Chapter 3
‘It’s a mansion that looks like devils would crawl out of it.’
The bell was even broken, so I had to rattle the front gate’s iron bars to call someone.
After shaking the gate nonstop for about three minutes, someone emerged from the entrance hall.
The woman in her mid-to-late thirties, dressed in servant’s attire, stared blankly at my face before opening the front gate.
“Are you Daisy Farger, the new maid? Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m the Head Maid of Weatherwoods Mansion. Come on in.”
The Head Maid, who had started to lead me toward the entrance hall, paused mid-step and turned back to me.
“Where’s your luggage?”
I started to shake my head, but the interviewer’s advice flashed through my mind.
“Empty-handed.”
The Head Maid, who had been eyeing me with a peculiar expression, turned away again.
“Normally, maids aren’t allowed to use the front gate or entrance door. But in this mansion, feel free to use them as you like.”
We passed through the small front garden, barren and desolate as if ravaged by a brutal war.
“The owner of this mansion is Viscount Weatherwoods—just the one. The staff consists of you, me, and the cook and gardener arriving in three days, for a total of three. Your duties will be divided up appropriately: cleaning, laundry, cooking, errands, garden upkeep—everything without exception.”
We crossed the faded carpet in the main hall and ascended to the second floor.
“Salary is paid on the first of every month. Work starts at six in the morning and ends at seven in the evening.”
We arrived at a room at the far end of the second-floor hallway, gazing at the windows hazy with dust.
When the Head Maid opened the door, a wide, airy bedroom greeted us.
“It’s spacious, isn’t it? Weatherwoods Mansion is probably the only place where a maid gets a second-floor bedroom instead of the attic, annex, or basement.”
The only clue that it was a bedroom was the large, worn bed plunked against the wall.
A luxurious but outdated Purified Magic Stone stove, a luxurious but battered desk, a luxurious but battered chair, blackout curtains that looked ready to shower dust like falling snow, a luxurious but rusted iron chest, and even a door that appeared to lead to the bathroom.
It had all the essentials. As the Head Maid said, it was quite impressive for a maid’s quarters.
“You’re free to go anywhere in the mansion. There’s just one thing you must keep in mind.”
The Head Maid issued the warning in a firm tone.
“Do not enter the master’s bedroom. And if anyone asks about the master’s whereabouts, tell them he’s out. Friends, acquaintances, distant relatives—no exceptions. The master is extremely busy and cannot receive visitors. You must remember that.”
Nod.
“Don’t just nod—answer me.”
“Yes.”
It felt like she’d said to add something after that. I’d already forgotten.
“Sigh. You… never mind. Now unpack your things. Once you’re settled, we’ll start work… Ah, no luggage, right? Then take ten minutes to rest and come down to the entrance hall on the first floor. I heard it’s your first time doing this, so I’ve folded some work clothes for you there. Let’s get along well from here on out.”
The Head Maid briskly delivered her message and left the room.
Left alone, I had no mood for sentimentality. I flung myself onto the bed.
“Cough!”
A cloud of insane dust enveloped me in a spectacular haze, but I had no desire to get up. A real bed—after how long? My body felt like it was melting away.
Ever since I’d lost consciousness in my direct clash with the great mage Mephisto.
When I opened my eyes again, astonishingly, nearly four years had passed.
The me who awoke amid the ashes was no longer in the form of my younger brother, Anderte.
The male body, sustained by powerful ancient magic, had reverted to its original female form.
‘Did I die and fall into hell?’
The doubt didn’t linger long. I could hear the strong thump of my heart deep in my chest.
“…I clearly died, though?”
Yet here I was, alive again. What in the world had happened?
For now, I made my way down to the island village where I’d lived. The place was charred black, nothing but chaotic ruins left—no sign of any people.
I draped a scrap of cloth that barely held the shape of clothing over myself and headed for the harbor.
Fortunately, there was a military outpost along the coast. Soldiers disembarking there spotted me and brought me in.
After probing into my identity with this question and that, one soldier glanced at the frayed sleeve of the dress I wore and asked,
“Berty? Is that the young lady’s name?”
Berty Lushan.
