Chapter 5

Seymour Mausoleum (4)

Coo?

The pigeon gave a short moan as a force dragged it downward.

Like a falling leaf, it zigzagged clumsily through the air and landed on the balcony.

Coo-coo…?

As the pigeon tilted its head in confusion, I reached out and seized its small body.

Coo-coo-Coo!

Startled by the massive hand gripping it, the pigeon shrieked and flapped its wings wildly.

“……”

That frantic flapping grated on my nerves.

I tightened my grip on its neck just slightly. The pigeon’s struggle weakened under the pressure.

Several layers of feathers, beneath them the thin skin, the heartbeat, the slender yet resilient bones of its neck—

All of it transmitted vividly through my fingers.

Coo… coo…

The bird’s cries grew faint as its airway was crushed.

“……”

I felt the pulse beneath my fingers slow…

And then—

Jerk.

Something tugged at my trousers. Startled, I looked down.

It was Lucis.

Flap!

The pigeon seized that moment of weakness and tore free, soaring up into the sky.

“Ah…”

Whatever terror it felt, the pigeon fled in desperate haste, becoming nothing more than a speck above.

I stared blankly after it, then lowered my gaze again.

“……”

Lucis was simply watching me silently.

After a pause, I bent down slowly. Recognizing the gesture, Lucis stretched out his arms.

I held him gently. In my embrace, he squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position.

That wriggling warmth melted my frozen heart.

‘…What was that just now?’

With warmth returning to my body, I finally let out a deep breath.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world had lost its light and turned to ash.

Everything became cold and barren, stripped of value.

Even that fragile life in my grasp stirred no pity, no sympathy.

Only curiosity and superiority remained.

The feeling was as if…

‘…as if I had become a murderer.’

A psychopathic killer who took lives for amusement.

It was the kind of sensation Seymour Mausoleum himself, in the original work, might have experienced.

And it was horrifying.

Losing myself, feeling the world lose all meaning—

Like becoming a rock in a world made only of stones.

“…Thank you, Lucis.”

I pulled him closer against my chest.

Lucis gazed up at me quietly, then reached out and stroked my cheek.

‘Did he sense my state… and save me?’

The child’s eyes were unbearably pure, yet at the same time unfathomably deep.

‘A child who, though sealed at birth, has existed for a thousand years.’

What does Lucis know? And what does he not?

Perhaps I would never know, even until the day I died.

* * *

After that unsettling episode with magic, a thought occurred to me.

I sat down and quickly began jotting down what I remembered.

The “construction” of the character Seymour Mausoleum wasn’t just about appearance, backstory, or skills.

‘What mattered most were his thoughts and personality.’

Since I was the one who designed Seymour’s outward appearance, I also had access to every detail of his setup provided by the scenario team.

Things hidden even from the game’s players.

“…This much, I guess.”

Exhaling deeply, I looked down at the list I’d written.

Ideology

• Lawful Evil

• Elitism

• Contempt for the Weak

• Anarchist tendencies

• Egoist

• Corporatist

• …

Personality

• Madness

• Cynicism

• Cold-bloodedness

• Aesthetic sense

• Lack of empathy

• Narcissist

• Deeply rooted (unyielding)

• …

The character’s ideology and personality—what the company used to call “character traits.”

‘Written out like this, every one of them is chilling.’

Even worse, his ideology itself leaned Evil, so naturally every personality trait was colored by it.

For instance, someone else with the trait “aesthetic sense” might simply have an eye for beauty. But for Seymour, it meant:

‘He clings to beauty, while loathing and rejecting the ugly.’

Likewise, the “deeply rooted” trait in another character might mean steadfast will and conviction. But for Seymour, it meant something darker:

‘Born of an evil lineage, evil is deeply rooted in his very soul.’

And beyond such distortions, Seymour already had inherently twisted traits.

‘“Lack of empathy” basically makes him a sociopath.’

It was exactly that sensation I’d felt earlier when using magic.

Realizing my suspicion was correct, I let out a heavy sigh.

‘Seymour hasn’t disappeared.’

I thought that because I’d possessed this body, the original Seymour was gone. But no.

The man still lingered within me. Perhaps his will was gone, but his personality and ideology remained, entrenched deep inside me.

‘Maybe this too is thanks to the “deeply rooted” trait.’

The fact that his traits surfaced when I used magic might mean the contract wasn’t mine, but Seymour’s.

After all, the mana used in spells belonged to the Mausoleum bloodline that had contracted with Seymour.

‘This is troublesome.’

But I couldn’t simply seal off magic.

Unlike the powers borrowed from the family, magic was my own pure strength.

When faced with danger or emergencies, it was the only thing I could truly rely on.

‘I’ll just have to find the safe limit.’

How far I could go with mana before those traits emerged. The maximum extent of my power without falling prey to Seymour’s influence.

That’s what I needed to discover.

‘Well… it’s not too difficult.’

After all, my old boss back on Earth could distinguish hex color codes down to a single digit.

I was well-trained in adjusting numbers until I got approval.

Just then, a knock sounded.

Knock knock knock.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and the butler Alfred bowed respectfully.

“Young master. A tailor has arrived at the lord’s castle. A servant brought the news.”

“A tailor?”

