IATVWAMOLS 63

63. I’ll Get Revenge for You

“Still, you know we need to stay within legal boundaries, right?”

Whenever Cayenne acted that confident, it just made me uneasy.

But he seemed utterly unfazed, as if my words were nonsense.

“Our master, you’re surprisingly narrow-minded,” he said.

“Me? Aren’t you a little too… free-spirited?”

“I’ve always lived like this. Sometimes personal punishment is more effective than legal methods.”

“Um… excuse me.”

Was this man really planning to put fists above the law?

No way. If anything goes wrong, I’m the one who’ll be responsible.

The household was already tense from the previous attack incident. I couldn’t afford to become a perpetrator while trying to seek justice.

No killing. No torture. No permanent bodily harm…

I repeatedly tried to convince him that revenge should be carried out humanely, but Cayenne feigned ignorance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he survives.”

“Hey!”

“Should I contact you if anything happens?”

Perhaps sensing that my nagging would drag on, Cayenne placed a foot on the window sill. Then, nonchalantly, he waved his hand and seemed to leap into the night sky.

Or at least I thought he leapt.

“Why are you back in here?”

Not long after stepping outside, Cayenne was sitting lightly on the window sill again.

“Master, just in case—”

“?”

He whispered subtly.

Night had swallowed even the shadows.

At a time when everyone was asleep, a figure sliced through the darkness, moving through the estate with no hesitation.

Cayenne, hair dyed jet-black, slipped into the servants’ quarters.

The only sounds were the occasional snore, restless breathing, and the shuffling of bodies.

He surveyed the area with keen attention.

The servants, all varying in appearance and body type, were fast asleep.

Red hair? Passed.

Tall? Passed.

Silently stepping over them, Cayenne examined each one carefully—until he suddenly stopped.

“Ah, found you.”

A sly smile curved his lips.

Brown hair, freckled face, slender and small frame.

His red eyes gleamed ominously as he locked onto his target.

“Sleep tight.”

Cayenne effortlessly climbed onto Paul’s chest.

Falling asleep so unaware…

He playfully pressed down on Paul’s chest.

“Ugh… uuugh…”

Paul groaned painfully, his breathing constricted under the weight pressing against his chest.

Right before he felt like he might pass out…

“Gah!”

Paul shot open his eyes, gasping for air as if he’d just been drowning.

“Hah… hah… hah…”

Through his blurred vision, he saw a man grinning unpleasantly.

A man Paul knew all too well.

“Hello. We’re acquaintances, aren’t we?”

Cayenne waved lightly. Paul frowned, confused.

“What the… are you a slave or—”

“Still half asleep, I see. Can’t even process the situation.”

“What?”

Suddenly noticing a chill near his neck, Paul looked down. Cayenne was pointing a sharp dagger at him.

Paul’s neck stiffened.

“W-what are you doing—”

“I hate getting involved in children’s quarrels too, but our master is really angry this time.”

“….”

“If you promise not to touch me again, I’ll let you live. Let’s settle this nicely, okay?”

Cayenne spoke in a calm, persuasive tone.

He hadn’t intended to take things seriously with such a rookie. He just wanted to scare him a bit and leave.

But in an instant, the situation escalated.

Spit.

A thin stream of liquid ran from beneath Cayenne’s nose.

“What? ‘Settle nicely’? Has this lunatic finally lost his mind? Hey, Patrick! Get up and chase this guy out!”

Paul shouted at the servant next to him, but Patrick was fast asleep.

No matter how many times he called, nothing changed. Frustrated, Paul lashed out, kicking wildly to push Cayenne away.

“Get off! Move!”

As he struggled, the dagger lightly grazed his neck, drawing blood.

Paul went pale at the sharp sensation.

“Wh-what? That’s a real knife? Where did you steal this? You crude slave—you’ve even started thieving openly?”

He snapped and ground his teeth, prompting a crooked smile from Cayenne.

“Ah, just as our master said. You don’t value your life at all.”

Cayenne put the dagger away and—

“Gah!”

“Don’t worry. You won’t die.”

He smiled and swung his fists.

It wasn’t stylish or gentlemanly to genuinely strike an unarmed opponent. Using magic would’ve been even more dangerous.

Every word Paul spat only provoked him further, and Cayenne didn’t want to risk killing him with magic.

Though he was punishing him “humanely”—

“Argh! My teeth… they’re loose!”

A powerful punch struck Paul’s left cheek, rattling his skull.

The searing pain snapped him fully awake.

“Y-you… insolent slave, how dare you swing your fists—!”

Smack.

This time Cayenne hit his right cheek. Paul’s vision went black for a moment.

Even in his daze, he sensed something odd.

Such commotion should’ve woken anyone else in the room.

Yet everyone else slept peacefully, scratching their bellies as if the two spaces were entirely separate.

Cayenne noticed Paul’s unease and grinned wickedly.

“Don’t expect anyone to come help. I’ve set a soundproof barrier.”

“Ugh!”

Fearing for his life, Paul flailed his arms wildly. Cayenne dodged effortlessly, without effort.

Even as he swung with all his strength, not a single strike landed.

“Hah… hah…”

“All done?”

The veins in Cayenne’s biceps flexed.

Pow.

Bam.

Paul’s mouth split, and his teeth rattled.

Both cheeks were now numb, as if anesthetized.

“You think our mistress would just sit by if she knew about this?”

Paul shouted desperately, almost instinctively. Though his pronunciation was mangled, Cayenne understood perfectly.

“Oh, you mean our master?”

“Yes! After you beat up my senior, you think you’ll get away with it—”

“Our senior worries too much.”

Cayenne smirked and pulled something from his robes.

“Our master did tell me not to kill you.”

It was a healing magic scroll from Roselia.

Cayenne wasn’t a healer, but he had brought it just in case.

“Brought plenty. Twenty should be enough, right?”

“…!”

Before Paul could react, Cayenne tore the scroll, and a white light enveloped him.

The warm glow stopped the bleeding and sealed the damaged areas.

Of course, it didn’t erase the pain from being hit.

“Now, shall we start again?”

Cayenne relaxed his hands.

The next morning.

Cayenne’s daytime personality awoke, staring blankly at his fists, opening and closing them repeatedly.

He felt a faint soreness in his arms, his fingers tingling with each flex.

He usually overexerted himself, but never to the point of localized stiffness like this.

Could it be… again?

Even before coming here, nights often ended with mysterious injuries or people subtly avoiding him.

He would wake up feeling drained instead of refreshed. Daily life was nearly impossible. Without his massive food intake, he couldn’t have survived in this household either.

Cayenne had a vague sense that something parasitic was inhabiting his body—something that one day might steal his life entirely.

A faint unease solidified into something tangible that visited him.

He was carrying food to the kitchen when—

“Hey, you—!”

Paul stormed into the dining hall, spotting him.

“You crude slave! You hit someone while they were sleeping?!”

Paul gritted his teeth and lunged at Cayenne. Memories of last night made him flinch, but the head steward and guards were nearby.

“Try hitting me in front of everyone, huh?”

“….”

Startled, Cayenne stepped back, avoiding Paul’s gaze. He was scared.

The fragile peace he had felt was on the verge of shattering.

A life that had been proved through small tasks—washing windows, preparing meals—rather than killing or plundering others’ suffering.