PDTVD 05

Chapter – 05

Devil Worship and Liver-Strengthening Herbal Tea

Three days had passed since my second life as Olivia began.

Officially, I was said to be “recovering from poor health in the detached wing.”
In truth, however—

“Milady… are you dancing that strange dance again?”

My maid, Anne, gave me a look that was somewhere between pity and disbelief the moment she entered the room.

“It’s not a dance. It’s called yoga,” I replied, holding a Warrior Pose—one leg stretched behind me, front knee bent, both arms extended in opposite directions.

Yoga uses deep breathing to improve blood circulation and metabolism. It stimulates the internal organs, aids digestion, and helps detoxify the body.

This frail body of mine couldn’t handle strenuous exercise like jogging, so yoga was perfect for me.

“Would you like to join me, Anne? I can teach you.”

“I’ll pass, thank you. I’m on duty. Whether it’s ‘Yoga’ or ‘Yoda’ or whatever you call it, if anyone saw you doing that, they’d think you’d lost your mind.”

Apparently, standing wide-legged in my nightdress was scandalous.

As I twisted my upper body into a Triangle Pose—one hand on the front leg, the other stretched straight up toward the ceiling—I answered,

“But this dress is the easiest one to move in.”

“It’s not the clothes I’m worried about, milady. Are you… imitating some kind of magical beast?”

“…I didn’t know there was one shaped like this.”

Magical beasts were creatures created by demons—wild, irrational things that carried magical traits.

Unlike normal animals, some could breathe fire or generate lightning; a few even resembled spirits.

Spirits, however, were often friendly and could be contracted if affinity allowed. Magical beasts, on the other hand, attacked without warning. Communication was impossible.

I never thought my yoga poses would be mistaken for one of those. Then again, no noble lady in this world ever exercised, so perhaps I couldn’t blame her.

I tried striking a more elegant pose—the Crescent Moon—but Anne only took a step back.

“Are you… offering prayers to a demon?”

“Why a demon? Couldn’t it at least be a god?”

Her horrified face made me sigh, and I gave up, returning to bed.

Was it really that grotesque to watch?
Yoga was wonderful for beauty and health, something I wanted to make a daily habit—maybe even practice it outside on the lawn someday.
But I hadn’t realized it could be mistaken for demon worship. That was… a problem.

“Milady, I’ve prepared the tea you requested.”

Anne rolled in a tea cart and poured a dark brown liquid into a cup.

It looked like ordinary black tea—but the taste was another story.

“You’re really going to drink this? I tried a sip, and it was extremely bitter!”

“Yes, artichoke is a bit bitter, but when you blend it with peppermint, it’s not so bad.”

When I’d found artichokes in the pantry, I’d nearly cheered out loud.

Artichokes were known for their liver-strengthening and bile-promoting properties. In my previous life in Japan, they weren’t common—hard to grow and tedious to prepare—but in Europe they were used for herbal teas and liqueurs. Whenever I did find them, I’d buy them all.

The buds were soft and sweet, like potatoes, delicious fried or simmered, or preserved in oil.

“The chef said he only cooks the buds, but the real detoxifying power is in the bitter leaves.”

“The leaves? But aren’t those usually thrown away?”

“What a waste, right? Tell the chef to boil down the leaves and bracts, then dry them. Fresh artichokes take too long to brew each time. If we dry them, they’ll keep for storage.”

I took a sip of the artichoke tea.

A grassy aroma filled my mouth. The bitterness was there, but the peppermint made it refreshing, leaving a clean aftertaste. Peppermint also supports liver and gallbladder function—perfect for detox.

“When the dried herbs are ready, I’ll share some with you, Anne.”

“Eh? I’m not good with bitter things…”

“You don’t want it? It helps with swelling, improves circulation, and gives you clear, beautiful skin—”

“When will it be ready!? I can’t wait!“

Anne’s eyes sparkled like gold coins as she started to bounce with excitement.

She was definitely planning to sell the herbs to the other maids later. She’d already made a tidy profit off the detox soup recipe I’d shared earlier—the one using onion peels for broth.

At this point, I was fairly certain she saw me less as her mistress and more as a walking money tree.

Still, her honesty made her easy to deal with.

“Your knowledge is truly amazing, milady.”

“You mean about detoxing?”

“Yes, exactly! You’ve grown so radiant lately—your complexion is so much better!”

She held up a mirror for me to see. Indeed, my color looked healthier.

But I wasn’t satisfied yet. My body was still thin and frail, dark circles under my eyes, my skin only just regaining some moisture. I still had a long way to go before I could call myself healthy.

“Hmm. My digestion’s improved, and my appetite’s coming back. Maybe I should increase my meal portions a bit.”

“Excellent idea! You need to eat more, milady. This is no time to be praying to demons!”

“I told you, I’m not praying. It’s yoga.”

Since that night—when my stepmother, Eliza, had personally brought me my meal—no more poison had appeared in my food.

She likely assumed I was too weak to cause trouble. Her pattern was simple: poison to weaken, control, exploit, and finally kill. I understood that now—and planned to turn it to my advantage.

If she poisoned me again, I’d just pretend to be sick while quietly detoxing.
As long as I stayed quietly in the detached wing, neither she nor the head maid would bother coming here. My first goal was to rebuild my health.

Fortunately, the kitchen staff liked me. The chef followed my detox recipes faithfully and even asked for more tips. Other maids sent me flowers and sweets.

I couldn’t meet them in person due to my “convalescence,” but their kindness reached me nonetheless.

That was something I never experienced in my first life—true warmth from others.

Perhaps more allies would appear in time.
But I had to be careful—some servants surely worked for my stepmother.

Ideally, the one person I could trust would be my blood relative—but…

“…Anne, how is Father doing lately?”

“The lord? I believe he’s at the royal castle right now. Shall I check with his attendants?”

“No, that’s all right. I was just wondering.”

In my previous life, my father had been a distant figure.

We’d barely spoken. He never noticed the abuse I suffered under my stepmother.

In every memory, the Marquis Irvine looked at me coldly, with indifference.
I knew, without doubt, that he had never loved me.

(Well, anyone who’d marry such a vile woman probably isn’t much of a man anyway.)

No point expecting anything from him.
A father with bad taste in women was about as useful as a lazy god of creation.

Blood ties were irrelevant—detox was far more important.

And so, after finishing my herbal tea, I returned to my yoga practice.

Anne said nothing this time.
But the next morning, a small statue of the Creator God Demiul was sitting quietly beside my bed.