A presence visited for the first time in several days since the initial assassin—but this time, it wasn’t one, but two.
Their approach was also slightly different from before. It felt like they had received a mission one level above mere intimidation.
“Ghk.”
Perhaps a real assassination this time.
A sharp dagger flew toward my throat. I rolled off the bed, trampling the first assassin—who had already collapsed unconscious at my feet.
Whoosh.
A thin blade came flying, aiming for that exact moment.
I reached out, grabbed the blade with my bare hand, and charged toward the second assassin. As the hilt drove into the inner corner of his left eye, a pained breath escaped the lips of the seasoned killer.
“Hk.”
I had tried to handle it quietly, but dealing with two made things a little noisy.
The second assassin staggered to his feet and steadied his breathing.
“You… what are you—”
“Shh.”
I knocked him unconscious with a strike to the head.
As expected, this was getting annoying. Did they send two because the first one never reported back?
‘Should I call this stupidity, or efficiency?’
From their mouths and sleeves, I retrieved the now-familiar suicide pills.
That made six <Merciful Bite> pills in total.
Coincidentally, the same number as the merchant association executives. Truly, small things do add up. I should make sure to pass these along to the butler assassin.
“…These guys.”
What to do.
The 고민 was short, and the action was swift.
I decided to send these two assassins to the butler assassin. No matter how I thought about it, that was the best option.
‘What about the next assassins who come?’
I couldn’t keep handing them off forever.
For now, I opened the window and dropped the two bodies out, then followed, landing on the ground myself. Rain had begun to fall from the sky.
Suddenly, I remembered the flowerpot I had left on the front steps.
Unlike what I’d expected, no sprout had appeared over the past few days, which had been quietly bothering me. Now that it was raining, I felt a small sense of anticipation—maybe the cotyledons would finally emerge.
Just two more walls to climb over and—
“What in the world is going on here, Miss Daisy?”
Gasp.
The moment I turned, I locked eyes with the head maid standing by the back door.
She had just crushed out a cigarette into a tin and was staring wide-eyed at the sprawled “packages.”
“Who are they?”
This was way too obvious. There was no way to dodge this.
“S-spies.”
“Did you handle them alone?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer that. The head maid tapped her chin several times, looking troubled, before letting out a sigh.
“When will they wake up?”
“In… about three or four hours…”
“I see. Follow me.”
I obediently followed her back into the mansion.
I’m doomed.
‘What’s going to happen to me? Am I getting fired like this?’
I had only just started getting used to this maid job. If I got kicked out, where was I supposed to go?
But wait—why should I get fired? I didn’t even do anything wrong. Is being strong a crime now?
“Miss Daisy.”
“Yes.”
“To me, you are quite a meaningful person.”
I glanced at her with just my eyes.
The back of her head, as she climbed the stairs, was as calm and composed as always.
“You’re the first person to last more than a week in the Weatherwoods mansion. But after today, I think I understand why. I want to thank you.”
Ah.
‘So the head maid didn’t know about the threats the maids had been facing.’
Still, it felt strange.
From the client’s perspective, wouldn’t the head maid be the most important target?
Why hadn’t the assassins gone after her?
She stopped in front of a bedroom on the second floor.
This door was unfamiliar to me.
It was the bedroom of the Viscount Weatherwoods.
“Would you like to meet the master, Miss Daisy?”
So suddenly?
I whipped my head around in shock, and the head maid gave a slightly bitter smile.
“I think you’ll be alright. Of course, the choice is yours. You may meet him, or you may not—”
“I’ll meet him.”
I looked at her with the most sincere maid-like eyes I could muster.
Meeting the Viscount Weatherwoods. Becoming more closely tied to the family.
Being appointed as a lifetime maid. Lifetime means I won’t get fired!
Even if I beat up spies, I won’t get fired!
“I’ll definitely meet him.”
This was an opportunity given to me by the heavens—no, by the head maid.
And I had no intention of throwing away the chance to sleep in a bed and eat properly for the next three years.
“Answer politely.”
“I will meet him.”
“You should say, ‘I will pay my respects.’ There is something you must know. Meeting the master comes with a condition. You must swear to me that you will not reveal any information about him.”
A vow.
As in, a binding promise to absolutely uphold a commitment?
Her gaze, faintly sunken, fixed on me.
She spoke in her usual calm, composed tone.
“The vow I speak of is a magical one—one that binds our souls. It isn’t recorded verbally or in writing, but engraved directly onto the soul. It may sound trivial, but breaking it comes with a severe penalty.”
There was only one penalty for a soul-bound vow.
“Death.”
“That’s right. I thought you might know. It’s an unpleasant condition, isn’t it?”
“Then who casts the vow?”
“I will place it on you myself.”
She was right.
Very unpleasant.
Not just the condition of meeting the Viscount, but the head maid herself.
‘She can cast vows?’
Magic was like a sport.
Effort and perseverance could only take you so far—beyond a certain point, it became a contest of innate talent and wit.
And among all “sports,” magic was one where talent was exceedingly rare.
To begin with, people capable of using magic were uncommon. Even reaching an average level was enough to secure a lifelong livelihood.
Magic clinics and artifact workshops in every town served as their steady careers.
The vow itself was a low-tier spell.
But a mage was still a mage.
Every mage received special advantages in government recruitment. Even the most incompetent among them could live off the state.
‘And yet a mage is working as a mere head maid? Is that why she wasn’t targeted by assassins? Was it a trap?’
A household frequently visited by assassins.
A household connected to Dian Ket’s relics.
A household employing a mage as its head maid.
Weatherwoods… definitely suspicious.
“Hold out your arm.”
I rolled up my sleeve and extended my arm.
On the inside of my forearm were two lines—marks of vows I had made during my time as Andert.
“…Are these all vows?”
A vow is engraved not on the body, but on the soul.
So even if I returned from a male body to a female one, the marks engraved on “me” would not disappear.
They couldn’t be erased by any transformation magic—only concealed.
“The simplest magic often holds the greatest power.”
“Miss Daisy… what kind of life did you live?”
…A soldier?
I averted my gaze.
She shook her head, then revealed her own arm—bearing a single vow mark.
Our arms met, aligning as one.
A mystical energy flowed between us.
She whispered:
“I request a vow from you. The condition is: <Do not disclose any secrets of the Weatherwoods family>. Do you agree?”
“I agree.”
A long red line was drawn in the air.
Flames flickered along it before it slowly descended onto our arms.
It burned fiercely as it touched the skin.
The line seared into the flesh, then sank inward—engraved upon the soul like a tattoo.
No matter how many times I experienced it, the sensation was unpleasant.
“…Hoo.”
After a long breath, the bedroom door opened.
The room was dark.
Thick blackout curtains blocked even the faint moonlight behind the clouds.
The head maid lit a lamp beside the bed and gestured to me.
“Come closer and show your respect, Miss Daisy.”
Why was this room so dark and silent?
Why didn’t it feel like a place where someone lived?
Why could I sense no presence other than the head maid and myself?
Why did the Viscount not question why maids came to him at such a late hour?
Swallowing all those questions, I finally faced the figure on the bed.
“This is the head of the Weatherwoods family—”
The Viscount Weatherwoods…
“That is, Lord Grey Weatherwoods.”
…was an egg.