It was the name embroidered small inside the sleeve—and the name of someone I knew all too well.
‘So this was Berty’s dress.’
I traced the name of my long-dead friend with my fingertips.
Berty and her family had perished during the war. It was due to the great mage Mephisto’s aerial assault. The memory of gathering their bodies and burying them myself myself was still vivid.
“You look awfully young, miss. How old are you? Is your name really Berty?”
After a brief moment of thought, I nodded.
The rest of the investigation wrapped up swiftly. Berty had been my longtime friend from my hometown. I knew her home, her family, her entire life better than anyone, so assuming her identity as ‘Berty’ was child’s play.
‘Sorry, Berty.’
I’ll borrow it just for a little while and put it right back.
“Don’t worry, Miss Berty. The world is safe now. The Mado Alliance defeated Mephisto and brought about peace! It’s been a full four years. The Empire is at peace now!”
I listened carefully as the soldiers recounted in detail what had become of the Alliance and the Empire over those four years.
They urged me to head to the Empire’s southern refugee shelter, but I refused.
The reason was simple: I didn’t want my identity exposed there and get tangled up with Raphaelo or my old comrades.
It was around then that I discovered the massive flaw in my body.
The fierce collision between the great mage Mephisto’s soul and mine had shortened my lifespan to just three years.
With a body like this, I had zero desire to reunite with Raphaelo.
I was no longer Anderte, nor did I have any reason to live as Anderte anymore.
After all, Raphaelo and my old comrades were all tied to Anderte, weren’t they?
‘Coming back in a broken woman’s body would just earn me pity and sympathy.’
I didn’t want to stir up their guilt.
Weighing all the factors, it felt best to live on from here as ‘me’—not as Anderte.
‘Live as me, and try to mend this broken body.’
Even if it seemed impossible, I had to at least try.
To that end, I chose Midwintree out of all the Empire’s countless cities.
If I could find ‘that item’ hidden there… my three-year lifespan might extend.
As I recalled the past month’s journey to get here, it was nothing but ordeal after ordeal from start to finish, so I gave up on reminiscing.
I changed into the maid’s uniform and descended to the entrance hall, where the Head Maid was waiting.
“I shelled out a fortune to bring you here. At least stick it out for a week. That way, you’ll get paid for your work.”
So that’s why the interviewer had eyed me like a golden pig.
“Shall we get started? There’s a huge backlog. It’ll be tough.”
From that moment on, the Head Maid worked me like a slave.
And I toiled like a true slave.
Taking down the chandelier from the main hall—which hadn’t been sold off yet—dusting it, scrubbing it, reinstalling it. Dusting the stair handrails and stairs. Scrubbing with a brush. Beating the massive carpet. Beating it endlessly. Cleaning the window frames. Washing the windows. Dusting the floors. Scrubbing the floors with a brush. Oiling…
“Damn.”
What a madhouse. Am I this house’s maid? Or a slave? Am I a slave maid?
“Working as a pair really speeds things up. Good stamina, quick on the uptake.”
It was genuine praise, but I couldn’t muster a smile.
The Head Maid was the one who’d feed me, house me, and pay me for the next three years. I couldn’t hit her.
“The sky’s already clouding over. We’ll need to fetch ingredients before sunset. I’ll wrap up today’s work, so go run the errand.”
The Head Maid was the one who’d feed me, house me, and pay me for the next three years. I couldn’t talk back.
“Here’s the list of ingredients needed and the money. Don’t even think about skimming anything. I know every market price around here to the penny. No point picking fights with the merchants, so mind your manners. Especially your speech.”
If you’re so worried, go buy them yourself.
Protecting the mansion must be part of the Head Maid’s duty, I supposed.
It was as I stepped out of the mansion with the handful of coins.
“Whoa! Watch your head. Wouldn’t want to scratch up that pretty face. Miss.”
A massive dining table whisked past my face in a rush.
Wondering what was happening, I saw burly men hauling furniture of all sizes out of the house directly across from Weatherwoods Mansion.
‘They’re moving.’
Was the owner changing? I wouldn’t want a gloomy neighbor like this next door, either.
