Chapter 41
“When I told her she was allowed to read the books in the study, she would pick one out to read at night. Other than that, she stayed strictly in her room or occasionally took walks in the garden. I checked her luggage as well, but there was nothing unusual…”
They were a few steps away from the landing.
“They’re here!”
The excited voices of the agents coming from the entrance of the mansion caused Barbara’s words to trail off.
The sound of a carriage rolling in echoed through the hall.
Reflexively, Oscar began to turn his head to look over his shoulder, then stopped.
It had been an exhausting night.
He wanted to wash off the vibrating stench of blood as soon as possible. The reports would come up on their own, and since the key was safe, he had no reason to look back.
Facing forward again, he stepped onto the next stair. But the moment his foot touched the step, time seemed to fold.
Half-drawn curtains, a transparent window. The image of the woman who used to turn her head away the moment their eyes met flashed through his mind, and a cynical thought rose within him.
Ridiculous. As if she wasn’t the one peeking.
But.
What did that face look like now?
Barbara looked at Oscar with a puzzled expression as he stood still, one hand in his pocket and one foot planted on the step above.
His nerves, sensitive to a point that was almost grotesque, were tuned to what was happening behind him.
The carriage stopped, the door opened, and then came footsteps as thin as pencil lines.
What kind of presence is that?
Letting out a languid chuckle, Oscar looked down at his feet, then lifted his head and placed a cigarette between his lips. He turned around as he flicked his lighter.
A puff of smoke obscured his vision. A slender silhouette appeared, then vanished.
Oscar held the smoke in his mouth without exhaling.
Small feet, ankles, the hem of a skirt, and a trench coat that looked a bit too thin for the late summer weather of Luxen… As his gaze traveled upward and reached the woman’s face, Oscar’s eyes narrowed.
The woman who appeared before him was pale to the point of being blue, her face looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment. Looking closer, the hem of her skirt, her shoes, and even her exposed ankles were a mess.
“I will go, Your Excellency.”
Seeing the state she was in, Barbara hurried down the stairs.
Abel.
Oscar reflexively looked for the Wolf, and Abel stepped out of the carriage. The moment he saw him, Oscar’s confusion deepened.
His appearance was just as disastrous as the woman’s.
It went without saying that his shoes and the hems of his trousers were filthy, and even his hair was a disheveled mess.
Oscar descended the stairs, one step at a time, toward them.
He couldn’t understand the situation at all.
But then, an even more absurd situation unfolded.
“Please bring some salt.”
The woman, who looked ready to cry while glancing nervously at Abel—who seemed furious—spoke urgently to Barbara.
“Mrs. Barbara, please bring some salt.”
Salt?
“…Salt?”
“Yes, salt. No, please bring a lot of it.”
Her voice was thin and trembling, but her expression and actions were desperate. Without a word, Barbara gestured to someone standing behind her, and the person followed the instruction and ran to get the salt. Meanwhile, as Abel looked as though his rationality was about to snap and turned to leave, the woman hurriedly caught him.
“W-Wait a moment…!”
By then, Oscar had reached the entrance of the mansion with a leisurely but cold gait, leaning diagonally against the doorframe as he observed this baffling scene. Not just Oscar, but dozens of agents were watching the confrontation between the two with sharp, curious eyes.
It was the moment Abel Sting, incensed to his limit, opened his mouth to say something.
“Here is the salt!”
The salt arrived. With a face as white as a sheet, the woman turned toward the servant, and only then did Abel notice Oscar’s presence and falter. He immediately tried to approach Oscar, but Oscar, cigarette in mouth, gave a slight nod, signaling him to finish what he was doing.
Abel stopped in his tracks with a look of utter misery.
Now, the woman was the only one who didn’t realize the master of the mansion had arrived.
She was looking down at the dark salt grinder the servant had handed her with a somewhat troubled expression.
Oscar watched her, his eyes narrowing.
What is she planning to do with that?
He wasn’t the only one. Barbara, Simon, and even Abel—whose face was a mask of disillusionment and contempt—watched the stranger’s bizarre behavior with incomprehension.
Having stolen everyone’s attention, the stranger took a deep breath. Then, as if she had made up her mind, she turned toward Abel.
