Chapter 7
“Ugh, my eyes are killing me…”
Lifting her gaze from the book she’d been reading, Lizzie gently closed her eyes, which had grown dry from not blinking for so long.
She had combed through countless books, but still hadn’t found an answer.
Everyone talked about the dangers of medicines mixed with druid blood, but none of them described what the side effects actually were, or how to treat them.
Do they not even know?
Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Lizzie Atkins cast a doubtful glance at the book—then flinched when she noticed the darkness had already fallen over the pages.
While she’d been absorbed in reading, the lingering traces of sunset had sunk beyond the ridge of the mountain.
“Hm.”
Glancing around the unusually quiet cabin, Lizzie spotted a dark silhouette faintly illuminated through the window.
A tall man with a basket at his side was standing motionless near the tomato patch.
Cyrus Blanchard.
A duke, the novel’s second male lead, and…
“…the villain?”
Muttering with a puzzled look, Lizzie tilted her head slightly.
It was understandable.
A “villain” wasn’t typically the type to obediently carry a basket out to pick tomatoes just because he was asked to.
She hadn’t even known him for a full day yet.
But it was already enough time to realize—he was different from how the book had described him.
Cyrus Blanchard was a man of few words.
He didn’t speak unless necessary. Sometimes, he didn’t even speak when it was necessary.
At one point, Garrett had approached her with a disgusted expression and asked if one of the side effects of the medicine was making someone’s lips seal shut.
Cyrus hadn’t once asked, “Where am I?” or “When are you going to treat me?”
He merely scouted the place with a faintly murderous glint in his eyes, then relaxed upon realizing it was just a secluded cabin in the mountains that no one ever visited.
He seemed used to staying on alert, yet oddly, didn’t show much suspicion toward her, even though everything about him screamed “suspicious.”
He didn’t chase away the ever-annoying Garrett, and he didn’t even flinch when faced with vegetables that had grown to monstrous sizes due to druid magic.
At most, he sometimes gave Garrett a complicated look, as if unable to understand his endless squawking.
“For a villain, he’s kind of… soft.”
Lizzie rested her chin on her hand and muttered,
“Then what the hell happened…?”
What exactly had turned this clumsy farmhand into such a cruel person?
Aside from the changed eye color, he looked perfectly normal. If the side effect were truly mental, then shouldn’t there be signs of violence or madness?
Her gaze, which had been fixed on Cyrus outside the window, drifted down to her own fingertip.
The small wound she had made to draw blood was now barely visible, already healed.
Druid blood.
Changed eyes.
No known side effects.
The situation was far more confusing than what she had read in the original story.
As she put the book down and let out a deep sigh, Lizzie finally understood why the druid in the novel had treated the duke and sent him away without any suspicion.
There wasn’t much a low-ranking druid could do in a situation like this.
So then…
“Right.”
Decisively shaking off her thoughts, Lizzie Atkins stood up and said,
“Let’s make dinner.”
After all, reality-avoidance was best practiced during mealtime.
Thunk.
Cyrus lightly placed the tomato-filled basket on the cluttered table.
The cabin was now filled with the rich smell of vegetable stew and freshly baked bread.
Considering there hadn’t been a hint of food preparation when he left to pick tomatoes, the transformation was astonishing.
“How…?”
Cyrus was about to ask how she’d managed to cook so quickly, but then he noticed something strange next to Lizzie, who was pulling out the bread.
The ladle inside the cauldron was spinning rapidly.
And the one holding the ladle—unbelievably—was a small brown mouse.
“……”
“Oh, you’re back?”
While Cyrus was still reeling from the shock of seeing a mouse stirring stew, Lizzie looked up and greeted him in a casual tone that did not match the absurdity of the situation.
“Dinner’s just about ready.”
Then, as if expecting an answer, Lizzie turned to the mouse.
The mouse—still hard to believe—nodded proudly, and Lizzie smiled in satisfaction.
“Nice job, Ratatouille!”
[My name is Robin, for the last time.]
Ignoring the mouse’s protest, Lizzie placed a plate of steaming hot bread on the table.
Meanwhile, Cyrus, watching the mouse scoop stew and shake a salt container bigger than its entire body, silently closed his eyes.
He was definitely hallucinating—
“…!”
Suddenly, a chill crept up the back of his neck.
Cyrus’s violet eyes snapped open, filled with wariness and killing intent.
There was a presence—directly behind him.
And for it to feel this sudden, there was only one possibility:
An assassin.
Damn it.
He should have checked if the door was closed properly.
Cursing his moment of carelessness, Cyrus swiftly grabbed a large tomato like a weapon and turned around.
“……”
But to his surprise, there was no assassin in sight.
Only a very low and gravelly voice echoed through the room.
[Would you mind stepping aside?]
The voice came from the floor.
[I can’t get through with you standing there.]
