“That isn’t the point, Lili.”
Leonhart dropped his face into his hands, letting out a heavy groan before he looked back up.
“You were born here. You were completely innocent. For someone like you to get dragged into that living hell… how could you possibly be fine? None of this is fine.”
“I really am all right—”
“No, Lili. You ought to be furious. You should feel cheated and bitter about everything stolen from you. You ought to be sobbing, screaming, complaining about how miserable it was! That’s how a normal person responds. But you… you’re entirely unruffled. It isn’t natural.”
He stared at her with eyes on the verge of spilling over, leaving Rita momentarily at a loss.
‘He thinks there’s something wrong with me?’
She ran a silent inventory of herself. Physically, she was in peak condition. If a demonic beast lunged out from behind the drapery right now, she could put it down without a second thought.
‘My body is frailer and I don’t have a firearm, but my affinity with Od runs far deeper here. That more than covers the difference.’
Her mind was just as sound. No tremors, no feverish chills, no nausea borne of terror. No phantom voices hissed in her ears, and no hallucinations clouded her vision. She felt entirely composed.
‘So my composure is the defect? Because I don’t rage?’
She did harbor fury. How could she not loathe Pascal for stripping Lilietta of her past and molding her into a soldier under another name?
‘Yet recovering Lilietta’s memories doesn’t simply wipe away Rita Pascal.’
She could not bring herself to curse the life she had lived as Rita. Bleak and terrifying though it had been, it held meaning. There had been happiness in it. That was why she had clawed so desperately to find a path back before her childhood came rushing in.
‘And I still feel that pull. If the door were open, I would go back.’
Her kin here were precious beyond measure, but so were the comrades she had left behind in the mud. She was useless in this peaceful realm, whereas over there, her hands had a purpose.
She was Lilietta del Nissa Laskail, but she was Rita Pascal just as surely. Hence, rather than pure rage, she felt tangled in confusion.
‘Why did Pascal target me? How did he manage it, and to what end? Are there others like me out there? Did anyone ever cross back over?’
If a doorway existed, she wanted to seek it out. Not immediately, of course—not until she had properly embraced the family she had lost.
‘That is simply the truth of how I feel… Is that truly so warped?’
Did propriety demand louder fury? Was she meant to despise the years forged under Rita Pascal’s name? Did remembering Lilietta require burning everything else to ash?
She could not do that.
‘It isn’t that the scars don’t ache. It was brutal. But had I remained only Lilietta, I never would have met my squad. I never would have learned how to survive.’
After a heavy silence, she chose her words with deliberate care.
“Leon, I appear calm because I genuinely am. That world was bleak, yes, but it wasn’t devoid of hope. My comrades and I carved out a life together.”
“…”
“It isn’t that I’m hollow inside. I simply learned how to govern what I feel. As a small child, every trivial thing brought tears or laughter. But I’ve grown since then.”
Leonhart parted his lips to counter, but the words withered. He dragged both palms down his face and, keeping them pressed there, spoke in a muffled tone.
“Lili… do you recall what took place that night? How you were cast into that other realm?”
“I do. Though I still cannot fathom the purpose or intent behind it.”
“Will you tell me? What truly happened to you?”
“That…”
Rita hesitated.
He had only just called her unfeeling. How would he react if she revealed that she intended to keep the very maid who had delivered her into the abductor’s hands?
Even were she to explain that she harbored no real trust in Hannah, that she was merely keeping the girl close to watch and exploit her…
‘He might view me as an absolute stranger.’
A sudden memory surfaced of another foster child from Pascal’s unit who had abandoned the squad to seek out their birth family.
That child had been cast out alone against demonic beasts, dying unmourned while their noble relations scoffed, ‘Isn’t that precisely what Pascal’s mongrels were bred for?’ and ‘How could an aberration like that ever share our blood?’
Even in her former world, Pascal’s wards were shunned as foreign monstrosities, incomprehensible and unwelcome among common folk.
Only now did Rita grasp the chasm separating her from the little Lili of a decade ago. A quiet chill settled beneath her ribs.
