Leonhart studied the unwavering determination in his sister’s face, then spoke.
“If your aim is to get back to your own world, I’ll help you.”
“You mean… you’ll help me find a way home?”
“I will. We want the real Lilietta back, after all. It serves both our interests.”
Rita’s brow furrowed. She cupped her chin in one hand, lost in thought.
Keeping his expression unreadable, Leonhart looked back on the conversation they had had the night before. He had tried telling their father that this girl was undeniably Lilietta, but Richard had flatly rejected the idea.
While the Duke valued his eldest son’s judgment, he also conceded that too many bizarre anomalies stood in the way of outright welcoming his daughter back. Ultimately, they resolved to wait and watch.
Whatever claim she made, this flesh and blood undoubtedly belonged to Lilietta of House Laskail. And if the soul dwelling within truly was their Lilietta, unaware of her own identity though she might be…
They could not lose her a second time. Not ever.
Still, the truth was far too delicate to break to the Duchess, whose health had declined sharply since their daughter vanished. For the time being, she would be kept completely in the dark.
“Leon, I don’t believe for a second that she’s innocent. If she used dark sorcery to steal Lili’s flesh, I’ll tear it out of her by any means necessary.”
Their father had urged caution since he hadn’t laid eyes on the girl yet, while Richard remained fiercely distrustful and combative. Yet Leonhart felt almost certain.
Father will realize it the moment he spends time with her. Blood recognizes blood. And Richard will come around in time.
Even so, he couldn’t force the identity of Lilietta onto someone who refused to accept it.
Until she sees the truth for herself, I’ll treat her as Rita Pascal.
Rita weighed the matter at her own pace, and Leonhart waited without rushing her.
Sunlight spilled past the windows, gathering strength and sweeping the lingering gloom from the room. Bathed in that soft dawn, she finally gave a firm nod.
“Very well. I accept your terms.”
***
After a modest morning meal in her quarters and having the cut on her hand dressed by the physician Leonhart had sent, Rita followed a maid down the long corridor.
She had agreed to masquerade as Lilietta, but in practice, she had no inkling of what that actually demanded. Fortunately, Leonhart had laid down clear guidelines beforehand.
“Consider this manor your home for now. I’ve informed the household that you came back with your memories lost, so you needn’t worry about putting on a performance. If anyone presses you on where you’ve been, simply say you cannot recall.”
“Father and Richard understand that you’re ‘Rita Pascal.’ But Mother hasn’t been told a word. You grasp what that implies, don’t you?”
“Only after you’ve settled in and can play Lilietta convincingly will we tell Mother of your return. Until that day comes, you must steer clear of her at all costs.”
“You see that detached annex past the gardens? Mother resides there now. Staying in the main residence was unbearable for her, surrounded by reminders of Lilietta at every turn. She rarely steps outside, so if you keep away from the gardens, your paths won’t cross.”
“I’ve already instructed the staff to hold their tongues. They all understand how frail Mother is and that you require time to readjust. Ever since she collapsed at the funeral, everyone has walked on eggshells. Not a single person will breathe a word.”
“Aside from that, just do your best to live as the youngest daughter of House Laskail. Think of yourself as Lilietta.”
Until she could convincingly portray Lilietta before the Duchess, Rita was to inhabit this castle under that guise. She approached Leonhart’s arrangement precisely like a tactical assignment.
Blending in as a civilian has never been my forte. That was always Is’ domain.
And not merely an ordinary civilian, either—she was expected to play a highborn lady. Just dwelling on it gave her a dull headache.
Leonhart had urged her to make herself at home, but Rita Pascal had never known what a home was. Her life had been spent trekking across ruined wastelands and front lines alongside her unit. A temporary bivouac meant to be struck by daybreak could hardly be considered a home.
Regardless, Leonhart said that if I’m at a loss, I should simply dress the part and map the castle. He intends to arrange an etiquette instructor soon, so until then…
Scouting the perimeter and charting the terrain were fundamental protocols whenever entering a new deployment. Rita decided to treat exploring and memorizing the estate grounds as her primary mission for the day. Curiously, that practical focus brought a sense of calm.
