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Chapter 30
“Your Excellency, are you all right?”
“…….”
Hogg let out a rough laugh as he spoke.
“Please don’t worry. This sort of thing happens all the time, doesn’t it?”
“……That’s precisely the problem. It seems there may still be a monster nest nearby that we haven’t discovered yet.”
“We’ll find it soon enough.”
Benjamin did not reply to Hogg. Instead, he roughly rubbed his forehead with one hand.
Isabella’s letter kept resurfacing in his mind.
As always, my answer is the same. We cannot meet again.
He couldn’t understand it.
Why was Isabella so determined not to see him?
I want you to forget me and live your own life.
You must find your own happiness.
How could I possibly do that, he thought, when I know you’re enduring each day in misery…
He was cursed, tainted. He was not allowed a life of his own, nor the right to seek happiness.
If so, then at the very least, he wanted to grant that freedom to Isabella—to the only person who had ever been warm to him throughout his entire life.
But—
From within the smoke that blanketed the clearing, a voice echoed once more.
Benjamin, you are a monster. Who would ever consider someone like you family?
The voice belonged to Damon Ispern, the former Count of Ispern.
Perhaps they were right.
He was born with ill fortune. Perhaps enduring unhappiness was better than enduring him.
That might be why even Isabella no longer wished to see him again.
It felt as though the ground beneath his feet were collapsing.
Hogg, who had been watching him, lowered his head and slowly stepped back.
When Benjamin returned to the castle, Helena was standing in front of a massive sweet osmanthus tree, speaking with the gardener.
“If it gets a bit colder, the camellias will bloom, but in this season, this is the only tree that flowers.”
“Then at least make this one look presentable.”
“I will do so, my lady.”
Truthfully, she didn’t like sweet osmanthus. Its fragrance was far too strong, and for someone as sensitive as she was, it caused headaches.
But that was only her case. Most people enjoyed the scent of sweet osmanthus drifting on the breeze.
And besides, in this desolate jungle, it was the only tree that offered both flowers and fragrance. If nothing else, it had to be kept in good condition.
Letting out a light sigh, Helena turned her head—and her gaze met Benjamin’s as he walked along the path between the gardens.
“…!”
Helena startled.
Just where has he been rolling around to end up looking like that?
Benjamin looked utterly wretched. His face was smeared with soot, and the cloak tucked under his arm reeked of burning.
Worse still, his armor was splattered here and there with some unknown black liquid, sticky like tar.
He looked exactly like the castle had when she first saw it.
Is turning everything into a mess his hobby or something?
As that thought crossed her mind, the anger she had temporarily forgotten amid her busyness began to boil violently in her chest.
What the hell is wrong with that man? Why does he make me this furious?
If one really thought about it, everything was Benjamin’s fault.
He was the one who had left the castle in a state too shameful to show anyone. And it was also because of him that she had been humiliated today in front of Duchess Russel and the other noblewomen of the South.
The castle is already in chaos—what do you think will happen if guests come?
She had never imagined that the casual question Benjamin had tossed out days ago would lead to this outcome.
Did he really create this entire situation just to screw me over?
Benjamin was the one who had trashed the castle. Benjamin was the one who had come up with that half-baked scheme. Yet it was she who was now running around frantically to clean up the mess.
The anger swelling in her chest was no longer just about exhaustion—it was an intense, accumulating loathing toward Benjamin Ispern himself.
The reason he had done all this was painfully obvious.
He said he’d take revenge—so I suppose this is his revenge.
A few days earlier, Helena had traveled alone with Aaron to the trade city of Goha to meet Wesley.
It wasn’t something she had told Benjamin to worry about, nor had she ever imagined that he would worry at all.
Who could have predicted that he would chase her all the way to Goha, frothing like a dog whose bone had been taken away?
And after storming into Goha like that, Benjamin—clearly feeling deeply wronged—had threatened revenge.
She just hadn’t expected this to be it.
Grinding her teeth, Helena spoke in a low voice.
“…Are you actually insane?”
