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Chapter 14
Wow, I get it now.
Thanks to some artistic license, even Duke Persia, who’s an eagle beastman, must have had hair.
“This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t said, ‘Why isn’t the Black Mamba black-haired?’”
Unfortunately, Duke Persia had struck a nerve with Wishid.
Half-breed, hybrid, mixed with human blood—Wishid loathed any comments related to that.
“Maybe I should just kill him.”
When I looked up at the barely audible mutter, Wishid’s face was as calm as ever.
So I thought I had misheard and let it go.
In the original story, Wishid never killed Duke Persia. That duke was destined to be killed by Reynold later on.
“Hey, Squeaky. Time for bed. You won’t grow if you stay up too late.”
As Kaiman started his nagging, Wishid scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom.
The familiar scent of the sleeping incense surrounded us again.
One more thing had changed lately—now I slept in the same bed with him.
At first, it was so uncomfortable I thought I’d die, but now, the moment we entered the bedroom, sleep came easily.
Once again, I fell asleep nestled comfortably in Wishid’s arms.
* * *
“Squeaky.”
“…”
“Squeaky.”
Wishid called me a few times before I finally snapped back to awareness.
“Still sleepy?”
“Squeaak…”
I replied weakly.
Even though I’d gone to bed early and even slept in, I still felt tired. It had already been a week since this started.
Coincidentally—or not—it had started right after I began living with Wishid.
Maybe living with him was secretly taking a toll on my body.
Sitting on a cushion, my head bobbed with sleep.
That’s when someone knocked on the door.
“Count Camellen requests an audience.”
“Let him in.”
Soon, a man with huge, bulging eyes that looked like they could roll right out entered the room.
From his name and appearance, it wasn’t hard to guess he was a chameleon beastman.
Without even lifting his eyes from the documents, Wishid spoke before the Count could open his mouth.
“Get to the point.”
“Ah, yes. Um, the temple contacted us.”
At the word “temple,” Wishid finally set down the documents and gave a small nod for him to continue.
“Speak.”
“They’ve asked for double the donation.”
“They’ve completely lost their minds.”
Wishid furrowed his brows and released pheromones.
Maybe because his blood was flowing through me, I only felt a bit of pressure when breathing, but Count Camellen was red in the face and sweating profusely.
Hmm, so it takes more than this for me to get a headache now.
“T-they said they’re preparing a gift you’ll never regret!”
“A gift?”
“Y-yes! They said it’s exactly what Your Grace desires—you’ll definitely be pleased!”
“Hm.”
Wishid only hesitated briefly.
“Fine. Let them.”
I widened my eyes at his reply.
Count Camellen beamed, bowed quickly, and dashed out of the office.
‘Should I tell him or not?’
I stood at a crossroads in my mind.
Not that I was attached to Wishid or anything, and honestly, this part wasn’t even that important in the original story…
But if Wishid gets angry and goes berserk, I’d be the one to die for no reason.
The temple will give him a gift he likes. But only for a moment—soon after, he’ll fly into a furious rage.
Because…
“That trap is practically glowing neon.”
It’s a trap.
* * *
“Whew.”
Count Camellen let out a breath of relief.
Wiping off his cold sweat, he hurried down the hallway.
‘That was easier than expected.’
He’d gone in ready to lose an arm, but came out with a huge success.
‘He’ll be pleased when I report this.’
The count quickened his pace, filled with excitement.
But then, something nagged at him.
‘I’m sure there was a rat on the desk…’
He shook his head, deciding it must’ve been a hallucination caused by nerves.
After all, there was no way a rat would be casually wandering around near a snake.
What a ridiculous combination—a snake and a rat?
You couldn’t find a more incompatible pair.
As soon as Count Camellen left the Duke of Erquil’s estate, he reported everything to him.
‘He’ll praise me, right?’
His heart swelled with anticipation, but the response was nothing like he expected.
A translucent silhouette shifted behind the black curtain.
One of his attendants spoke.
“Step forward.”
Finally, he’d get to meet him in person—his heart swelled with joy.
“He asked… what’s that sweet smell?”
“S-sweet…?”
The count blinked, thrown by the random question.
All he had on him was a bloody bandage he’d picked up in the garden. He’d taken it with him, almost instinctively, but there was no way something sweet-smelling could come from that.
And then—his head was severed from his body.
Blood sprayed, his life faded, and from behind the curtain, he emerged.
A pale hand reached into the count’s robe and pulled something out.
When he saw the bloodstained bandage, his eyes gleamed.
“…Found it.”
I blinked blankly.
Honestly, I felt a bit stunned.
In the original story, Wishid gets screwed over by the temple, the imperial family, and the protagonist. He’s basically a villain punching bag with a rotten personality…
[That trap is practically glowing neon.]
‘This is weird.’
How does he seem to know everything?
I couldn’t shake the strange unease.
‘Is there some part of the setting I forgot?’
But it didn’t feel like that kind of detail…
The more I thought, the deeper into the fog I went. It was frustrating—no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure it out.
I flopped down onto the cushion, and felt someone watching me.
“Still sleepy?”
Wishid had stopped reading the documents and was looking at me.
Every time I saw him, I thought the same thing—it was such a waste for a guy that hot to be the villain punching bag.
According to the original setting, he should’ve had black hair, but he had golden hair instead—a surprise twist.
And the combo of blond hair and red eyes was stunning every time. Plus the dark circles under his eyes added a mysterious, dangerous vibe.
A sharp jawline, long neck, and beneath that, a firm—
Pfft.
I quickly wiped the drool from my lips before he could notice.
“Marquis Seinder requests an audience.”
Marquis Seinder?
The moment I heard the name, my drowsiness vanished completely.
In all the time I’d been with Wishid, it was the first time two visitors had come on consecutive days.
Most of his aides, knowing his temperament, preferred non-face-to-face interactions. And honestly, Wishid also preferred it that way—less temptation to kill someone mid-meeting.
Had he seen those people in person while reading those documents, he would’ve just straight-up killed them.
Wishid told them to let the guest in, and the door opened as if it had been waiting. A middle-aged man entered, his face as stern as Kaiman’s.
He gave off a similar vibe to Wishid—maybe because he was a rattlesnake beastman, a relative of the black mamba.
I swallowed nervously.
Marquis Seinder was the father of the villainess in the original story, which only made me more tense.
“Straight to the point.”
“Marry. Or at least produce an heir.”
Wishid dismissed the marquis’s words like they were nothing.
But Marquis Seinder calmly added,
“Sleep with my daughter.”
“And what good would mixing with a half-breed do?”
Wishid smiled faintly.
“—Isn’t that what people would say?”
I felt like sparks were flying in the air.
Then suddenly, Marquis Seinder’s gaze turned toward me.
That intense look made me flinch without realizing it.
