TDAF 05

Scarlet wrapped her arms tightly around Victor, who had come to see her off.

“I’m going to miss you, Victor.”

Victor brushed Scarlet’s hair behind her ear as she gazed up at him desperately from within his embrace.

“When you return, Father’s anger will probably have subsided too.”

Scarlet nodded at his words, then leaned her head against his chest and asked quietly,

“Will your anger fade too?”

“No.”

At his matter-of-fact answer, the smile disappeared from Scarlet’s lips.

“Even after a month?”

“You betrayed me.”

What was her husband thinking?

Back when they were newlyweds, she used to lose sleep trying to understand the thoughts of the man she had fallen for at first sight.

She had even tried ridiculous flower-petal fortune tellings with only two answers—He loves me, he loves me not. She searched fields for rare flowers said to make love come true. She tried laughing, sulking, crying, but her husband never changed.

He never caught fire.

Whenever she stood beside the always-cold Victor, it felt like she alone was burning alive.

Sometimes she wondered how she had managed to love such a man for two whole years. But then she would think, That’s what unrequited love is.

Loving someone who does not love you back.

In the end, she believed only time could solve it. Someday, when the fire inside her finally burned out, this love would disappear too.

Scarlet stepped back with a smile and asked gently,

“What about three months? Will you forgive me after three months?”

“……”

“Then a hundred days. After a hundred days… forgive me, okay? Any longer than that and I’ll feel like you’ll forget me.”

“All right. Let’s do that.”

As soon as Victor answered, Scarlet brightened and threw herself into his arms again before stepping away and waving at him.

“See you in a hundred days, my love.”

“All right.”

Would his anger truly fade after a hundred days?

Would the fire in her heart finally die out too if they stayed apart that long?

Scarlet boarded the carriage desperately hoping for both.

Mellin Monastery was located far from the capital.

The expressions of Scarlet’s servants darkened as they entered the isolated monastery standing alone in the middle of nowhere.

The room prepared for Scarlet was made entirely of stone and contained almost nothing, like a prison cell.

Candace, the maid who brought in Scarlet’s luggage, frowned.

“Goodness, even if it’s a monastery, shouldn’t there at least be a bed? This is for an ascetic, not a person!”

Scarlet had expected something like this, so she merely smiled faintly and looked up at the small window. What worried her most was how little sunlight entered the room.

The servants busied themselves arranging winter bedding and braziers to make the room livable. For a wealthy household like the Dumpfelt family, bringing this much luggage while traveling was only natural.

At that moment, a priest named Delpio entered the room. Gregory himself had entrusted Scarlet to him.

Seeing the servants unpacking bedding, Delpio spoke sternly.

“What do you think you are doing? Why would a woman who came here to repent need so much luggage?”

The servants froze.

Delpio continued,

“Take everything out immediately. The god Reskia will be displeased.”

“No matter what, how can you treat our lady—”

Candace tried to protest, but Delpio cut her off sharply.

“This is also Lord Gregory’s command.”

“……”

Once Gregory’s orders were mentioned, even Candace had no choice but to back down.

The servants reluctantly gathered the luggage they had unpacked, glancing back repeatedly before finally leaving the room.

After they were gone, Delpio stood before Scarlet with a holy scripture in hand.

A nun approached and whispered quietly,

“You should kneel.”

Then even the nun left, and Scarlet nervously knelt before the priest.

Turning the pages of the scripture, Delpio said,

“God Reskia has spoken. Every demon resides within the technologies humans create to surpass one another. Therefore, as the daughter of clockmakers and a woman born into the Crimson family, you were born carrying original sin.”

Scarlet’s expression stiffened.

Reskia was the god of nature, and Edelrode—the state religion of Salantier—worshipped this god. Centuries ago, Salantier’s nomadic ancestors had followed a small star and settled in this land. Since then, they worshipped both that guiding star and Reskia, the creator of the natural world.

It was true that followers of Reskia sought lives close to nature. But invoking religion to claim Scarlet herself was born sinful was nothing more than Delpio’s twisted logic.

