Chapter 3
Duke Calix went on talking as if completely unfazed by Penelope’s appalled expression.
“I’ll have the adoption papers drawn up right now. Can you write your name? If not, a fingerprint will do just fine.”
And with that, he suddenly shoved a blank sheet of paper toward her.
“Sign here first. We can fill out the rest of the paperwork later.”
“…Huh?”
Sign a blank document?
And adoption papers at that?
Penelope wasn’t the only one dumbfounded by the sudden declaration.
Even the elderly man standing at his side tried to stop him.
“This is a hasty decision.”
“Hasty? You didn’t see it? Ah, perhaps you didn’t? I suppose your eyes are getting dim with age.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Wouldn’t it be wiser to decide after hearing Sir Derrick’s report—”
“What does that matter? You saw the child hold Demonia, didn’t you?”
“But her origins are unclear. She’s not of suitable standing.”
“Standing is less important than qualification.”
Duke Calix’s lip curled into a sharp smirk—an expression bright with scorn.
“If you can hold Demonia—or even get close to it—I’ll recognize your opinion.”
“T-that’s…”
The old man huffed and fumed, then turned sharply away.
“Regardless, we will not acknowledge her!”
“Then try, old fool. Let’s see how far you get.”
The old man withdrew, and the Duke growled under his breath.
“All bark, no bite, that one.”
Penelope cautiously raised her hand.
“Um… Your Grace? Could you maybe explain what’s going on… to me?”
Duke Calix obliged with remarkable simplicity.
“Be my daughter.”
The clarity of the explanation was almost impressive.
“Wow. You really don’t beat around the bush.”
“What was that?”
“…I just meant I’d appreciate a little more detail.”
“…Very well.”
With a somewhat doubtful look, Duke Calix elaborated.
He had no children, and had been searching for an heir for fifteen years.
“Fifteen years?”
“No child has met the qualifications.”
“What qualifications?”
He jerked his chin at her.
“A child with abilities like yours.”
“Like… mine?”
Penelope tilted her head. Other than the fact she had somehow returned to the past a few days ago, she was just an ordinary child.
“Do you not remember? Holding the sword?”
“Oh… Ah!”
The memory came back—vaguely. She had been drawn toward a black door by an unknown voice, and had grasped a sword.
That was the last thing I remember…
“Leaving aside that the area is forbidden, ordinary people can’t even approach the Chamber of Sealing because of Demonia’s aura.”
“Demonia?”
“The demon sword you held. And the title of Duke of Calix is granted only to one who can wield Demonia.”
Penelope gaped.
“You are the first child in fifteen years able to touch the sword.”
His red eyes bore down on her with an imposing pressure.
“In fifteen years, every distant relative brought here as a candidate couldn’t even approach the hallway near it.”
Penelope recalled the dusty, neglected corridor.
Other than being a bit gloomy, it didn’t seem all that special…
But apparently, it was very different for most people.
The Duke’s voice was firm and final.
“Therefore, you will become my child.”
She swallowed hard under the oppressive force of his presence.
“You have only two choices.”
This was not an invitation.
“Die, or become my child.”
It was an order.
Duke Calix declared he’d give her “one day to think it over” and dismissed her.
Almost immediately, she was hauled off to the bathhouse by a troop of maids.
Only after they had scrubbed away eight years’ worth of grime was she set free.
“Ahhh, refreshing!”
Stretching luxuriously, Penelope stood before a mirror to inspect herself.
Not bad… not bad at all.
In the mirror stood a little girl in a neat indoor dress, cheeks faintly flushed, skin smooth and milky. Even her once-lifeless crimson hair now gleamed, thanks to the maids’ obsessive brushing.
She looked utterly different from before.
Penelope gazed curiously at her eight-year-old self.
So this is what it’s like to turn a filthy little sewer rat into a proper person.
No wonder the Duke had called her a “sewer rat.”
“Still, that’s a terrible thing to say to a growing child. Not exactly nurturing.”
She shrugged and plopped down right in front of the mirror.
