IWMHWD 56

Chapter 56 – Father’s Daughter
December 26, 2023

When she couldn’t answer and trembled violently, Pablo became even more aggressive.

“You should’ve never been taught to read in the first place. Isn’t it because your useless mother filled your head with nonsense that you’re like this now? Hah. A mage? What’s so great about magic that it’s made you so arrogant?”

“Stop bringing up Mother. Who was it that squandered all the wealth she brought into the marriage on failed businesses and dragged House Vasquez through the mud?”

“You dare speak the name Vasquez with that mouth? You worthless wench!”

Even in the dark, his eyes burned red with rage. He raised his hand high. Cordelia tightly shut her eyes.

“There are many eyes watching in Yevo Delim, Marquis Vasquez.”

“Ahem.”

“Especially during Saracen’s banquet.”

Leonard gripped Vasquez’s wrist tightly. Recognizing him, Vasquez let out a forced cough and turned away. Cordelia struggled to steady her ragged breath.

Leonard released his wrist and said coolly,
“This is our first time meeting face to face, isn’t it? Let me introduce myself. Leonard Atillier.”

“Ah, right. Atillier, was it? I’m Pablo Vasquez.”

Pablo offered his hand. Leonard simply stared at it without shaking it. The impolite gesture made Pablo frown slightly as he withdrew his hand.

“I don’t recall you visiting Yevo Delim very often.”

“I can’t stand places as noisy as the capital.”

“I figured. You’re probably the only one without a townhouse there.”

That remark sounded like an insult, and Vasquez’s face twisted. But unlike with Cordelia, he couldn’t immediately explode in anger.

He suppressed his voice as much as possible and said,
“I’m speaking with my daughter. Could you give us a moment? We haven’t seen each other in a while, and I’ve got a lot to say.”

“So the Marquis of Vasquez converses with his daughter by slapping her face? Judging by the look of it, it’s not the first time. What a charming habit.”

“Better than letting her remain undisciplined.”

He shot a glare at Cordelia. His eyes brimmed with undisguised contempt.

“I don’t know why you took in such a cheeky brat as your disciple, but you’ll regret it, Atillier. A girl who can’t even respect her own father—how could she respect her teacher?”

“Father, please!”

“You be quiet. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Marquis Vasquez.”

Leonard’s voice dropped dangerously low, rough like an anchor dragging across the seafloor.

“You seem to think magic is something to scoff at, but to me, it holds great value. And Cordelia is my one and only successor who will inherit everything.”

“Ahem.”

“So, rather than let me flaunt my position to the Marquis of Vasquez whom I’ve just met today, how about you take your leave now?”

When Leonard saw the swelling on Cordelia’s cheek, the first thought that flashed through his mind was a powerful, uncontrollable urge to kill.

Not even when he saw her drenched in wine and bowing her head in Abrams did he feel such anger.

But he suppressed his rage—because the man was her biological father.

“Come to think of it, I have something to attend to. I’ll take my leave.”

Perhaps sensing Leonard’s cold fury, Pablo awkwardly excused himself and disappeared.

Silence fell between the two remaining figures. Leonard approached Cordelia.

He lifted her chin gently. Her cheek, marked by a clear handprint, was so swollen it was obvious she’d been struck.

“You forgot the shield spell I taught you again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… I did.”

Cordelia forced a smile, pretending to be fine.

Leonard brushed his thumb over her cheek. A brief flash of light appeared, reducing the swelling somewhat, but the wound didn’t vanish entirely.

She glanced toward the direction her father had gone and muttered,

“I told him not to disgrace himself and to go back to Abrams.”

“Did you?”

“I did. I told him clearly—I’m Atillier’s one and only disciple. I thought… I thought if I said I was your disciple, he might not be proud but at least he’d acknowledge it. But I… I…”

Anger, despair, sorrow, and humiliation—

All those emotions tangled together, forming something Cordelia herself couldn’t even define. A flood of unidentifiable emotion overwhelmed her.