Scarlet spoke.

“My parents didn’t make clocks to surpass other people.”

“Time is something nature reveals on its own. Creating artificial means to measure it and making people rush through life is the work of demons.”

“That’s ridiculous…”

“Which is why you betrayed your husband.”

Soon afterward, Delpio ordered the monks to force her onto her knees on the cold floor.

Then he declared proudly,

“You may not yet understand your sins, but soon you will. In this place, you shall attain both repentance and purification.”

A hundred days turned out to be far longer than Scarlet had imagined.

During that time, the bitterest part of winter passed, and the harsh chill of early spring arrived. Salantier received heavy snowfall throughout December and January. In February and March, the capital was filled with rain and fierce winds that made the weather bleak and oppressive.

While his wife remained at the monastery, Victor endured interviews with reporters—a task entirely unsuited to his temperament.

He gazed out the carriage window at the pouring rain. Blight, after meticulously straightening the countless medals on Victor’s uniform so that not a single one sat crooked, narrowed his eyes critically before pouting in dissatisfaction over some tiny imperfection.

Victor himself had hired Blight precisely because of that near-obsessive attention to order. Since he had chosen him personally, Victor endured the behavior without complaint despite finding it exhausting.

After much deliberation, Blight finally finished adjusting Victor’s appearance and carefully plucked the wilted petals from the bouquet he had brought.

Even the motion of handing the flowers to Victor was executed with care as Blight asked,

“Will you truly be all right meeting Duchess Marina?”

“I visit her often enough.”

“But this time reporters are coming with you.”

“It can’t be helped.”

He had hoped never to resort to this method, but the royal police and newspapers continued relentlessly attacking Victor over his treatment of his mother.

Soon Blight stepped out of the carriage first and opened an umbrella.

Reporters crowded around as Victor emerged from the carriage holding the bouquet in one hand.

The reporters, who had prepared aggressive questions, hesitated the moment they saw his handsome but rigid face appear through the rain. It was hard to believe this imposing young officer was only twenty-six years old.

Victor entered Oslit Monastery, the wealthiest monastery in the capital, where his mother Marina Dumpfelt resided.

Oslit Monastery was famous for its chapel filled with stained glass. It was beautiful, but only a very select few were granted permission to enter.

His mother, Marina Dumpfelt, sat in an armchair on a porch overlooking the garden—a luxurious space funded by the enormous donations Victor had made.

When Victor approached, Marina looked at him.

“Victor.”

“Mother.”

Victor smiled faintly as he approached. Then he knelt beside her chair on the fine wooden floor and looked up at her.

Marina gently stroked his hair for a moment before suddenly springing to her feet.

Her expression twisted violently as she seized him by the throat.

“You… if it weren’t for you…”

“…you would still be royalty. Yes, I know.”

“You should never have been born! You ruined my life!”

“You’ve told me that many times already.”

Victor made no attempt to stop her as her thin hands clawed at his shoulders and neck.

This happened often.

After a long while of striking and scratching him as though trying to kill him, Marina finally grew tired and breathed heavily. Then, as if some clarity had returned, she asked,

“How is your wife?”

“She’s well.”

“Does she still love you that much?”

At that, Victor smiled faintly.

“Of course. Enough to overwhelm me.”

Marina nodded before speaking again.

“When I was little, did I ever tell you about the slide in the royal palace?”

“…No.”

He had heard the story thousands of times already. The story of the slide with golden handles, the cradle adorned with jade decorations passed down through generations of royalty.

She rambled on for a long time about growing up in the palace, but eventually her bitterness toward Victor resurfaced once more. The bouquet he had brought had long since been torn apart in one of her outbursts and thrown into the rain.

Victor patiently listened until Marina finally began drifting toward sleep from exhaustion.

As he stood to leave, Marina grabbed his arm.

“My son… someday, take me back to the royal palace.”

Her face was filled with a madness intertwined with indescribable hope.

“My beloved son. You’re the only one I can trust. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

Victor adjusted her blanket gently and said,

“One day, I’ll take you back to the palace.”