YWPWYLFDM 80

Chapter 80

Ayla still sometimes wondered if it had all been a dream.

Not only had Cloud saved her when she was nearly caught eavesdropping on Byron’s conversation, but he had also suspected her for a long time without ever saying a word.

Ever since that day, Cloud had acted as if nothing had happened between them, and though Ayla knew the vivid memory wasn’t a dream, she sometimes caught herself wondering if it had been, just as a fleeting thought.

The next day, Lora departed for the capital, following a group of men whose names included “the Marquis,” in order to infiltrate the duke’s household.

Meanwhile, Ayla and the others continued to live rough, moving along some distant path toward an unknown destination.

Recalling the moment she had nearly been caught eavesdropping on the so-called Marquis still made her heart pound, and she couldn’t help feeling frustrated that she hadn’t discovered his name.

At least, thanks to Cloud calling him “Your Grace, the Marquis,” she could be certain of his rank.

There were only a few marquis families in the Pelles Empire, so once she returned to her parents, she could discreetly investigate and find out his name.

“Miss, the master is looking for you.”

Capella, tending to Ayla in her daughter’s absence, called quietly.

Ayla, who had just crawled into her sleeping bag, rose and stepped outside the tent. Byron seeking her out at this hour could not be ordinary.

Outside, Cloud was waiting, seemingly intending to escort her to Byron’s tent.

Ayla walked alongside him, glancing at his profile. His expression remained impassive, concealing whatever thoughts lay behind it.

“…Do you know why?” she asked softly, not expecting a definite answer, merely hoping for a hint.

Unexpectedly, Cloud replied.

“It won’t be bad news for you, Miss.”

Though his words were cryptic, the idea that it wasn’t bad news was enough to spark a single hopeful thought in her mind.

At this point, there was only one kind of welcome news she could imagine: the possibility of returning home.

A small, reluctant hope stirred in Ayla, though she tried to suppress it.

Partly, she didn’t want Cloud to see her delight. More than that, she feared the disappointment if reality turned out different from her expectation. The greater the hope, the deeper the despair if it were dashed.

“…I still don’t fully trust you,” she said.

“Yes, Miss… I’m sorry,” he replied.

During their walk to Byron’s tent, the conversation quietly confirmed that what had happened that night wasn’t a dream. Though they didn’t openly discuss it, it was the first time a subtle change in their relationship had begun to emerge.

When they arrived, Ayla finally received the long-awaited good news.

“Come closer, my daughter.”

Kneeling before him at Byron’s gesture, Ayla felt his hand stroke her hair.

“Have I ever told you why this father of yours wanders like a criminal?” he asked.

Ayla paused to recall. She had heard Byron’s story countless times: how a long-time friend—no, a traitor—had taken her place, framed him for crimes he hadn’t committed, and made him a sinner.

Though his account was distorted from the truth…

“You never explained fully, but you mentioned a traitor… someone whose revenge must be fulfilled,” she answered.

“Yes… that’s right. My daughter, the time has come. It’s time for you to avenge this father of yours.”

A wave of restrained joy surged in Ayla’s chest as she asked, “What should I do, Father?”

“…That man has a lost daughter. You must disguise yourself as her and enter his household. Then… punish him in my stead.”

Finally…!

How long she had waited for this moment. Returning at twelve years old, she had endured countless loathsome moments, holding out for this single opportunity.

In her previous life, she had only been sent to the duke’s household at sixteen. Now, she achieved it at barely fourteen—almost two years earlier, and less than a year after returning to the past.

“Yes, Father. If you wish it, I will do it immediately.”

Her joy shone in her voice despite her efforts to hide it.

Byron seemed unsurprised, interpreting her delight as gratitude for the opportunity to earn his approval.

“Good. But not immediately. There are preparations to make.”

He began explaining what needed to be done to make her sudden appearance at the Hailing-Vicehafen household believable—why she had been missing and why she could only appear now.

“…Just like my previous life,” Ayla thought. Byron’s contrived version of “Ayla Vicehafen’s life” mirrored her past exactly.

It also meant she would soon need to use the note she had received from Winfred, to protect those who had comforted her so greatly.

“From tomorrow, you will stay there. Remember your life there carefully so as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Yes, Father.”

Having heard the explanation, Ayla prepared to leave. She wanted nothing more than to escape Byron’s grasp.

Yet Byron wasn’t finished.

“There’s something you must do before taking revenge.”

“What is it, Father?”

She thought briefly but couldn’t imagine what it could be, so she waited.

“There will be an infant in that house. Deal with it first. A weak creature who can barely move—this should be effortless for you.”

Ayla froze, momentarily forgetting to maintain her expression.

Was he serious?

To ask her to kill a newborn, one she had never even seen, simply because Byron said so…

She had thought she had seen the depths of Byron’s cruelty, but even a god of evil would spare a weak infant. Apparently, Byron was a man without the smallest moral restraint.

“Why aren’t you answering, daughter?” he demanded sharply.

‘The child has done nothing wrong,’ she almost said, swallowing the words.

Even if Rodrick truly was the greatest villain, what crime had Noah committed to deserve death?

“…If you wish it, Father, I will obey,” she finally said, though in her heart, she had no intention of harming Noah. Simply saying she would follow orders left her feeling utterly hollow—a revulsion at the thought of committing an unconscionable act.

“Good. That’s my daughter,” Byron said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand—a sticky, unpleasant touch.

“Now go and rest. Tomorrow will be busy.”

“Yes, Father.”

Freedom. Ayla clenched her teeth to hide the trembling of her lips. She bit so hard it left a sting.

At least she had recovered enough to answer him. If she had only just learned of Noah’s birth from Winfred, she would have been stunned, unable to respond at all.

“Cloud, stay behind.”

Cloud had intended to accompany her out of the tent, but Byron called him back.

Ayla felt tears welling, anger and frustration nearly breaking her control. She wished she could sit and cry aloud, but too many eyes were watching. Capella, sharing the tent, would surely notice any trace of tears.

So she endured until she lay down in her sleeping bag, trying to sleep.

In the past year, how many emotions had she swallowed and suppressed? Patience was hardly difficult for her.

No, it had been agonizing. She longed to cry in solitude, with no one watching. Perhaps she even longed to cry in her mother’s arms.

Surely, when she was very young, she had buried her face in her mother’s chest and cried. Yet, sadly, she had no memory of it.

Still, she missed that embrace with a deep, aching longing.

Praying for time to pass quickly, she tried to sleep, comforting herself with the thought that each day brought her closer to returning to her parents.