“Summoned by Richard Mausoleum. But as Richard has yet to rise from his sickbed, the man was about to leave. I held him back, thinking someone else might have use for him.”

Richard Mausoleum… one of the collateral relatives. My uncle—the same one filling Simon and Sia’s heads with nonsense.

‘So he was one of those laid up after suffering Dragon Fear.’

I was about to casually dismiss the tailor when I paused.

“The funeral’s in how many days?”

“Four, sir.”

It would take that long to bring Father’s body from the capital to the estate, and to summon guests from across the land.

“Hmm… I’ll need something to wear for the funeral.”

“There are already clothes prepared by the servants.”

I shook my head.

“I’ll have a new set made. One for Lucis too, if possible. Bring him up.”

By the standards of this era, the clothes were luxurious enough—but they lacked true beauty.

Not only to Seymour’s “aesthetic sense,” but even to my modern Earth-trained eyes.

* * *

Obviously, this world had far fewer entertainments than modern Earth. No internet, no TV.

And so soon after a funeral, one couldn’t hold parties or visit gambling dens either. Which made life even duller.

But there was one pastime still permissible even in a mourning household:

Shopping.

“Wow…”

Even I, who’d had little interest in shopping on Earth, understood within thirty minutes why my uncle had called a tailor.

‘The scale is just on another level.’

When I first entered the dressing room, I’d been puzzled that its door was larger than that of the study.

But when the tailor had seven massive wardrobes carried in, I immediately understood.

“For the Count, I’ve brought only the finest fabrics and ornaments, handpicked by myself!”

As he said, the wardrobes were crammed with fabrics of every kind, buttons, belts, cufflinks, and other decorations.

Even three models of similar build to mine were brought in, to serve as living mannequins.

They wore incomplete stitched garments. At first, I wondered why—then I grasped the tailor’s intention.

“These buttons will do.”

“As expected, your eye is exceptional.”

Whenever I chose a fabric or ornament, the tailor had it temporarily attached to one of the models’ unfinished clothes.

As time passed, the mock garments were patched and stitched with my choices, creating a rough draft.

In a few days, those rough sketches would become finished, splendid suits—tailored to me.

Not just bespoke, but DIY suits I’d effectively designed myself.

‘DIY, but “Design It Yourself,” not “Do It Yourself.”’

Either way, it was a whole new world.

And an enjoyable one.

‘I used to dress Seymour only in drawings. Now I get to dress him in reality.’

It was like making outfits for an in-game avatar. I couldn’t help but feel delighted.

‘Never knew shopping could be this fun, or time could pass so quickly.’

Back on Earth, I’d found shopping boring—probably because I had no money.

Now, especially as I also got to pick clothes for Lucis, the fun doubled.

“Lucis, how about this fabric?”

“Good.”

“Lucis, do you like these buttons, or those?”

“Either.”

“Lucis, a flared dress would be nice, right?”

“Mm.”

Though Lucis seemed more interested in other things than clothes.

“Ooh…”

He was utterly captivated by the jewels in the wardrobes.

He loved them so much that, even with both hands full, he stretched his fingers, trying to grab more.

‘A dragon’s love for treasure—classic trait.’

Watching him fondly, I heard the tailor speak in a warm, amused tone.

“Your daughter is absolutely adorable.”

Lucis’s identity hadn’t left the castle. With polymorph magic hiding his tail and wings, no one suspected his true nature.

So the tailor assumed Lucis was a daughter I’d brought from the imperial capital.

“Fufufu. Isn’t she? Do you have children, tailor?”

“No, sir. Only a fiancée for now.”

The tailor lowered his voice as he watched Lucis glaring at his plump fingers, frustrated they couldn’t hold more jewels.

“I would love to have such a lovely daughter one day.”

“Hahaha. Sorry, but that’s impossible. No child could be more beautiful than Lucis.”

The tailor chuckled softly, as if agreeing.

“I’ve never seen such an adorable child in my life.”

After chatting briefly about Lucis, we returned to shopping.

I designed a few outfits for fun, and for the funeral finally chose a classic modern Earth-style suit.

A white shirt with vest and jacket.

Compared to this world’s fashion—overladen with embroidery and ornaments—it would look plain.

But that didn’t matter. Fashion is completed by the face.

“For Lucis, make the bottom a flared skirt, and the top the same shirt as mine.”

The tailor’s eyes widened.

“A flared dress… with a jacket?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

“Forgive me, Count, but if a cravat were added on top of that, it might seem… unsuitable.”

A tactful way of saying it would look ridiculous.

And I understood—this era’s fluttery jackets plus a flared skirt and cravat would indeed look flimsy, like slime.

“Don’t worry. No cravat.”

“Pardon?”

“Same for mine.”

I pulled the cravat from the model’s neck.

A cravat was a puffy neck ornament, like a scarf. If worn poorly, it made one look like a frilled lizard.

And for Seymour’s image, such an extravagant ornament was utterly unfitting.

‘Not just unfitting—unacceptable. A cravat-wearing Seymour is like imagining Yeonsangun in a rainbow-striped vest.’

“You mean to go without any neck ornament?”

“No. With a necktie.”

Simple is best.

Seymour and Lucis already had jewel-like faces. They needed no gaudy accessories beneath them.

“A… necktie? What is that?”

The tailor looked utterly puzzled.