“I’m sorry about today. I heard there’s nothing better than this to keep bad luck away.”
Contrary to her determined expression, her voice was barely a whisper.
Bad luck?
Why was she suddenly asking for salt, and what on earth was she talking about?
Just what was she trying to—
Grind, grind.
“…”
“…”
Oscar’s train of thought drifted and snapped.
Grind, grind.
In the darkness and silence of the mansion’s entrance, the sound of the dark salt grinder turning felt exceptionally loud. With her head bowed low, the woman turned the grinder with trembling hands.
Grind, grind.
Abel Sting looked like someone whose throat had been blocked by pure disbelief.
Grind, gri—
“Ha…”
The word Abel mouthed was unmistakably ‘Damn it.’ A bleak wind blowing from the forest swirled between the bowing stranger and the seemingly failed seducer.
And the precarious silence created by that bleak wind was broken, without warning, by an equally bleak laugh.
Oscar couldn’t hold back his laughter.
“Heh… pfft.”
The laughter scraped through his throat as it escaped, and the cold air that rushed back in seeped deep into his lungs.
Laughter leaked out, and cold air filled its place. Passing through his lungs again, the laughter escaped, and more cold air entered. Strangely, it felt like he was finally breathing. The stench of blood that had been dogging him seemed to fade a little, and the annoyance that had been circling in the corner of his mind was forgotten.
Seriously, how did a girl like that end up with the key?
After laughing like that for a long time, he took a deep breath and looked up, but his bangs had fallen over his eyes, obstructing his vision. He brushed his hair back, putting the cigarette he had been holding into his mouth.
Through the smoke, he saw her pale face.
Tears leaked from her wide, dazed eyes, blurring her face.
He recalled her being like this the first time they met as well.
Oscar took another drag of his cigarette. Then, just as lightly as the words he had tossed out that night, he offered a casual greeting.
“Have you been well?”
Though she certainly didn’t look the part.
“It doesn’t look like you two were rolling around in bed.”
As Oscar started the conversation while taking off his coat, both Abel and the backup agent who had followed him into the drawing room wore expressions of utter exhaustion.
Since both of them looked completely fed up, Simon couldn’t hold back and asked.
“What on earth were you doing?”
Barbara said as she shook out Oscar’s coat and hung it up.
“You said you were going to Pal Pien Market, didn’t you?”
At the mention of that wretched name, Pal Pien, Abel ground his teeth. He wondered which bastard had told her about it; even if it was his senior, Barbara, he felt like he needed to have a word with them. Meanwhile, Oscar sat on the edge of the desk. In contrast to his casual posture, his shadowed gaze was aimed at Abel, as sharp as a well-honed blade.
Abel immediately squared his shoulders and stood at attention.
“Reporting on the target’s movements.”
Oscar nodded for him to proceed.
“Arrived at Pal Pien Market at 08:45, moved to Noteheim Cemetery around 12:25.”
Before the sentence could even finish, a strange word caught Oscar’s attention.
“The cemetery?”
Abel felt like dying at the word ‘cemetery’ coming from Oscar’s mouth.
He already knew the facts, and he had lived through it himself, yet it was starting to feel like someone else’s story. He hoped it was.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Did you kill something?”
“No, sir.”
“Was there something to bury?”
“No, sir.”
“Then is that a good place to work?”
“No, sir.”
Oscar pressed for the correlation between the cemetery and the target, then let out a scoffing laugh as if it were absurd. Abel hurried to speak before Oscar’s patience ran out.
“It was the target who insisted on going to the cemetery. Her purpose was to return the flowers she bought from the nomads back to the graves.”
Not just Oscar, but even Simon and Barbara—who usually remained cold and inhuman—stared at Abel with eyes full of bewilderment.
Enduring the three sets of gazes pouring over him, Abel thought to himself.
Don’t be surprised yet. This is only the beginning.
“At approximately 09:45, the target purchased flowers from the nomads. A few minutes later, she learned the source of the flowers. Upon learning the source, the target began to insist that we must go to the cemetery.”
Abel omitted the details of how Seo-ah had found out where the flowers came from.
