Chapter 12
A few days after welcoming the first assassin, the presences that visited were not one, but two.
Their movements were also a bit different from before, as if they had received a request one level higher than mere threats.
“Gurk.”
Probably the real deal in terms of assassination.
The sharp blade of a dagger flew toward my throat. I stepped on the first assassin, who had collapsed unconscious at my feet, and rolled off the bed.
Whoosh.
A slender dagger came flying, aiming for that exact moment.
I reached out, grabbed the blade bare-handed, and charged at the second assassin. As the hilt dug into the inner corner of his left eye, a pained breath escaped the skilled assassin’s lips.
“Hk.”
I had tried to handle it as quietly as possible, but with two opponents, it got a bit noisy.
The second assassin staggered to his feet and steadied his breathing.
“What the hell are you…”
“Shh.”
For now, I knocked him out with a blow to the head.
As expected, this was getting annoying. Did they send two because contact with the one they sent before was cut off?
‘Whether to call this stupid or efficient.’
From the mouths and sleeves of the two visitors, I pulled out the suicide pills that now felt almost familiar. With this, the total number of <Merciful One Bite> would be six, right?
It matched exactly the number of Merchant Union executives. As they say, many a little makes a mickle. I should make sure to pass them along to the Butler Assassin.
“…These guys.”
What to do.
The deliberation was short, and the action swift.
I decided to send these two assassins to the Butler Assassin. No matter how I thought about it, that was the best option.
‘What about the assassins who come next?’
I couldn’t keep sending them to the Butler Assassin to deal with forever.
For now, I opened the window, dropped the two bundles, and landed on the ground myself. Rain was falling from the sky.
Suddenly, I thought of the potted plant I had placed on the front steps.
Even though days had passed without a single sprout, which had quietly made me anxious. With the rain falling, maybe the cotyledons would emerge—I felt a bit of anticipation.
Just two more walls to climb over…
“What in the world is this, Miss Daizy?”
Gasp.
As I turned around, my eyes met those of the Head Maid standing in front of the back door.
She had carefully stuffed a cigarette butt into the inside of a tin can, and now her round eyes stared at the sprawled bundles.
“Who are they?”
This was too blatant; I was caught red-handed. No way to dodge it!
“Sp, spies.”
“Did you handle them alone?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer that question. The Head Maid, who tapped her chin several times in confusion, let out a sigh.
“When will they wake up?”
“In… three or four hours…”
“I see. Follow me.”
I meekly followed behind the Head Maid back into the mansion.
I’m done for.
‘What will happen to me? Am I getting fired just like this?’
I had just started getting the hang of maid work? Where am I supposed to go if I leave here?
But why should I get fired anyway? I didn’t do anything wrong. Is being a bit tough a crime?
“Miss Daizy.”
“Yes.”
“To me, you are a rather meaningful person.”
I rolled only my eyes to look at the Head Maid.
The back of her head as she ascended the stairs to the upper floor was as calm and neat as when I saw her during the day.
“You’re the first person to last more than a week at Weatherwoods Mansion. And with today’s events, I now understand why you’re the first. I want to say thank you.”
Ah.
‘So the Head Maid didn’t know about the threats the maids in this mansion faced.’
That seemed too suspicious to just brush off.
From the client’s perspective, who was sending assassins, wouldn’t the Head Maid be the most important target?
Why hadn’t the assassins threatened the Head Maid?
The Head Maid’s steps stopped in front of a bedroom on the second floor.
This door was unfamiliar to me. Because it was none other than Viscount Weatherwoods’s bedroom.
“Would you like to see the master, Miss Daizy?”
Just like that, all of a sudden?
Surprised, I whipped my head around, and the Head Maid gave a slightly bitter smile.
“I thought it would be okay with you. Of course, the choice is yours. You can see the master, or not…”
“I will.”
I looked at the Head Maid with the eyes of the most dutiful maid ever.
I will meet Viscount Weatherwoods. I will become closer to the Weatherwoods Family.
I will be appointed as a lifelong maid of the Weatherwoods Family. Lifelong means I won’t get fired!
Even if I beat spies black and blue, I won’t get fired!
