IWMHWD 94

Chapter 94 – Contract with the Devil
2024.02.02.

Matilda drew in a short breath, then continued without hesitation.

“Besides, when you think about the effort she went through just to have you, that child would never have regretted giving birth to you.”

“The effort she went through to have me?”

At Cordelia’s question, Matilda faltered for the first time.

Two conflicting feelings clashed within her: the desire to protect the daughter of her most cherished and beloved disciple, and the iron conviction that if Cordelia truly was a half-demon, she had to be killed.

Even when Leonard had threatened her with bloodied hands, Matilda had stubbornly clung to her conviction. But when she imagined what kind of heart Greta must have had when making a contract with a demon, her mind grew complicated.

“…Greta was always frail. Deciding to have a child must have been a great determination for her.”

“You’re right. I once overheard a physician say that my mother’s health worsened after giving birth to me. If she hadn’t given birth to me, she might not have died so early.”

Cordelia’s face darkened with an even deeper sorrow. Matilda immediately refuted her words.

“Why would you think that? Greta certainly never thought that way. If she could see how well you’ve grown, she would’ve been so proud. Think of the heart she had when she chose to bring you into this world.”

“Don’t blame yourself. As Lady Matilda says, the late Lady Vasquez surely never regretted giving birth to you, Cordelia.”

“…Thank you. Thank you, Lady Matilda.”

At their warm comfort, Cordelia gave a faint smile. Matilda inhaled sharply. She had always thought neither personality nor appearance resembled Greta in the slightest—but that faint, fleeting smile was unmistakably Greta’s.

Abruptly, Matilda stood up.

“Wait here a moment.”

“Yes?”

Leaving the two behind, Matilda went to the back.

A moment later, the sound of clattering could be heard before a teapot and cups floated gently onto the table. With grave seriousness, she poured tea and handed it to Cordelia.

“Drink.”

“Uh—yes.”

Though puzzled by the sudden offer, Cordelia accepted it without much thought, blew on it, and sipped. As soon as she did, Matilda asked quickly,

“Well? How is it?”

“The aroma is nice.”

“Not that. The taste?”

“Hmm… It just tastes like tea to me…”

“Try again. Don’t you feel something different?”

Matilda pressed on insistently. Cordelia blinked in confusion at the question.

What could she possibly taste in tea? Strictly speaking, it was nothing more than scented water.

But because Matilda was watching her so intently, Cordelia was forced to string together some fancy words about the flavor.

“The more I drink, the deeper the fragrance becomes. Um, it lingers in the mouth wonderfully, and it’s unlike anything I’ve tasted before, truly exquisite…”

“No. Drink again.”

Matilda urged more forcefully—“urged” being too mild, it was practically coercion.

In the end, Cordelia was forced to empty the entire teapot under Matilda’s pressure. Each time she drank, Matilda demanded a description of the flavor, until Cordelia eventually ran out of words. Watching this, Rosenbloom’s expression grew stranger by the minute.

Cordelia had drunk so much that the tea was rising back up her throat. Setting down the cup, she muttered,

“Ugh, I’m sorry, Lady Matilda. I’m too full, I can’t drink any more.”

“Sigh…”

Matilda looked at the empty pot and let out a deep sigh. At first she had thought a few more sips might change the outcome, but the result was the same.

Frightened by that sigh, Cordelia half-bowed her head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know much about tea.”

“You truly have shattered my expectations.”

“Lady Matilda, Cordelia grew up in the North where tea is hard to come by. It’s only natural she can’t distinguish its flavors well.”

Rosenbloom quickly stepped in to defend her.

“…That’s not it. No, never mind. It’s too early to jump to conclusions from this alone. Nothing’s certain yet.”

Matilda shook her head, steadying her disappointment. Cordelia clapped a hand over her mouth as tea threatened to rise again.

Anton Embley could not believe his own eyes. Even the chilling feel of her lifeless hand seemed unreal. Was this a dream? And if not—then what?

“Master… Master…”

Sophia collapsed over the bed, sobbing. She had cried so much her eyes were raw and swollen. The other maids soon broke down in tears as well.

The world swayed. Anton tried to stand upright, but it was almost impossible.

“Rosie. Rosie. Rosie…”

The only sound that escaped his lips was his daughter’s name.