“U-um… Milady? W-we have arrived.”
The hesitant stammer cut through her mental drafting of the castle’s floor plan. Only then did Rita take note of the trembling maid walking beside her.
“You’re Hannah, correct?”
“Y-yes!”
Hannah practically jumped out of her skin. Swallowing a sigh, Rita softened her voice as much as possible.
“I terrified you earlier, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I… my memories are gone, and finding myself in an unfamiliar place put me on edge. I never intended to frighten you.”
“O-oh no, not at all, Milady! You mustn’t lower yourself to apologize to someone like me!”
Flustered, the girl waved her hands in distress before hastily pivoting to change the subject.
“L-look here! Th-this is your dressing room! Her Grace had it prepared expressly for you, Milady!”
Hannah gestured toward an intricately carved wooden door, her anxious face softening with a trace of sorrow.
“Every year on your birthday, Her Grace commissioned a brand-new gown. S-she insisted there must always be garments ready for you, just in case you found your way home…”
Rita froze. Leonhart had merely told her to follow the maid and change into a dress; he hadn’t mentioned anything about this.
Is it really right for me to wear them? I’m not even the true Lilietta…
Rita stifled the thought before it could slip past her lips. As she hesitated, Hannah dabbed at the corner of one eye and whispered softly.
“Each year, they were tailored to the typical size of noble ladies your age, Milady. Her Grace would often say how strange it felt that you remained a child in that old portrait while your clothes grew larger and larger. She would say, ‘She was once so tiny, and now she is all grown up…’”
“….”
Rita fell silent, an unspoken burden of guilt settling heavily on her chest. Seeing her lack of response, Hannah turned and clasped her hands together tightly.
“Your return truly is a miracle, Milady! Whenever I came to dust this room, my heart ached for these poor gowns with no one to wear them. I can only imagine how overjoyed Her Grace will be when she finds out. I pray that day comes swiftly.”
“…”
“So please, think nothing of earlier. It was merely a slight misunderstanding, wasn’t it? I am simply grateful that you have returned to us!”
Unable to meet the young woman’s misty-eyed gaze, Rita looked away and mumbled an awkward response.
“…Even so, I shouldn’t have threatened a civili—that is, scaring you like that was out of line.”
“Please, I’m entirely fine! I admit I was startled, but I’m not frightened any longer! How could I fear Her Grace’s cherished daughter? When I learned I was chosen to serve as your personal maid, I was thrilled beyond words!”
Overcome with feeling, Hannah pressed a hand to her bodice, her eyes shining bright.
“I hope you will feel at ease around me, Milady! I will dedicate myself entirely to your service, so please treat me as your own hands and feet from this day forward!”
“S-sure. Thank you.”
Slightly bewildered by the sudden outpouring of zeal, Rita offered an awkward nod. Hannah beamed, turned back to the double doors, and pushed them wide.
“Now then, Milady, shall we select your gown?”
The instant the doors parted, an odor hit Rita’s nostrils.
The fetid stench of soil soaked in a downpour. The acrid tang of charred wood. The sharp scent seared into her senses—horrifyingly familiar, violently foreboding.
It was the unmistakable stench a demonic beast expelled after gorging on human flesh.
An odor so overwhelmingly suffocating that even ordinary human senses could detect it could signify only one thing: a Named demonic beast. An elite aberration so catastrophic it demanded its own unique designation.
The final note of countless tragedies. The prelude to a desperate, bloody slaughter.
The nightmare scent provoked an instant, reflexive reaction. Rita seized the civilian beside her, hauled her backward, and shielded the girl with her own body as she dropped into a crouch and held her breath. Her hand swept instinctively toward her hip—
No sidearm. Dammit.
She could theoretically project Od into barehanded magic rounds, but only if her internal energy responded properly. Even then, she was entirely on her own. No reinforcements. Just herself and a defenseless noncombatant.
This couldn’t possibly be worse.