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~Chapter 31~
Shariette awkwardly patted the trembling shoulders of the girl. Mia spoke with a teary voice.
“Liar. You said you’d come soon, but days passed and you never came, so I went back to Argen Castle. But then Rubellot attacked, and I couldn’t even get to you…”
Shariette’s eyes widened. She grabbed Mia’s shoulders tightly.
“You went back there?! How did you survive? Everyone in that castle that day was…”
It wasn’t for nothing that Noxian Rubellot was called the Demon of Rubenshire.
Not only the Marquis family, but every last life in Argen Castle—none were spared in the massacre.
But Mia shook her head.
“No. The marquis family were all executed, but people who surrendered or didn’t resist were spared.”
Shariette’s expression turned blank.
“Not everyone was killed…?”
That was unexpected. The world believed otherwise, and she herself thought everyone there had been doomed because of the family they served.
‘Then why did the rumors say that?’
Mia continued carefully.
“I didn’t know the man you saved was really the young lord of Rubellot. I was caught sneaking back in that day and almost killed, but he recognized me and spared me.”
Just remembering it, Mia rubbed her arms as goosebumps rose.
The man who had beheaded the marquis family one by one, dripping with blood, had walked toward her that day.
Shariette asked, “So that’s how you ended up working here?”
Mia nodded.
“Yes. And actually, the reason I was sent here today was because of the young lord. He came to the castle recently and asked for me, saying there was someone I had to meet.”
Shariette stiffened, her face paling.
“That bastard… he brought Mia here on purpose? To confirm I’m Shasha? Did he already find out?!”
“Eek!”
Shariette shrieked and began pacing the room in panic.
‘Did Eden or Franz say something? But they didn’t recognize me…!’
She clutched her head, imagining her future.
“Dismemberment exhibition on the castle walls… eagle’s feast menu…”
The terrifying thoughts made Mia jump.
“What?! Shasha saved him—there’s no way he’d kill you. Even back then he—”
“No.” Shariette shook her head.
“He might spare someone innocent like you. But me? You know he never lets Argen blood live. And I’m Blanche and Mathias’s half blood relative. You saw what happened to them.”
Mia hiccupped. She remembered Mathias Argen vividly, the young master she once served.
Terrifying, merciless—every person who entered his care left only as a corpse. He was called an undertaker, not a doctor.
And then, he too was executed by the young lord’s sword, his body hung like meat on the castle walls.
Shariette sighed and sat down on the desk.
“So listen. If Noxian Rubellot ever asks you, you must never say I’m Shasha. Tell him you don’t know me.”
But then she remembered what Noxian once told her when she asked what he would do if he found the one he was looking for.
“Well… I’ve never spared anyone who deceived me.”
“Hmm… well, if he says he’ll kill you, just tell him the truth,” she muttered, scratching her head.
Mia clenched her fists.
“No, Shasha! I’ll never tell him. I’ll protect you from now on.”
Shariette gave a small smile.
“My name’s Shariette now. Shariette Verdette.”
“Yes! From now on, I’ll call you Lady Shariette!”
Shariette hesitated, then quietly added:
“…I’m glad you’re alive, too.”
Mia’s survival was proof that she had once been able to save someone with her own hands.
Mia, eyes full of determination, said, “It’s all thanks to you. I’ll do anything for you—just say the word!”
But deep inside, Mia still wondered.
‘Does the young lord really want to kill her? Back then, even covered in blood, the first thing he asked me was…’
“Where is Shasha?”
Two years later, he had told her:
“There’s someone you must see.”
He was different from the blood-soaked man at Argen Castle. Elegant, calm, but even more imposing.
And when he spoke:
“If she’s Shasha, then you will be the one to recognize her.”
That wasn’t a question—it was a command.
And then he murmured, perhaps to himself, perhaps to her:
“If it’s Shasha, she could never leave you behind.”
Those words sounded less like a threat of killing, and more like a vow to keep her. Still, it was not reassuring.
That night, Shariette saw Noxian again.
‘Am I dreaming?’
In her half-conscious state, she saw him leaning over her.
Bathed in pale moonlight, he looked like a demon from a dream.
He wasn’t smirking as usual—his face was blank, distant.
His hand gently stroked her hair.
In the haze, Shariette thought: This must be a dream.
Then his low voice came.
“Who are you.”
It didn’t sound like a question.
“…Shasha.”
His fingers toyed with her white hair. Even half-asleep, Shariette nearly screamed. A nightmare! This is a nightmare!
“Noxian murmured, “Shariette.”
“If that maid recognized you, then maybe… If you’re not Shasha, then perhaps Shasha really is dead.”
His words were calm, but when he gripped her white hair, his face looked almost sorrowful.
Shariette, half-conscious, slowly blinked. He looks… weak? Then this must be a dream.
And in a dream, she could say what she truly wished.
“Please… let me live.”
“…!”
“I may have deceived you… but I’m still useful, aren’t I?”
Her lips trembled as she whispered.
“Please… I don’t want to die…”
Noxian froze, staring at her faintly moving mouth.
“What kind of dream makes you beg like that?”
He wondered what kind of horror she must have suffered, to cry out for life even in her sleep.
“Who is it you fear so much?”
Shariette, even in her dream, burned with frustration.
“You! It’s you, you bastard!”
