SOP l CH 8

Posted by Eleanor, Released on November 4, 2025

Chapter 8 – Pigs Belong in the Mud

“……”

Luckily — or maybe unluckily — the person who walked into the room was Margaret, the head maid.
She was holding a pile of dry laundry, but the moment she saw me, she froze in place.

Drip…

A streak of red juice trickled down from my mouth.

Oh no.

I quickly wiped my lips with my paws, but it was too late — she had already seen the red juice dripping into the water flask.

As I scratched my cheek awkwardly, footsteps echoed from the hallway.

In a flash, Margaret rushed over, screwed the cap on the flask, shoved it back into Count Pigden’s luggage, and hid me under her skirt.

“Hmm? What brings the head maid here?”

The voice belonged to none other than Pigden himself.

“I brought the shirt you sent for washing, my lord.”
“Ah—”

A brief silence followed, perhaps while Pigden inspected the shirt.
I swallowed hard, my ears twitching to catch every sound.

“That’ll be all. You may go.”
“Yes, my lord. If you need anything else, please call for me.”

As Pigden dismissed her, Margaret began walking out — and I quietly matched her pace from beneath her skirt.

Once we turned a corner in the third-floor corridor, she finally lifted me out and stared down at me with a stern face.

Ugh… of all people to catch me, it had to be her.

I folded my ears flat, dropped my tail, and lowered my head in guilt.

“Ferret, you—”

Yes, yes. I know. I messed up—

“—did very well.”

…Huh?

I blinked up at her, thinking I must have misheard.

“I’ve wanted to slip a Rudin berry into that man’s meal more times than I can count.”

Ah. So that’s what the berry’s called — Rudin fruit.

“But I didn’t want that filthy man leaving his mess in His Grace’s pristine estate, so I held back. Still, I must admit…”

Margaret’s lips curved upward slightly.

Wait— she’s smiling?

It was the first time I’d ever seen that! Normally she dressed in buttoned-up blouses up to her neck, her face as stiff as the collar itself.

“Smart little thing. You waited until the day he was leaving, then slipped the Rudin juice into his travel flask instead. You were worried the estate’s evaluation would suffer otherwise, weren’t you?”

Uh… I didn’t think that far ahead, actually.

I awkwardly looked away, pretending to find the ceiling fascinating.

“His Grace told me you’re an intelligent divine beast, but I didn’t realize how intelligent until now.”

Ah, so Kasserian told her I’m a divine beast.

“Only myself, Lord Russell, and Mari know what you really are. If anyone else speaks to you, pretend you don’t understand. We don’t need rumors spreading through the house.”

I nodded obediently.

“You must be tired after gathering those berries. Go rest in your room.”

Margaret gently set me down on the corridor floor and patted my back — even gave my rump a few taps.

Startled, I jumped back and scurried toward the stairs.
But in my flustered state, I forgot to limp on my right leg!

When I realized it, I quickly lifted my paw again and glanced back.
Margaret was staring right at me.

Oh crap. Busted.

Lowering my paw again, I trudged back to my room in defeat.

* * *

“You called for me, Your Grace.”

Margaret entered the Duke’s office.
Kasserian put down his pen and gestured toward the sofa.

When she sat, he tucked the papers into a drawer and joined her across the table.

“Did you see the tax inspector off?”
“Yes. I sent him away with a handful of northern mushrooms as a farewell gift.”
“Good work. If I’d known when he was coming, I would’ve given the maids leave ahead of time.”

Kasserian frowned deeply. Margaret bowed her head in silence.

A few days earlier, after noticing something strange, Kasserian had asked her about the inspector’s behavior.
Margaret had simply said that he’d been talking too much with the maids — leaving out the details.

“It’s fine. I handled it appropriately.”

Her calm tone made him smile faintly.

“I filed a complaint with the central administration about his misconduct, but, as always, they ignored it.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his tired face.

“Even when I proposed disciplinary measures against corrupt inspectors at the last imperial meeting, the nobles brushed it aside like nothing.”

It wasn’t the first time this had happened.
The great houses of the East, West, South, and the capital had always looked down on Devon House.
Kasserian had never managed to gain anything useful from those meetings.

“Everyone here knows how hard you’re working, Your Grace. Please, don’t push yourself too far,” Margaret said quietly.

Kasserian gave a small, self-deprecating smile.

But this wasn’t just his personal struggle.

For centuries, because there was no guardian deity in their lands, monsters from the northern forest had constantly invaded.
Each Duke of Devon had been forced to clear the woods over and over again.

The family’s swordsmanship was exceptional, but their lands had grown poorer with each generation.
His predecessors had spent their lives waiting for a divine beast to appear and save them — and now, the burden of their failure had fallen on him.

“How’s the ferret doing? I heard she was still limping the other day.”
“The ferret…”

Margaret’s green eyes dropped to the table. After a quiet breath, she said softly,

“Her leg doesn’t seem fully healed yet. She was still limping today.”
“…I see.”

A faint smile touched Kasserian’s lips.

‘So everyone still thinks her leg’s injured, huh?’

That morning, on his way back to the manor, he’d seen the white fluff hopping around the garden — perfectly fine.
He’d realized the little ferret had been pretending all along.
But rather than expose her, he decided it was better to play along for now.

“Forgive my saying so, Your Grace, but I believe it’s too soon to release her into the northern forest. She’s still a young beast — she can’t hunt properly yet, nor regulate her body temperature…”

Margaret’s voice trailed on, uncharacteristically gentle and a bit shaky.
Her eyes darted around, refusing to meet his.

But lost in thought, Kasserian didn’t notice.
He merely hummed an absentminded reply.

“You’re right.”

‘Good… that means I can keep her here a bit longer. But for how long…?’

He let out a quiet sigh.

Margaret glanced up, saw his troubled expression, and lowered her gaze again.
Both of them sank into silence — each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

I stared up at the ticking clock on the wall, grinning darkly.

By now, he must’ve drunk the juice in that flask.
There’s no water source through the northern woods — he’d have to drink what he brought with him.
Which means right about this time tomorrow… his guts will be twisting, and he’ll be spewing from both ends.