Why are you lying there like that? Your father has come. Get up, my daughter.

My treasure. My sea. My sunlight. My everything.

“Aah—aaahhh—ahhh!”

Rozaline’s body was stiff. It meant she had been dead only a few days.

He had rushed here without eating or sleeping after Sophia’s message that they had been attacked. Yet regret surged within him like a tide. If only he had come sooner—just a little sooner—his daughter wouldn’t have died alone in this foreign place.

Anton clutched Rozaline’s body and howled like a beast.

The room filled with grief so thick even the sound of breathing was painful. A father’s tears fell upon his daughter’s face. She had always been as frail as a winter branch, but now she was little more than skin and bone.

Anton kneaded her arm again and again. In the past, doing so had always brought warmth back into her chilled body. But no matter how long he rubbed her, Rozaline did not open her eyes.

“…How did Rosie die?”

“She… she gave birth, and her body deteriorated rapidly. We summoned every physician nearby, but they all only said it was hopeless and left.”

“And she bled so much during the birth…”

A young maid added through tears. Anton stroked Rozaline’s face endlessly. At any moment, it felt like her eyes would flutter open. He gazed at her for a long time before sudden fury erupted within him.

The one responsible for all this—the reason Rozaline had to bear a child. He spun around and stormed at Maximilian, who stood silently in the corner, and struck him hard across the face.

“What were you doing? You wretch! I entrusted you with one thing—just one! And you couldn’t even manage that?”

The blow was so strong Maximilian staggered heavily. Yet Anton’s rage was not spent; he rained punches upon him. Maximilian did not resist. He took every strike without protest.

“I’ll tear you apart! I’ll gouge out your eyes, rip out your guts, and throw them to the dogs! Because of you—because of filth like you—my daughter is dead!”

“It was Atilay who killed Rozaline.”

Maximilian spat blood from his mouth and spoke calmly. Anton roared,

“Yes! That filthy blood running through your veins killed my daughter!”

“Rozaline gave birth two months early because Atilay attacked her carriage. If not for him, she wouldn’t have been forced to deliver suddenly in such a remote place.”

“If she hadn’t been pregnant in the first place—if you hadn’t lured her with your sly tongue—none of this would have happened! She wouldn’t have fled to Ansen!”

Anton glared murderously. Maximilian lowered his head slightly.

“You are right, Elector. If Rozaline hadn’t conceived, this tragedy never would have begun. But it was Leonard Atilay who tore her from you. Knowing I wasn’t in the carriage, he deliberately attacked the company, slaughtered the knights, and destroyed the carriage Rozaline was riding in—as though he wished her to miscarry.”

“…What?”

For the first time, Anton’s eyes wavered. Maximilian seized the moment, lowering his brows in feigned grief.

“When Atilay struck, I wasn’t there. I feared that traveling with her would expose us to pursuit, so I split the company to evade him. Never did I dream Leonard Atilay would intentionally target Rozaline’s carriage.”

“You mean he deliberately tried to kill her?”

“I swear on everything I have, it is certain. Who else but his men could have slain every knight of Embley? And in the forest, I found this.”

From his breast, Maximilian produced something and presented it respectfully.

A torn banner marked with the White Serpent’s crest.

Anton snatched it and gripped it tightly. The agony of losing his daughter became a storm of fury, thrashing wildly for a direction. And Maximilian showed him where to aim it.

“Atilay has taken the Elector’s most precious treasure. Should he not pay in kind?”

“And what is most precious to him?”

“Cordelia Vasquez. His disciple—whom Atilay cherishes and loves most.”

Like a venomous snake, Maximilian whispered at Anton’s feet.

Anton embraced Rozaline’s body once more, tucked the blanket over her, and patted her chest as he used to when she was a child about to sleep.

Then he rose and glared down at the man groveling before him as though he were vermin.

“Do not mistake sparing your life now for mercy.”

He spat the words at Maximilian. But Maximilian only wept pitifully, offering no reply.

“I will uncover the truth of every detail, then sever your head and hang it on the city gates.”

“You may kill me whenever you wish. But grant me the chance to take vengeance upon Leonard Atilay—the one who killed innocent Rozaline and even tried to kill our child. Please… I beg you…”