Cyrus looked down and barely managed to keep his senses intact.
A small rabbit with thick white fur and beady black eyes was staring up at him.
[I must speak with Miss Atkins immediately.]
“……”
Cyrus glanced down at the tomato still raised in his hand, then slowly turned his head toward Lizzie.
Fortunately, she and the crow were too busy whispering by the hearth to notice his moment of embarrassment.
[Why is he called Ratatouille, anyway?]
“Because he’s a good cook.”
[Huh?]
Watching them, Cyrus carefully lowered the tomato and quietly stepped aside.
[Much obliged,] the rabbit said, hopping toward Lizzie.
[Miss Atkins.]
“Hmm? Oh, long time no—”
Lizzie began replying reflexively, but her words trailed off the moment her eyes met Cyrus’s.
“…Forget that. Why is a rabbit suddenly here?”
[I don’t know what you mean, but there’s trouble, Miss Atkins.]
“Trouble? What kind of—wait. A rabbit can’t be in the cabin. I’ll take you out.”
Muttering a jumbled excuse, Lizzie scooped up the rabbit and marched to the door.
“Don’t wait—start eating without me.”
With that, the door closed behind her with a clatter.
Inside the now-quiet cabin, Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
Honestly, after a mouse cooking stew, a talking rabbit didn’t seem that outrageous.
He decided not to think too hard about it.
This place clearly didn’t operate on normal logic.
Still…
Perhaps he had become too accustomed to the absurdity of this strange cabin, because he’d already forgotten how shocking the rabbit’s voice had been.
The delicious aroma of stew reached his nose.
Suddenly reminded of his hunger, Cyrus realized he hadn’t eaten since waking up.
At the hearth, the vegetable stew was bubbling temptingly.
Robin the mouse stepped aside after getting a sharp glare from the crow.
“……”
He still couldn’t believe a mouse had cooked it, but at the same time, it wasn’t like he could refuse to eat it either.
It’s not as if he could summon the duke’s chef here.
“At least there’s no one trying to poison me.”
Cyrus smirked bitterly, remembering the silver cutlery and the food testers he’d once relied on back at the mansion.
He picked up a plate and served himself some stew.
As he turned to head back to the table, his eyes met the crow’s—and he stopped.
The crow was staring at the pot with its beak half-open, looking like it might drool any second.
“……”
After a moment of thought, Cyrus picked up another, smaller plate.
Ignoring the crow muttering, “You’re a good guy after all,” he casually ladled another serving and set the two smaller plates near the hearth before walking off with his own.
Garrett watched him in awe.
[Wow, really…]
[What a nice guy!]
[And handsome.]
[…]
[He sparkles.]
[Um…]
[I want to plant him in my tomato patch.]
[…]
Run.
Robin the mouse sent Cyrus a desperate look, silently pleading for help from the crow’s crazed gaze.
Sadly, it didn’t reach him.
Outside the cabin, Lizzie let out a breath as the cool evening breeze brushed her face.
“Whew… That was close. I almost started chatting with a rabbit like it was normal.”
In a fantasy world with druids, talking to animals wasn’t exactly a big deal.
But Lizzie Atkins knew well that it was better to keep that ability hidden from others.
The world always rejected what was different, and Cyrus Blanchard was no exception.
Besides, this late-night visit from a rabbit wasn’t going to be a simple head-nod exchange.
“What’s going on?”
Lowering the rabbit from under her arm, Lizzie asked seriously.
“You’re one of the most proper rabbits I know, so for you to visit at this hour… this must be serious.”
The rabbit nodded gravely.
[Humans are everywhere.]
“Everywhere?”
Lizzie looked around, surprised.
Now that she noticed, the hazel trees surrounding the fields did seem more restless than usual.
She hadn’t heard it earlier since she’d been inside all day.
“It’s not hunting season, is it?”
Animals often came to her for protection during hunting season—but not today.
Not a single one.
“Wait… That’s strange.”
Lizzie frowned.
“Why hasn’t a single animal come? Usually, even just for snacks, someone shows up…”
[They couldn’t come.]
The rabbit said,
[They all had to hide.]
“What?”
Boom!
As if in answer, a faint explosion echoed in the distance.
It sounded far away, muffled by her protective barriers—but it actually wasn’t far at all.
The trees shook violently, and countless animal cries rang out.
Lizzie muttered in disbelief.
“No way. Who hunts with bombs…?”
[This isn’t hunting, Miss Atkins.]
The rabbit shook its head.
[They’re searching for something. They’re ripping up, slashing, and exploding every overgrown patch of grass. Many animals have lost their homes—or their lives. Probably…]
What they’re looking for must be something
they don’t care if it dies.
At those words, only one thought entered Lizzie Atkins’s mind.
“Something they don’t care dies…”
Her moss-green eyes turned toward the cabin.
Toward where Cyrus Blanchard was.