“Absolutely, I will.”
This was an opportunity given to me by heaven—no, by the Head Maid.
And I had no intention of throwing away the chance to eat well and sleep soundly in a bed for the next three years.
“Respond politely.”
“I will absolutely see him.”
“You should say, ‘I will see him.’ There is something you need to know. Meeting the master comes with specific conditions. You must swear to me that you ‘will not disclose the master’s information.’”
A swear? The kind that means ‘solemnly promising to definitely fulfill a certain promise or goal’?
Her faintly sunken gaze stared at me intently. The Head Maid whispered to me in her characteristic soft, calm voice.
“The swear here means promising with each other’s souls… it’s part of magic. Not recorded verbally or in writing, but etched into each other’s souls. It may sound trivial, but breaking it incurs severe penalties.”
If it’s the penalty of a soul-bound swear, there’s only one possibility.
“Death.”
“Yes. I figured you would know. It’s a distasteful condition, isn’t it?”
“Then who administers the swear?”
“I will cast it on you directly.”
She was right. It was very distasteful.
Not just the condition to meet Viscount Weatherwoods, but the Head Maid herself.
‘She knows how to cast swears?’
Magic is a kind of sport.
The walls you can climb with effort and perseverance have clear limits, and from a certain level onward, it’s a sport where you compete with innate talent and wits.
Yet magic was one of those sports where those with talent were exceedingly rare.
To begin with, the constitution allowing one to use magic was uncommon, so even lingering at an average level was enough to make a living across generations without issue.
The magic healing clinics and magic tool workshops found in every neighborhood were practically their lifetime jobs.
A swear itself is a low-level spell of low difficulty.
But low-level or not, a magic user is a magic user.
All magic users get special bonus points in civil service hiring processes. Even if they were as useless as bugs, they could live off government funds.
‘For such a magic user to be doing something as lowly as a maid. Is that why the assassins never got her? She set a trap.’
A family visited by assassins from time to time.
A family connected to Dian Ket’s Legacy.
A family employing a magic user as Head Maid.
Weatherwoods… definitely suspicious.
“Extend your arm.”
At her request, I rolled up my sleeve and meekly held out my arm.
On the inside of my forearm, there were a total of two lines etched. All traces of swears from my days living as Anderte.
“…No way, are all these from swears?”
A swear is imprinted on the soul, not the body.
So even if I returned from a man’s body to a woman’s, the traces of swears imprinted on the existence that is ‘me’ do not disappear.
Traces of swears cannot be erased by any transformation magic; they can only be concealed. It was akin to how the simplest magic held the greatest power.
“Miss Daizy. What on earth did you do before?”
……A soldier?
Pretending not to hear, I averted my gaze, and the Head Maid shook her head slowly. Soon, on the arm she extended, there remained only a single line of a swear’s trace.
Our facing arms touched as one. A mystical energy swirled between us.
The Head Maid whispered to me.
“I request a swear from you. The condition is <Do not disclose secrets regarding the Weatherwoods Family>. Do you agree?”
“I agree.”
A long red line was drawn in the air.
The line, flickering fiercely like flames, slowly descended onto our arms.
The sensation touching my skin was hot enough to burn.
The line, searing the skin mercilessly, soon settled in like a tattoo and seeped into the depths of my soul.
I felt it every time, but it was an unpleasant sensation.
“Whew.”
After the Head Maid let out a long sigh, the bedroom door opened shortly after.
The room was dark. Thick blackout curtains blocked even the faintest moonlight hidden behind storm clouds from entering.
The Head Maid lit the bedside lamp and beckoned me.
“Come closer and pay your respects, Miss Daizy.”
Why was this room so dark and quiet?
Why did this room not feel like a place where someone lived?
Why could I sense no presence in this room other than the Head Maid and me?
Why, at this late hour, did Viscount Weatherwoods not ask why maids had come?
Swallowing countless questions, what I faced on the bed was Viscount Weatherwoods.
“This is the head and master of our Weatherwoods Family.”
Viscount Weatherwoods was, in other words…
“Viscount Gray Weatherwoods.”
An egg.
