ITTRAETML 42

~Chapter 42~

Larvihan’s sword dripped with red blood.

“Today is the last one.”

At Maxmuel’s report, Larvihan looked down at the old mage gasping faintly beneath his feet.

“Do you feel wronged?”

The old mage’s eyes were full of resentment. Flames flickered desperately at his fingertips—his last bit of resistance.

Dying, yet still fighting. Should he praise him for persistence?

Larvihan’s lips curled into a crooked smile.

“You touched someone you shouldn’t have.”

“I… I never touched you…!”

Larvihan’s boot pressed mercilessly on the man’s throat. The mage’s body twisted as he choked. When Larvihan slightly lifted his foot, the man coughed and sucked in air.

“You should know exactly why you’re dying. You dared to lay hands on the House of Count Harmelda.”

“That’s—!”

The mage stopped himself. Larvihan already knew whose name would have followed. No need to listen.

“My mercy is giving you a clean death.”

His sword cut through the air in a wide arc. The mage died with his eyes still open—without time to even scream.

“Will you kill them all?”

Maxmuel wiped the blood from his clothes with a handkerchief.

“You ask the obvious.”

“But the Mage Tower will be displeased.”

“They’d be displeased even if I spared them. What’s the difference?”

“They still have strength…”

“Maxmuel.”

Larvihan’s low, heavy voice silenced him. Maxmuel lowered his head at once.

How dare he doubt Larvihan’s power? If Larvihan cut him down next like that mage, he would have no excuse. Still, the truth was clear: without freely wielding all four elements, things weren’t the same.

As someone who fought alongside him, Maxmuel couldn’t ignore the burden of reduced power. That’s why he wished Larvihan would take Lovelace’s elemental power as soon as possible. But Larvihan kept delaying…

“I’ll change and go to the Harmelda estate.”

Larvihan paused as he wiped his sword.

“No. Back to my own mansion.”

“You’re not going to the Countess’s?”

He tossed the bloody handkerchief aside and turned toward the Bellios estate.

“I’ll handle my own affairs.”

Her voice seemed to echo in his ears, close enough to touch.

Fine. He never liked cleaning up after others anyway. So why was he so irritated?

Maybe he had been too good to her. He thought she’d lean on him out of gratitude. Instead, the better he treated her, the more she bristled—like a hedgehog raising its spines when stroked.

Larvihan shook his head in frustration.

“I want to loosen up my body.”

When things got complicated, it was best to exhaust himself in battle. Maxmuel’s face stiffened.

For Larvihan, “loosening up” meant a large-scale fight. But there hadn’t been such chances lately. Since the ice cave incident, Arwen had been pursuing peace.

Maxmuel swallowed the words at his throat. Larvihan’s mood was too dark.

There was only one safe answer.

“I’ll find you a place.”

“Here’s the list of our estate’s noble ladies.”

Judith handed over the names. Lovelace tapped the pen to her lips, frowning in thought.

As decided in yesterday’s meeting, entering high society wasn’t a bad idea. But starting her political work through social events felt like cheating.

No—it felt like trickery.

She thought all night: wasn’t there another way to persuade people?

Bribery, threats, connections—they weren’t evil. If used right, they were effective. But was it necessary from the very beginning?

Relationships built only on exchange ended the moment there was nothing left to trade.

“Like me and Larvihan.”

His expression from last night came to mind—just a flicker, but it looked like he’d been hurt.

“Should we delay the gathering, then?” Judith asked.

She was sharp. Quick to read the room.

“No, prepare it. Just not too soon. Before that, I want to—”

Lovelace stood before her bookshelf. She pulled out dusty books, sunlight glittering on the rising dust.

“I want to meet the author of these.”

“Noble Duty”
“The Responsibility of Nobles”

“Sirius Johan?” Judith glanced at the author’s name.

“You know him?”

“He used to be famous. Then he vanished. Been in seclusion for years. Not surprising—who would read books like these?”

Books were expensive, copying them painstaking. Only nobles could afford them. Yet this author had written words that stabbed at nobles themselves. No wonder no one bought them.

But Larvihan had placed these books on her shelf.

“His Grace chose them himself,” Maxmuel once said while arranging the study.

You could know a person by the books they read.

‘Is he really destined to destroy the world?’

“Countess, why those books?” Judith asked.

“I want to meet the author. Can you track him down?”

The book flap said he was from the Harmelda estate. He might even be nearby.

“Yes, my lady. I’ll return quickly.”

Judith vanished like the wind. Lovelace stretched her arms wide.

“Still, it’s thanks to Larvihan.”

Because of what he’d said yesterday—after she declared she’d handle things alone, he’d lingered at the bookshelf and muttered:

“Try reading a book.”

Now Lovelace stood before the same shelf. She touched the empty space where she’d just pulled a book.

“If he keeps helping, I’ll just feel spoiled.”

Would he come back?

Like the gap on the shelf, her heart felt empty.

Clatter, clatter—the carriage wheels rattled. Lovelace’s body swayed with every bump. Even after all this time, she hadn’t gotten used to it.

‘The ride is terrible.’

Despite cushions at her back, sides, and hips, she still bounced. At every rock, her head nearly hit the ceiling.

She was getting motion sick. She leaned against the wall and opened the window for air. Judith handed her cool water.

“I told you I could go alone.”

Judith had said as much when she found Sirius’s address. The road was rough—better she go alone. Or better yet, bring Sirius to the mansion.

But Lovelace, restless after Larvihan’s words, had insisted on coming.

She needed to move, to drive away stray thoughts. And besides, coaxing a recluse required effort and sincerity.

Like the old saying—three visits to a thatched hut.

If she left it to Judith alone, they might waste too much time.

“I’ll be fine. Just motion sickness.”

Though honestly, it was worse than “just.” The carriage tilted sharply.

“Uwah!”

Lovelace slammed into the wall.

“Sorry, my lady!”

The coachman opened the small window to apologize.

She almost thought they’d crash. With a sigh of relief, she glanced at Judith—who was glaring coldly at the man.

“Countess. Shall I… deal with the driver?”

If it were Larvihan, he’d ask if she wanted him killed.

Judith’s ways were similar to his. Maybe because he had picked her. Lovelace knew she had to be clear—silence would be taken as agreement.

The coachman didn’t deserve death just because she insisted on taking this rough road.

“No. He’s skilled. Anyone else would have flipped the carriage by now.”

“That’s true.”

Judith agreed quickly. But she still threw sharp glares at the driver.

Perhaps spurred by fear for his life, the man drove with godlike precision the rest of the way.

“We’ll wait here.”

A house appeared in the middle of the forest.

“Does that house look tilted to you?”

Lovelace tilted her head. From another angle, it seemed fine.

“No, my lady. That house really looks about to collapse. Must we go inside?”

She had imagined something like the secluded cottage she once visited with Larvihan. But Sirius’s house was shabby, old, and half-ruined. It looked ready to fall at any moment.

“Yes, we must.”

Lovelace squared her shoulders and crossed the small yard. Unlike the house, the garden was well tended. The purple flowers swayed in the breeze.

‘Strange. Nobles don’t usually plant vegetables.’

The crumbling house, the vegetable garden—it all screamed poverty. Lovelace took it all in, then knocked firmly at the door.

“Not buying heaven!”

A hysterical voice shouted from inside.