Mess 185

185.

“What does it look like I’m holding right now?”

Seraphie, who had wisely kept her mouth shut, glanced at the stack of documents in Luni’s hand.

Among them, a dusky blue envelope caught her eye.

“…A newspaper bill?”

“It’s my certificate of title from the Emperor, you damned superior!”

Luni threw the letter at Seraphie’s face with all her strength. The sharp smack it made was quite satisfying.

Only then did Seraphie notice the seal on the envelope.

That accursed World Tree. It was the imperial crest.

“My official title has finally been granted!”

Just after coming under Seraphie, Luni had crafted for herself a new surname, ‘Farence.’

Then Seraphie bestowed upon her the title of Baron.

She had used one of the rights listed in the noble certificate she’d newly received from the Emperor—the right to confer titles upon subordinate retainers.

The official approval and certificate of title for this had arrived at the Validus estate earlier that morning.

“This damn superior…!”

She’s lost herself to lust!

Fury seethed inside Luni.

Still, she tried, as a friend, to be understanding. After all, people could have some intense lovemaking with their partners.

They were both young and attractive, so there was bound to be fierce attraction.

But surely one should consider the time and place.

“Do you know what I told the imperial servant who delivered this certificate? ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. The Count is busy and, ah, quite heated right now with her lover….’”

“You didn’t really say that, did you?”

Seraphie was aghast.

“Of course I didn’t!”

Luni let out an exasperated hiss.

“Did you want to do that after knowing what’s going on outside? Even if I got along well with Karl, we never let it interfere with our schedules!”

“Perhaps you just weren’t passionate enough?”

Seraphie eyed her skeptically.

“Karl is incredible, I’ll have you know!”

Luni, exasperated, raised her voice.

He always had been, but ever since she’d seen the multi-person tent shown by the enchanted tracksuit she’d received as a gift last year, things had grown even more heated—useless information she just had to add.

“My darling is far better than your taciturn lover!”

“Oh, I’ve had just about enough of this woman!”

Seraphie shot to her feet, newly indignant.

“Hey, did you see? Did you actually see?”

“Of course I did! That’s why nothing happened between you two for a whole year!”

“That’s proof of his restraint for my sake! And just wait until—!”

And so, their voices grew louder as they argued over whose lover was more impressive.

At that very moment, a butler delivering flowers from the garden opened the door, heard the commotion, and quietly closed it again.

The very lovers in question were, in fact, amiably working on preparations for the founding of the knighthood elsewhere.

After quite some time snarling at each other, the two were left panting, breathless.

Only then did their reason and intelligence, briefly scattered, start to return to proper function.

“…Where’s my pen?”

“Your signature, please….”

Chastened by embarrassment that crept up on them at last, they hesitated awkwardly. Seraphie signed the certificate of title, and Luni received it.

“Ahem.”

Seraphie steadied her slightly hoarse voice.

“So then, Baron Luni Farence.”

“Yes, my lady Count.”

“I look forward to working with you.”

“Yes, my lady Count.”

It was, without question, a disorderly and utterly chaotic investiture.

“In any case.”

Seraphie cleared her throat again to dispel the atmosphere. She decided to yield first, admitting she was partly at fault this time.

“So, any important news or messages….”

“Took you long enough to ask.”

Luni replied, examining her certificate of title from various angles.

She held the paper up to the light streaming through the window, checking for errors or anything amiss, inspecting it again and again.

Despite having received her title, she still seemed unable to fully believe it.

She carefully placed the certificate back in its envelope.

“Lady Baglosa wishes to meet you.”

“Shouldn’t you have told me that sooner?”

“Who are you blaming right now?”

Luni’s gaze grew sharp.

She remembered how she’d gone all the way to the bedchamber to let her know, only to flee in haste at the sound of passionate struggle beyond the door. The thought still made her grind her teeth.

“My apologies….”

Seraphie bowed her head once more in apology.

---

Meeting Lady Baglosa again, she seemed considerably calmer.

According to Luni, she had eaten every meal and slept soundly. With the help of the maids, she had even bathed.

Her clothes were simple and plain—a set Seraphie had designed for working, so it suited Lady Baglosa rather poorly.

“Her eyes are swollen,” Seraphie thought.

Slightly reddened, too.

Lady Baglosa couldn’t meet Seraphie’s gaze, but Seraphie watched her with an almost brazen directness.

The reddened eyes and parched lips bore no resemblance to the beauty she had beheld the previous year.

She must have wept a great deal.

“It would be stranger if she hadn’t.”

For Lady Baglosa, it was an overwhelming change.

Her family had collapsed. Her father had been killed by her brother. The shock must have been immense.

And to make things worse, the very person who could help her was someone she’d once chewed up and spat out as an afterthought. Her pride must have suffered terribly.

Of course, Seraphie had no thought of sparing her pride.

“Did you rest well?”