“What even am I to my father…?”

Why did he even bother to have me if he was only going to loathe, mock, and treat me like this?

Cordelia screamed silently.

She hadn’t shed a single tear in front of her father—but the moment she saw Leonard, they burst out with frightening ease.

She tried to hide them behind her sleeve, but it was no use.

Leonard gently cupped her tear-streaked cheek. Watching her cry made his chest ache with a deep, dull pain.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Hhng…”

“Shall I sever the fingers that hit you? One by one?”

“…S-Sir…”

“Just say the word. Or nod your head. That’ll do.”

He whispered with honeyed sweetness, as if he were ready to rush back and cut her father’s hand off right that moment.

Should I nod?

Should I ask him to kill the father who sold me into hell?

Cordelia’s eyes blurred with tears. Gripping his coat tightly, she buried her face into his chest.

“…I want to go home.”

She had only stayed for a few days, but to Cordelia, “home” wasn’t Vasquez or the Abrams estate—it was Atillier’s townhouse.

Leonard inhaled briefly, then firmly grasped her shoulders and said,

“Alright. Let’s go.”

His rage toward Vasquez came second to her. Leonard swallowed his fury with difficulty.

“Ow!”

Cordelia stumbled after a few steps. If Leonard hadn’t been holding her, she would’ve collapsed on the spot.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I twisted my ankle.”

A sharp pain shot up from her foot. She limped, keeping her injured foot off the ground. Seeing this, Leonard bit his lip.

She had been dancing fine just moments ago. Which meant—her father had done this too.

The killing intent he barely managed to suppress surged once again. He wanted nothing more than to go back and crush that man’s ankle.

But instead of expressing his anger, Leonard knelt in front of her.

“Sir!”

“Give me your foot.”

Cordelia cried out in surprise, but Leonard seemed neither to hear nor care.

She hesitated, then cautiously lifted her injured foot. It was hot to the touch, likely inflamed from the sprain.

“Ugh!”

“Magic isn’t a cure-all. If you rely on healing spells too often, your body’s natural recovery slows down.”

“…Okay.”

As with her cheek, a brief light flickered, easing the pain significantly. But it didn’t fully heal.

Still, she could walk now, albeit with a limp. Leaning on him, Cordelia hobbled forward.

Leonard sighed, then scooped her up in one smooth motion.

“This won’t do.”

“Sir! What if someone sees—?!”

“Is that what you’re worried about right now?”

“Put me down. I can walk. Really, I can.”

“Be quiet.”

As they exited the garden, just as she feared, people stared in shock. Cordelia couldn’t bear to meet their eyes, so she pressed her face into his chest and pretended to faint.

Then came light footsteps and Lydia’s voice.

“Leo! I’ve been looking everywhere for you… Cordelia?”

“We’ll talk later.”

“What happened? Did she faint? Is she sick? Should I get a doctor—?”

“Lydia Elfenbaum. I said—we’ll talk later.”

His voice was sharp and cold enough to send chills through Cordelia—and Lydia must have felt it too.

Her voice shrank instantly.

“…Sorry. I was just worried.”

“Step aside.”

Without explaining, Leonard walked past her and headed straight for the front gate. People whispered in shock at the sight of him carrying Cordelia, but he didn’t care.

A servant near the entrance recognized him and quickly called for the Atillier carriage.

It wasn’t until she was seated inside the carriage that Cordelia opened her eyes. Leonard, seated across from her, asked out of the blue,

“Did it happen often?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Your father. Did he hit you often?”

“…”

Cordelia’s face darkened. She struggled to find the words and finally spoke.

“Not at first. But after Mother died, everything collapsed quickly. That’s when Father started drinking.”

At first, it was just scolding. Then the scolding became sharper, harsher than a child could bear. Then came verbal abuse—and eventually, his hand.

“I thought… maybe it was just because he was grieving. I thought if I worked harder, if I was better, he would change.”

“And?”

“I guess I was wrong. He drank more and more. And the reasons for hitting me increased too.”