Chapter 3. A Terrible Nightmare
The dress she wore was soaking red, the same shade as Philia’s hair—like a trampled flower.
She tried desperately to hold on to her fading consciousness, but her vision darkened against her will.
Her body felt cold and hot all at once—burning and freezing.
“Ugh…!”
A groan of pain escaped her lips.
The path the sharp blade had carved into her flesh flared like fire, as though seared by flame.
Step, step.
Someone approached her through the darkness.
Under the moonlight, silver hair gleamed coolly, and eyes as cold as winter wind stared down at her—
It was Rascal.
He held a sword in his right hand, and from its blade dripped unmistakable droplets of Philia’s crimson blood.
“Philia.”
He murmured her name as she trembled at his feet.
“R-Ras…cal…”
She used the last of her strength to call his name. His brow furrowed slightly.
With a strangely conflicted expression, he seemed about to say something—
“Is it done?”
At that moment, the door opened and someone entered the room.
A young woman’s voice—thin and soft.
Philia wanted to see who it was, but she didn’t have the strength to turn her head.
“Oh my, what a beautiful dress. Such a shame.”
The woman’s tone carried genuine regret.
Who is she? Have I heard that voice before…?
Philia racked her memory.
But no face came to mind.
Someone who harbored enough hatred to want her dead… As far as she knew, there was no such person.
A disgrace to her family. A half-blood noble. She’d been called many names.
People may have held grudges, but never enough to kill her.
Perhaps this was someone she didn’t know at all.
Why…?
While Philia wrestled with confusion, Rascal handed his sword to the woman.
“Do we really have to go this far? This isn’t exactly my style,”
the woman said with a pout in her voice.
Rascal silently grasped her small white hand that now held the sword.
“Well, I suppose I must obey.”
The woman looked at him as if resigned, then nodded firmly.
She stepped closer to Philia.
A heady scent of roses mixed with the crisp smell of wildflowers rushed to Philia’s nose.
Tainted by the stench of blood, the fragrance was nauseating.
“Philia Pendunsen.”
The woman spoke her name with a hint of mockery in her tone.
Philia tried to lift her bloodied body, but it was no use.
“Oh dear, stay still.”
The woman pressed hard on Philia’s wound, restraining her.
“Ah…!”
A sharp moan escaped as pain surged through her.
The woman leaned in close and whispered into her ear:
“I’ll make it quick.”
Then she raised the sword high.
“Don’t blame me. This is your fate.”
“F-Fate…?”
“You shouldn’t cling to what doesn’t suit you.”
With those cryptic words, the tip of the sword struck straight for Philia’s heart—without a moment’s hesitation.
“Ah…!”
Philia gasped, bolting upright.
Afternoon sunlight streamed mercilessly through the frosted window.
What…?
She was in a carriage.
Across from her sat Rascal, and beside her, the maid Melissa.
Rascal, as always, gazed indifferently out the window.
The ordinary, peaceful scene left Philia utterly confused.
A dream…? Was it just a dream?
But it had felt far too real.
The searing pain still lingered in her chest and abdomen.
“Oh my, look at you! Are you alright, my lady?”
Melissa fussed over her, dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief.
Philia stared blankly at her, then murmured:
“But… you went with that woman…”
She remembered Melissa following a blind old lady into the shadows.
“Pardon? What are you talking about, my lady?”
Melissa looked genuinely puzzled. She seemed to know nothing.
Yes… It must’ve been a dream.
Seeing Melissa like that, Philia concluded it was all just a terrible nightmare.
“What’s wrong? Is something the matter…?”
Rascal, who had been staring vacantly outside, finally turned to her.
Her face had grown pale—so pale she looked on the verge of collapse.
Philia recalled the way he had said her name in the dream.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Her long lashes fluttered like trembling wings of a nervous butterfly.
“I… had a dream.”
She barely managed to speak in a trembling voice.
“A very frightening dream.”
Rascal furrowed his brow, then nodded as if he understood.
“First trips can be exhausting. I should have been more attentive.
Just hold on a little longer. This long journey will be over soon.”
He spoke gently for once, but it didn’t help.
Her heart was still racing.
The invisible pain still gnawed at her.
Philia covered her face with trembling hands.
“My lady, are you alright?”
“Melissa… could you open the window? I don’t feel well.”
She needed to clear her head.
At her request, Melissa sprang into action, opening the carriage window wide.
A rush of cold air swept inside.
She thought the breeze would help—but instead, it confused her even more.
“Wow! My lady, look over there!”
Melissa pointed cheerfully toward the plaza’s fountain.
Philia’s eyes followed, taking in the familiar scenery:
The giant fountain in the center, rows of shops, bustling crowds—and…
“We’re almost there.”
Rascal, crossing his legs, spoke casually.
Everything was exactly the same as before.
And when she saw the fortress of House Ropero in the distance—
Philia realized the truth.
She had returned to just a few hours before her death.
The faint hope that it had been a dream shattered.
Dark despair crashed down on her.
That dim room in the mansion.
Rascal’s cold voice.
The woman’s blade piercing her chest.
And the agony that bound her—
All of it came back to her with cruel vividness.
She crumbled inside.
“Everything is because of your fate.”
The woman’s words echoed in her mind.
Fate?
She had already cursed her fate more times than she could count.
A life with no love. No one to understand her.
How much crueler could it get?
The disgrace of her family. The half-blood noble girl.
Philia recalled her other name.
The Pendunsen family of the north passed down the ability to control monsters.
This was natural, as their domain, the Ollemant territory, was swarming with monsters year-round.
In the harsh northern lands, such a power meant survival.
To avoid diluting their powers, they only married within the north.
They also had a closed culture that forbade unmarried daughters from leaving the territory.
Philia’s eldest brother, Ofereto, had the power to suppress monsters.
Her older sister, Penila, could discern a monster’s weakness at a glance.
And Philia?
She could hear the thoughts of monsters.
The problem was that it was a useless ability.
Monsters had very simple thoughts—easy to interpret just by watching them.
By the time she turned ten, even that ability began to fade.
That was when her father, Baron Gardner Pendunsen, started calling her the disgrace of the family.
After that, all she remembered was cold treatment from her family.
Even the servants referred to her as the “half-blood noble.”
Melissa, her personal maid, was no different.
She always obeyed Penila instead and often slyly pushed her chores onto Philia.
Only her late mother, Baroness Remirant, had truly loved her.
After her mother passed, no one ever held her or wiped away her tears again.
She was ignored and scorned—nothing more.
Never once truly loved.
Thus, her life had been one of loneliness and sorrow.
How much crueler can it get…?
With a face full of bitterness, Philia looked toward the Ropero family’s fortress.
A cruel fate had her in its grasp, shaking her violently.
She clutched the pendant around her neck—her mother’s keepsake.
“Always wear this, Philia. Think of it as me. Never take it off. Not even once, you hear?”
Her mother’s final words.
What should I do…?
Staring at the endless expanse of the fortress, Philia fell deep into thought.
There was no clear answer yet—but still, she forced herself to remain calm.
Remaining composed no matter the situation.
Finding a way to survive.
That was her strength.
She had no intention of sitting idle, waiting for death.
After countless thoughts, Philia came to a decision:
She had to escape.
When the carriage slowed—trapped by the crowds.
When the horses couldn’t stay on course in the commotion.
That moment—
Philia threw herself into the sea of people in the plaza.