“……”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Seraphie got straight to the point.

“I hear you asked for me.”

“This morning, I made some inquiries….”

Lady Baglosa’s eyes narrowed, a trace of resentment in her gaze.

Seraphie could tell she thought she had been deliberately left waiting for a long time to break her spirit.

“…That wasn’t my intention.”

Not wanting to mention the situation in the bedroom, Seraphie offered a brief, vague apology.

Fortunately, Lady Baglosa didn’t push her further.

“I wish… to propose a deal.”

“A deal?”

“This will be very valuable information for you.”

“……”

Seraphie felt a sense of déjà vu.

In the Lady’s bold proposal for a transaction, she faintly detected an echo of herself a year earlier.

“Was I like that too?”

The time when she had, without forethought, sent a letter to the Duke of Pelikia, asking him to confirm the desertion of the gods’ land which she had discovered.

“The Duke must have gone to great lengths to meet me then.”

To willingly receive someone so insignificant and pitiable.

But aside from such personal marveling, Seraphie’s heart was pounding.

Her mind spun, swiftly deducing what Lady Baglosa could be offering under these circumstances.

In this situation, the only thing she could present as a deal would be…

“What deal do you propose?”

Seraphie concealed her knowledge and asked knowingly. She imitated the calm demeanor of the Duke of Pelikia, who had once aided her.

At that, Lady Baglosa, as if she’d been waiting for this, drew several letters from within her robes.

“I found these in my father’s secret vault.”

“I see.”

“The sender is probably….”

Trailing off, Lady Baglosa glanced sidelong at Seraphie.

“…The person you’re thinking of.”

Her distaste at the thought of using an honorific for the Count was all too plain, and instead of annoyance, Seraphie could only feel amusement.

In fact, it was a situation that made her quite pleased. Lady Baglosa had brought precisely what she wanted.

If not for the gravity of the moment, Seraphie might have kissed her cheeks in delight right there.

“And who do you think I’m thinking of?”

“Catio and Mars, Tiphion, Gramene, Rodo.”

“……”

“My condition is that I will hand these to you, and in return, I want something from you.”

She spoke bravely enough, but Lady Baglosa’s face was taut with tension.

She even wore a faint confidence, as if handling the negotiation well.

“Oh dear…”

By contrast, Seraphie was filled with a mix of pity and acute embarrassment.

A measure of pity—for Lady Baglosa, under the delusion that the negotiation was proceeding on her own terms.

And the acute embarrassment—for seeing in her the embarrassing memories of herself.

Had she really confronted the Duke of Pelikia in such a bumbling, amateurish way?

But because of that, Seraphie could easily spot numerous flaws in Lady Baglosa’s approach.

“Too clumsy.”

Though a noble, it was clear she had never learned how to directly negotiate or handle serious affairs of this kind. She was quite inexperienced.

Thus, her tone, expression, and gestures were all awkward.

Especially when, stopping briefly to declare the names of the senders, her eyes trembled so violently that Seraphie herself was on edge just watching.

To reveal so easily what was her lifeline, her last rope to salvation—did she understand what she was doing?

But the greatest problem lay elsewhere.

She labored under the illusion that she was the one with the upper hand.

True, there was no need to act servile or grovel in a negotiation. In fact, such behavior would only diminish her and prevent the building of trust.

Yet it was vital to correctly discern who truly held the initiative.

This was something quite distinct from simply being timid or hesitant.

That was why Seraphie, last spring, when she rode in the carriage with the Duke of Pelikia to see the land abandoned by the gods, had remained quietly reserved.

But nor had she humbled herself or acted in a servile manner.

Once she’d revealed her own cards, she conducted the negotiation with as much poise as she could muster.

“Duke, now I see—you truly were an angel.”

Seraphie felt a new sense of gratitude toward her future father-in-law.

So—

“If you’re thinking of rejecting my proposal, that would be a mistake.”

Seraphie decided willingly to show her a great mercy, by teaching her a lesson in knowing her place.

“…Ha.”

With a short, hollow laugh.

“My lady.”

And then, with every trace of amusement wiped from her face, she said coldly:

In a voice flat and weary, her tone like a sharpened weapon, she made Lady Baglosa falter.

The air, suddenly keen as a thousand needles, seemed to prick Lady Baglosa’s skin.

“You seem to be quite mistaken.”

Tac, tac.

“Do you really know where you are, to be so confident?”

Seraphie’s fingers, resting on the sofa’s armrest, moved slowly but with measured rhythm.

Again, tac, tac.

And again, tac.

“Mm?”

With a faint tilt of her head, her blue bobbed hair shadowed her face.

A hand brushed aside the fallen hair, the blue irises revealed between her fingers—cold and unwavering.

Seraphie’s gestures, her gaze, her voice—

Her very presence—

For one brief moment, they taught the pitiable, naive girl, who believed things were advancing by her will, the cruel reality of her situation.