louis stared me down. I responded with a soft smile.

“I don’t touch just anyone.”

Unlike you.

“I like intelligent men.”

I’m not talking about you.

“And besides, I’ve never cheated. Not even once.”

Unlike you.

“W-well… that’s true, I suppose?”
Louis’s pupils trembled as if he were agreeing.

“Ah, Mia. I’m sorry. I made another mistake—doubting you like that… Please forgive me.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like it’s only happened once or twice.”

“Just as I thought… Mia, you’re so considerate. I love you.”

Out of nowhere, Louis declared his love, exhaling ragged breaths as he spread his arms toward me. He even clamped a hand down on my shoulder and lunged forward, trying to smother me with kisses.

“Oh, Louis.”

I barely managed to block his lips with the fan I was holding.

“You smell like sh*t.”

At my words, the hand gripping my shoulder dropped away instantly.

“W-what? That can’t be—!”

He looked at me, utterly stunned. Then he cupped a hand over his mouth and went huff, huff, checking his own breath. A moment later, even he seemed repulsed, gagging dryly.

“Louis, I should get going and prepare for my next work.”

It was obvious we’d end up fighting if I stayed any longer, so I was just about to excuse myself—

When the new servant softly brushed his fingers against mine.

At the same time, something like a small piece of paper was pressed into my hand.

It happened so naturally, in the briefest brush as he passed, that I was left momentarily dazed.

“There’s no smell at all? Mia, aren’t you being overly sensitive?”

Flustered, I froze for a brief moment—and in that instant, Louis suddenly raised his voice. With no other choice, I headed straight upstairs.

“Is there something wrong with your nose, Mia?”

Fortunately, it seemed he hadn’t noticed the new servant passing something to me. I hurried up the stairs, almost at a run.

“…Hah.”

Back in my solitary room, I took a deep breath and slowly opened the hand I had been clenching tightly.

A small, folded piece of paper lay inside.

On its surface was a mark that looked like a family crest. I couldn’t tell which house it belonged to, but since it had come from the servant sent by Duke Balthazar, I assumed it was the duchy’s emblem.

[Beyond that. 11-6, 381-12, 94-1, 103-30, 79-21, 5-9.]

That was all that was written on it.

I stared at it, wondering what it meant—until my eyes caught on the phrase “Beyond that.” Suddenly, my gaze drifted to the bookshelf.

As if possessed, I pulled out a book and opened it to the pages indicated by the numbers on the paper.

Just flipping through like that felt far too vague.

So this time, I examined the sentences and words on the lines corresponding to the numbers on the left. Then, I copied all of them onto another sheet of paper.

“…Wait. They connect, don’t they?”

1-6 was “you,” 381-12 was “to help,” 94-1 was “I have come,” 103-30 was “I swear on everything I have,” 79-21 was “I will wait,” and finally, 5-9 was “here.”

When I wrote together what each page yielded, it read:

[I have come to help you. I swear on everything I have. I will wait. Here.]

The exact location wasn’t specified, yet an uneasy feeling crept over me.

Here?

Was he telling me to come to where he was? But judging by the wording, it sounded more like he had come to find me.

What was this supposed to mean?

One thing was certain—it was a reply.

Through this, I realized that the servant sent from the Duchy of Balthazar was on my side.

And yet, therein lay the real problem.

Whether this message had been sent by Duke Balthazar himself—or by someone else entirely—

There was no way to know.

If it had been an ordinary letter, I could have simply compared the handwriting. But this was a cipher. There was no way to analyze the hand at all.

The one who passed me the paper was the servant—so I could have questioned him. The problem was that he couldn’t speak.

The contents of the cipher were, from the start, a combination of lines and dialogue taken from my book, Beyond That. Which meant one thing was certain: whoever sent this had read all of my work. An avid reader, without a doubt.

But if that person’s devotion was twisted—if it was the wrong kind of admiration—then what awaited me might be a h*ll even worse than this place.

Could I really trust them?