‘What if this family cannot stomach who I am either? What if my parents and brothers look upon me and whisper, “This isn’t our Lili”?’
‘What if they brand me a monster?’
The mere thought stung bitterly.
Her silence lengthened until Leonhart finally lifted his head. Softening his features with a gentle smile, he broke the quiet.
“It’s all right, Lili. You can tell me when you’re ready. I ought to hear the whole account alongside the rest of the family anyway.”
“…Yes.”
“Rest for now. Perhaps ponder how you’d like to have these chambers redone.”
He began to rise, but Rita spoke up before he could step away.
“Leon, wait.”
“Hm?”
“There is one matter I’d like to ask of you.”
“Speak freely. What is it?”
She paused, carefully measuring her tone.
“It concerns Hannah, the maid attending me.”
“Ah. I assumed she would be far too rattled after what unfolded, but she pleaded to remain by your side. She blamed herself entirely for her lapse that day.”
“…I see. Could you have someone conduct a thorough inquiry into her? I know she was raised on the estate by a mother who served as a maid, but I need the finer details—particularly her ties. Her father’s identity, any surviving kin, or acquaintances she maintains contact with.”
“A background investigation on a mere maid?”
“I simply wish to verify a few things. It shouldn’t prove difficult for Amethyst, should it?”
The Laskail duchy sat atop a vast expanse of precious mineral veins; consequently, gem trading and lapidary arts thrived across the territory.
Amethyst Jewelers was a direct arm of House Laskail. To the outside world, they were nothing more than a prominent, reputable merchant guild operating openly within the trade. In truth, they functioned as an intelligence bureau devoted to the ducal line, quietly executing delicate operations and training their field operatives under the guise of caravan guards.
Surprise flickered across Leonhart’s face at her request, yet he nodded without hesitation.
“Of course. That won’t be an issue. Come to think of it, you’ve yet to receive an Amethyst of your own. You’re certainly of age now.”
Every direct scion of House Laskail was assigned their own personal Amethyst between sixteen and eighteen. Outwardly, they served as a valet and bodyguard, though in practice they also acted as the duke’s quiet gaze upon his kin.
Most within the household knew the title solely as a colloquial name for these elite aides, entirely unaware that the post was tied to a shadow intelligence network cloaked behind a merchant firm.
“I’ll send word to the guild and have an operative detailed to you. You may direct your inquiries to them yourself.”
“Thank you, Leon.”
“Think nothing of it. Is there anything else you require?”
Rita caught her breath, pausing briefly.
“…There is one more thing, actually.”
“Go on.”
“Could you procure me a gun?”
“A gun?”
Leonhart blinked in visible shock. Rita rushed to soften the request.
“I’ve no intention of shooting anyone! It’s merely… after so many years on the front lines, walking about unarmed leaves me restless.”
Leonhart remembered the sight of her lunging at the maid with a shard of mirror glass, slicing open her own palm in the process. He also recalled how frequently her fingers brushed instinctively against her hip.
“…Having steel within reach brings you peace of mind, then. Yet firearms are perilous things. Are you certain you know your way around one?”
Rita suppressed a wry laugh. It had been an eternity since anyone had dared ask if she could handle a weapon.
“Do not worry. It was my primary craft.”
She offered a faint smile. Leonhart studied her features for a moment before giving a slow nod.
“There are countless makes. What manner of firearm are you looking for?”
“Do you happen to possess magic guns?”
“A magic gun? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”
“As I expected. What types do you keep, then?”
“We keep a respectable assortment in the armory. Would you care to see for yourself?”
“Yes!”
Her eyes flared with sudden radiance as she sprang straight to her feet. It was the first genuine burst of enthusiasm Leonhart had witnessed since her return, and an amused chuckle slipped past his lips.
‘She used to make that exact face whenever we brought her a stuffed hare.’
The expression remained identical, even if the object of her joy had shifted from plush toys to instruments of death. The realization drove home just how much time had slipped away.
Yet watching her beam with delight over firearms proved another undeniable truth:
Blood truly never lies.