If the maids saw her sitting on the floor, they’d probably faint—but to Penelope, who was used to crouching on cold dirt floors, the plush carpet was practically a luxury bed.
The floor here is so soft. This carpet must cost a fortune.
Thinking about the Duke’s enormous wealth eventually brought her back to the real question.
“…So I’m going to be the heir to this massive dukedom?”
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, frowning.
In truth, the Duke’s proposal was tempting—almost absurdly so.
As he’d said, she had lived in squalor and poverty, and would continue to do so if nothing changed. This was a chance to turn her life completely around.
And I’ve already cut ties with my family today.
With nowhere else to go, settling here wasn’t such a bad option.
But…
Can I handle this kind of luck?
Luck always came with responsibility. If she suddenly became the Duke’s daughter, how much backlash would she face?
That old man from earlier clearly didn’t like me… and honestly, the Duke himself didn’t seem all that kind.
Not kind, no—he had been downright terrifying.
She shuddered, recalling how he had threatened to kill her if she refused.
No wonder there were rumors that he devoured children—despite his handsome face, his gaze had been deadly.
And that was aimed at a possible future daughter!
If she became his child, her life would hardly be smooth sailing.
Still, when she thought about her miserable past, the decision became clear.
“A scary father is still better than being drained dry by my family.”
Even if she became a troublemaker in this household, she would not be taken advantage of again.
Clutching her soft skirts tightly, she vowed:
“I’ll survive! This time I’ll live past twenty—and be happier than I was back then!”
She would not waste her second chance.
The next morning, Penelope awoke feeling refreshed. Her bed had been incomparably comfortable.
“His Grace has invited you to join him for breakfast, my lady.”
Half a dozen maids dressed her with meticulous care—more so than the day before. Perhaps it was because she would be meeting the Duke.
“My word, it’s been so long since we’ve had the joy of attending to such an adorable young lady!”
Their sparkling eyes were almost frightening.
Penelope rolled hers.
“Um, I have a question.”
“Oh, my lady, you may ask anything you like! We’ll tell you whatever we can.”
“Really?”
“Of course. And please, speak comfortably.”
Encouraged, Penelope asked:
“Is there anything I should be careful about when dealing with the Duke? …No? Nothing?”
“Ah. His Grace.”
The maids exchanged quick, unreadable glances.
“Well, His Grace is a very cold and authoritative man.”
“But he’s never punished us for things we didn’t do.”
“As long as you carry out his orders properly, he overlooks the occasional overstep.”
“Of course, my lady, your position is quite different from ours—far more precious, if I may say so.”
“…Thanks.”
It was a generic answer—“just do what you’re told”—but it was useful. At least she now knew he wasn’t the type to mistreat his servants without cause.
Even if he did say he’d kill me…
Shaking off the unease, she headed to breakfast.
The corridor to the dining room was lavish, unlike the gloomy, dusty hallway she’d seen yesterday.
What was that place, anyway?
Perhaps the “demon sword” chamber was simply deserted because of its ominous nature.
Her memories of before she had grasped the sword were hazy, dreamlike.
What was it that called to me? A ghost haunting the demon sword?
She was still pondering the idea of returning there someday when she reached the dining room.
Wow.
The Duke sat perfectly composed at the long table, immaculate in his attire.
Even bathed in warm morning sunlight, he looked dangerous and intimidating—an impressive feat.
His eyes flicked over her tidy appearance.
“Sit.”
“Ah—yes!”
She scrambled onto the chair a servant pulled out for her. But the massive adult-sized seat was far too big for her small frame.
“…Short.”
Even sitting up straight, only the top of her head peeked above the table. Eating like this was impossible.
The Duke raised an eyebrow.
“Steward, do we have no child-sized chairs?”
“Alas, there hasn’t been a child in the household for years… I didn’t think to prepare one. I’ll fetch a thick cushion for her to sit on.”
After a brief commotion, the meal began.
Fortunately, the kitchen had prepared food easy for a child to eat but still nutritious.
Halfway through the meal, the Duke spoke.
“You eat well—for a little piglet.”
