YWPWYLFDM 04

Chapter 4

In her previous life, she hadn’t cared about what he did. She was just a child who found endless happiness in doing what her father asked and receiving even the slightest praise from him.

That didn’t mean she could suddenly understand his plans in this life. Byron would never reveal them to her directly—she was nothing more than a hunting dog, after all.

She would have to use the skills Byron had taught her to manipulate her into his revenge to figure things out herself.

Byron surely hadn’t anticipated that the very techniques he taught her to wield as a blade against Rodrick’s life would end up tightening around her own neck.

Should she even feel grateful for that? A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“Let’s start by warming up a bit.”

Cloud nodded, signaling her to run on the training grounds. It was a daily routine, so there was no need to say it aloud.

Even after not training with him for quite some time, she could immediately grasp his intent.

Eila pressed her lips tightly together and began running across the dusty courtyard of the fortress. If she pretended to run faithfully for a few laps, Cloud would likely leave her to his own business.

Years of consistent training had built that trust. He believed she would train herself tirelessly even without being watched.

She recalled her past self running in the training grounds, clenching her teeth, craving her father’s approval and love. The memory made her feel utterly disgusted.

But that was all in the past. She didn’t need that anymore.

Building stamina was never a bad thing, but now there was something even more important.

‘…Since I’ve returned to my younger self, I should check my current physical condition.’

By the time she entered the ducal household, she had already surpassed the abilities of her mentor, Cloud. Following someone, hiding, eavesdropping, and killing without even realizing it—there was probably no one who could match her.

It was laughable. Ridiculous, even. Skills that were embarrassing to boast about publicly.

Yet, those very humiliating skills were necessary for Eila. She had to use them to uncover whatever schemes Byron was plotting.

And for that, her body needed to be strong.

So she had to test her stamina.

Before testing herself, Eila scanned her surroundings. She couldn’t let anyone notice her unusual behavior.

The fortress was quiet at dawn, just as the day was beginning. Guards might be stationed at the entrance, but no one seemed to be watching the training grounds.

When she was older, someone always followed her during training, but now, she was still young enough that supervision was lax.

‘Good.’

Satisfied that no one was around, she climbed a nearby tree with smooth, efficient movements, minimizing noise.

Her smaller body made her movements even more agile. She hadn’t held a dagger yet, but she felt confident that using a sword wouldn’t be a problem either.

Standing on a sturdy branch, she practiced swinging an imaginary sword, testing both her arm movements and balance. Everything was flawless.

The faint morning sky gradually brightened, and she saw Laura opening the door—likely the signal that morning training was ending.

Eila couldn’t let herself be seen, so she quickly jumped down. Even from a considerable height, her landing made almost no sound.

She adjusted her clothing and resumed the pretense of running on the training grounds.

“Milady, training is enough for now. You need to bathe before dining with your master.”

After training, she always bathed under Laura’s care, preparing to meet Byron. In the past, she had done it willingly, eager to impress her father, but thinking about it now, it was utterly revolting.

Everyone had always been obsessed with Eila’s hair—silver like Ophelia’s, whom she resembled.

“Your hair is beautiful, Milady. Master will be very proud of it.”

Even now, Laura fussed over her hair with sugary compliments, carefully combing it.

No matter how far she wandered through mountains and abandoned fortresses, the finest hair oils were never lacking.

At one time, she had believed this was proof of her father’s love. That he cared for her so devotedly.

But later, she realized it was nothing more than an abnormal obsession with her mother, Ophelia.

“Aren’t you pleased?”

Laura asked, puzzled. Eila, who used to blush and smile shyly at such compliments, now forced a polite smile, holding back the urge to spit. Laura seemed satisfied and resumed her careful attention to her hair.

Breakfast with Byron happened closer to noon than morning, as he always rose late.

Having finished her early training and bath, Eila sat at the table as Byron, looking languid and freshly awakened, strolled into the dining hall with his usual unhurried grace.

She had once admired Byron’s appearance—the fiery red hair, the bright yellow eyes, the sharp, refined features. He bore no resemblance to her, yet she firmly believed him to be her father, a noble, untouchable figure she had been proud to call her own.

Now, she had to force her face into a mask of calm to avoid showing her disgust.

She wanted to tear him apart and demand answers, but she had to endure it.

To find out what Byron was plotting and return safely to Rodrick and Ophelia, she had to make him believe she was still blindly obedient.

‘So, I have to endure it.’

Eila forced her unmoving facial muscles into the brightest smile and spoke in a cheerful tone.

“Did you sleep well, Father?”

She had to appear as the utterly happy daughter meeting her beloved father.

“Yes, my daughter. Come here.”

Byron gestured for her to approach, sitting arrogantly on a chair that could rival a throne. This routine repeated daily. Whether he was in a good mood or not, he began each day by stroking Eila’s hair.

And she always ran to him happily, kneeling before him, feeling loved beyond measure.

She had to do the same now. Hesitation was not an option.

But even knowing that didn’t make her body obey.

Back when she had been deceived by Byron, believing Rodrick to be her enemy, she had lied before Rodrick and Ophelia. She had thought she could lie as easily to Byron, but—

‘No. The situation is different now.’

Rodrick and Ophelia had indulged her awkwardness out of joy at finding their daughter, but Byron was different. Any hint of suspicion, and he would grow wary. Now was far more dangerous.

She had to endure his touch, no matter how repulsive.

“My daughter, why aren’t you coming?”

Even her brief hesitation made Byron suspicious; he frowned. Such a thing had never happened before.

Determined not to make any mistakes, Eila ran to him, knelt before him, and rested her head on his lap, silently asking to be patted.

“Yes, that’s right. Good girl, my daughter.”

Though she had hesitated, Byron, seeing her usual obedience, reached out with his remaining hand to smooth her hair.

The gentle rustle of his touch sent chills across her entire body—a truly horrifying sensation.

How had she ever thought this was being loved by her father? It was like a pet fawning over its owner, nothing more.

“Laura said you overslept today, so you didn’t train much this morning,” Byron said with a smile, his hand still stroking her hair, though his voice carried a sharp edge.

“…I’m sorry, Father.”

Had Laura already reported her? She had been out training, yet somehow, Byron knew.

“Even when I call, you don’t come right away. Why? Is something wrong?”

Byron’s hand paused, and his cold gaze fixed on her. He was clearly angry.