Chapter 102
I never thought finding the Saintess would be easy.
It won’t be a simple journey, but this time, I must find her.
Belia rubbed the back of her hand, which still retained a trace of warmth, and thought of the people who were already moving because of her message.
“Carlton.”
And also Karin Allend and Canaria. Everyone else too.
In this life, she was truly not alone.
So this time, she would break free from the wretched cycle of life that had trapped her for so long.
“Because I’m real.”
Belia’s eyes gleamed sharply.
“…Young master.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
When the aide brought in a tray of food, Barun simply stared at it.
Over the past two weeks, Barun had grown noticeably gaunt, and the aide watched him cautiously.
A week ago, Tov had died.
The Imperial Family had publicly declared him the culprit and meted out punishment accordingly.
On the day of the execution, Barun — Tov’s former master — had not been present.
Whether he couldn’t go or chose not to, no one knew. But his face, far more haggard than before, revealed the depth of his pain.
“The real culprit hasn’t been found yet, has he?”
“…Pardon?”
The aide almost blurted out, “You mean besides Tov?” before catching himself.
When Barun gestured toward the window, the aide hastily replied,
“Y-Yes. It seems the investigation into the crown prince’s assassination is still ongoing.”
He spoke with utmost care, fearful that even one misplaced word might offend Barun.
The assassination of the crown prince —
That sudden, shocking incident had become another shackle for Barun, who was already struggling to bear Tov’s death.
The aide glanced uneasily at the east wing of the Arphedi Marquisate.
Traditionally, that building had been used when someone in the family caught a contagious disease or committed a grave sin.
These days, its meaning had faded, but still — it wasn’t a place one wanted to stay. It was often used as a storage room rather than living quarters.
In short, it was far too shabby a place for the young heir of a marquisate to reside.
Barun knew exactly what the aide was thinking. He himself couldn’t understand why he was being made to stay there like a criminal.
“Why…?”
His quiet muttering didn’t seem to demand an answer, so the aide stayed silent.
The assassination of the crown prince had become tangled with a recent theft of imperial tribute, placing severe restrictions on the Arphedi family.
Of course, the official culprit was Tov.
But society didn’t seem to see it that way.
Rumors spread from mouth to mouth, growing more obscene each time.
Soon, people began whispering that the real culprit was the young heir, Barun Arphedi — that Tov’s “sacrifice” had not been out of loyalty, but out of love.
And then the story twisted further: Barun had committed the act out of jealousy over his sister, after hearing rumors of a forbidden romance between her and the crown prince.
The rumor reached its peak — that Barun’s jealousy was born from a distorted desire for the prince.
The aide shook his head; the man before him could not possibly be the monster described in those stories.
But regardless, society had already branded Barun a degenerate.
Perhaps because of such vile gossip, the crown prince had swiftly confirmed his engagement — an engagement that had previously only existed as rumor.
He had publicly declared the betrothal between the Imperial Family and the Arphedi house, claiming it was to “protect our loyal allies.”
And as a result, Barun Arphedi had been placed under “special management.”
Words could make anything sound noble.
They said this “special management” was to protect the future of a family soon to become royal in-laws, but… well.
The musty dust filling the east wing hardly reflected such a pretense.
When the Imperial Family forbade Barun from entering the main mansion, they hastily arranged for him to stay in this annex.
At that time, the Marquis had stopped Barun from leaving the estate entirely.
He feared that his son might become a target — a weak point for the family.
After all, the royal marriage alliance made them enemies of the aristocratic faction.
But Barun, who couldn’t understand his father’s reasoning, only felt resentment — toward everything that had brought him to this state.
“Leave me.”
“Ah, yes, sir!”
At the low, metallic tone of his voice, the aide hesitated before bowing politely and leaving.
He wondered if the normally calm young master had changed because of Tov’s death.
Under normal circumstances, Barun would have shuddered at being made to live in such a place.
But now… he seemed resigned.
Maybe the loss of someone as close as Tov had simply broken him.
The aide recalled how Tov had once warned him never to approach the east wing.
Why had he said that?
He shook off the thought and quietly exited.
As soon as the door closed, Barun’s expression twisted.
Clang!
The tray smashed against the wall with a sharp crash.
Splatter.
Barun frowned at the food scattered across the floor.
“How pathetic.”
He didn’t even know how he had been living for the past few weeks.
Grieving Tov’s death, tormented by everything that had spiraled out of control — his head throbbed.
Where had it all gone wrong?
The immense loss had dragged him back to the beginning — his heart, his resolve, and his methods all reset to zero.
Barun closed his eyes tightly.
For months, he had been too impatient.
Now, his mistakes were coming back to him one by one, each more painful than the last.
He had been far too complacent.
“Belia Arphedi.”
Barun’s rough voice filled the quiet room.
“You…”
Everything had gone wrong ever since that girl changed.
Barun raised his head and looked around the room — unfamiliar, yet impossible to forget.
“Ha—”
The east wing.
He had agonized over whether to come here after Tov’s death.
This place was his own taboo, and showing it to anyone else would bring no good.
But fate had led him here anyway — to this wretched, dusty, dark place.
“She’ll probably devour you someday. Funny, isn’t it?”
That memory — a voice that sometimes haunted his nightmares — had long since become reality.
“Brother… it’s not true, right? They’re all lying, aren’t they?”
That deceitful face, that trembling voice — that girl had pointed a blade right at him.
Barun, dazed, sat still for a long time before finally standing.
His gaze wavered — uncharacteristically uncertain — as he began to walk.
Though technically just an annex, the east wing was still large, far larger than any commoner’s house.
He opened doors, glancing down the corridors.
The proportions were adequate, the layout sufficient — everything about it merely adequate.
Such mediocrity only disgusted him.
“Kh—”
He covered his mouth with his sleeve, coughing at the thick, musty air.
Before ordering servants to clean the place, there was something else he needed to do.
“Is this also fate, I wonder.”
He moved as though tracing the paths of old memories.
He had sworn never to return here.
After his mother’s death, everyone in the family — even his father — eventually found their footing again. Everyone except him.
And this east wing had become his refuge during those wandering years.
“Barun Arphedi.”
His own name — a thorn lodged deep in his heart.
He remembered the story his mother had told him.
A story that might have been the truth — though he had always wished it were a lie.
Whenever his anxiety grew unbearable, he would come here.
This decrepit building, which should have been demolished long ago, had somehow endured — offering him strange comfort.
And yet, it also filled him with crushing despair.
Whenever he looked at this building, he wondered—
“Would my future end up like this too?”
Barun brushed a hand across his gaunt face and steadied his resolve.
Things were different now.
All the fears that had once haunted his childhood were gone — except for one.
“Belia.”
His face hardened instantly. His expression was dry, emotionless.
He stopped in front of the wooden door at the farthest end of the corridor and took a deep breath.
He had to reclaim the rope that had once pulled him from the darkness.
Creak—
The hinges groaned as the door opened. Barun stepped inside, slowly.
“Barun Arphedi.”
The man — once unspeakably beautiful — had repeated his name again and again, as though making a proclamation.
As though to say: I will make you a true member of the Arphedi family.
And he had offered terms — terms far too explicit for a mere child to understand.
“Belia.”
Barun had fulfilled those terms.
And in just one day — in that brief span of time — Belia had returned to the mansion in a state too horrific to describe.
He had been terrified.
So terrified that all he could do… was run away.