Benjamin looked at her silently.
Those eyes again.
That gaze that looked at her as though she were the most pathetic person in the world.
I should just stab his eyeballs.
Helena stepped forward and continued.
“So this is the revenge I get for daring to step out for one day to look for a former steward, just to try and make this place livable. I received it loud and clear.”
Perhaps it was the osmanthus scent.
With her head aching and exhaustion weighing on her, she hated Benjamin—truly, deeply hated him.
“Thanks to you, the castle is completely overturned, Benjamin Ispern. How does it feel to publicly disgrace people who are doing everything they can to rebuild this castle, this family?”
Benjamin stared down at her for a long moment, then furrowed his brow and closed his eyes.
“…What on earth are you talking about?”
“Guests!”
Even amid the chaos, Benjamin could faintly piece things together.
Since becoming count, prominent figures in southern high society had often sent him letters requesting social ties. Benjamin had ignored every single one.
But a few days ago, stirred by emotion in front of Helena—who had said she wanted to hit him—he had impulsively replied to one of those letters.
It was nothing more than a brief, noncommittal response: With best regards.
He had assumed any sane person would ignore it and promptly forgotten about it.
Yet it seemed some decidedly insane individual had taken that letter seriously and come all the way here—thoroughly raking over Helena’s nerves in the process.
There was no excuse.
“…I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Oh, I’m sorry too—but this isn’t something that ends with an apology.”
Helena stepped directly in front of him, blocking his way, and smiled coldly.
“This is the picture you wanted, right? Me being publicly humiliated in front of the southern noblewomen. You were hoping I’d cry in front of the duchess—or maybe run away.”
She let out a scoffing laugh.
“And then I’d think, ‘No matter how hard I try, it’s pointless,’ shut myself away in that annex, and sob my eyes out. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“…….”
No.
He had wanted to get back at her, resented her for hating him so openly. But not to that extent.
Even to himself, the excuse sounded pitiful.
Looking at the speechless Benjamin, Helena erased even the icy smile from her lips and glared at him.
“Please, just stop it. Even if you don’t do things like this…”
I’ll leave you someday.
She nearly said it.
But she still couldn’t—not yet.
Benjamin Ispern, I won’t settle for petty revenge. I’ll uncover your most fatal secret and one day drag you down into the abyss. Leaving comes after that.
Helena took a deep, heated breath, then spoke with a mind now frozen cold.
“…I already hate you enough.”
Compared to the thoughts she kept buried inside, those words were almost gentle.
But once again, Benjamin Ispern’s reaction exceeded her expectations.
He lowered the hand that had been covering his eyes.
And the emptiness in his red eyes—wounded by her words—was so stark that even Helena felt her heart drop.
Harvest Festival
As Helena drained yet another glass of wine—she had lost count of how many by now—she thought to herself,
Just what is that man, anyway?
That man was, of course, her husband, Benjamin Ispern.
In the past, she had believed men to be rather simple creatures.
They strained their minds over politics, economics, and strategy, yet delighted in becoming fools in front of women.
Knowing full well it was an obvious lie, they would still press a gold coin into the hand of a young girl offering a wildflower, claiming she needed money to buy medicine for her mother. Knowing they had been stood up, they would still wait for hours at the appointed meeting place for their lover.
They would gladly bend their knees to pick up a handkerchief dropped merely to draw their attention, and if a woman staggered as though dizzy, they would eagerly offer their arm.
And they thought that sort of behavior made them gallant.
Of course, she had also heard that such bothersome yet kind creatures became far more bothersome—and far less kind—after marriage.
That, too, made sense. During courtship, they puff out their chests as though they could pluck the stars from the sky, but how could anyone live that way forever?
She had heard so many stories that it was no longer surprising—stories of couples who once set high society abuzz with their passionate romances, only to look at each other like strangers after just a few years of marriage.
After having children, the illusions they held of one another supposedly vanished, replaced by something like comradeship. And that, people said, was how they became a family.
But this—this was not it.
