TNCFO 77

~Chapter 77~

During the day’s incident, Noxian had looked for Shariette several times.
But after falling asleep for a nap, she hadn’t stirred at all for a long time.

“Yes. I think the shock must have been big.”

Even I would react that way if some crazy woman suddenly started a fake self-harm act right in front of me.

Janet shivered, brushing away the goosebumps on her neck, as she recalled Anette screaming when she had tried to help.

“There’s nothing wrong. I just took a nap.”

In fact, Shariette woke up from her deep sleep feeling completely refreshed.
Her eyes were wide open, clear. She had even dreamed something pleasant.
She couldn’t recall the details, but she felt peaceful upon waking.
Her mind felt sharper and clearer.

Her recovery had always been quick—physically and mentally.

“What happened with that woman?”

He’d looked for her several times, so she thought it must’ve been urgent, and had come with medicine—only to hear this?

“The same as what you saw.”

“…Let’s go inside first.”

He doesn’t believe me. Shariette could read disbelief on his face.

It wasn’t like she wanted to lie, but how could she explain being hit for something she didn’t do?

That Anette Maze wasn’t the real Anette—that inside her body was the soul of Blanche, her dead half-sister, who had died because of her betrayal?

“Who would ever believe that?”

They sat facing each other across the sofa table.
Noxian clasped his hands and rested them on his knees.

“First, I’m sorry you had to experience such an unpleasant event today. The oversight was mine.”

Since she couldn’t tell him it happened because the core of Anette was Blanche, Shariette only nodded shamelessly.

Watching her, Noxian asked again:

“Really, was it nothing more than Anette Maze staging a farce?”

So, the earlier “investigation” really had just been for show. He was set on concluding it was Anette’s scheme.

“Why are you so sure it was an act?”

At her question, he looked puzzled and asked back:

“In a closed room with just you and her, who else could there have been?”

“…Most of the time when someone’s hit, there aren’t marks left on the hand.”

“That’s true.”

Earlier, she had been too shocked realizing how Anette’s so-called ‘healing’ actually worked. She hadn’t thought further.

But now, yes—it had certainly looked suspicious.

So why had he assumed from the start that she wasn’t the culprit?

As though reading the unasked question, he said:

“You told me you saw the culprit. And you very obviously looked at her.”

Was it that obvious?
But that was only because he pressured her so much to say something…

“Shariette. From the start, if you were the type of person to hit someone just because you disliked them, you wouldn’t need Janet guarding you 24/7.”

What was this—trusting her, but somehow insulting her at the same time?

“Even if you hit someone, it wouldn’t be a problem. So from now on, feel free to try harder.”

…Try harder at hitting people?

Noxian chuckled at her sour expression.

“Well, judging from how you handled me, maybe your principle is not to hit clumsily but to take someone out in one strike.”

“That’s not it! I only put you to sleep, I just anesthetized you!”

How long was he going to keep dragging that up?

He listened to her heated denial and replied lazily:

“Right. Even against a beast, you’d only use a non-lethal sedative. No way you’d beat that woman until her face looked like rags. But…”

He thought of Anette Maze’s injuries.
Her face, her hands—her wounds matched perfectly.

“That’s the problem.”

In front of witnesses, he’d had to quickly conclude it was an act.
But the wounds had carried clear traces of malice and hatred.

“Those were the marks of someone skilled in violence.”

Shariette unconsciously touched her cheek.
Noxian’s sharp gaze followed her hand, searching her face carefully, as if trying to spot a hidden wound.

“Judging by her crazed state, I’d say she really did raise her hand against you.”

“You saw for yourself—I’m fine.”

But Noxian had seen her resilience many times before.
Even when beaten, stabbed, poisoned—she always looked fine soon after.

“Shariette, I’m asking because I know your unusual body. If you’re lying—”

“No matter how fast I recover, a wound doesn’t disappear instantly.”

That was true. So she answered with confidence.

Seeing her calm face, Noxian clenched his teeth.

“Suspicious. But I have no proof.”

If he had proof, he would’ve broken that woman’s hand already—no, crushed her bones beyond recognition.

‘Why is Shariette trying to hide it? Because of that woman? Does she know her from before—back when she was called Shasha?’

That would explain it. Shariette was desperate to hide her past.
But it couldn’t be allowed to endanger her now.

Just then, Shariette interrupted his thoughts.

“That thing yesterday… it’s related, isn’t it?”

Her eyes went straight to his ear.
Not just observant—she was obviously trying to change the subject.

‘No point asking directly, then. I’ll find out another way.’

He touched his ear. The cold metal pin was still there.

“Yes. It’s connected to the ring.”

One of the relic’s functions: a powerful protective spell and a designated summoning, activated by a command word in an emergency.

Normally, the relic’s true master’s name—Rubenshire—had to be invoked.
But if Shariette spoke it, her body wouldn’t withstand the blessing.

So Noxian had placed a contract to bypass it.
Through the name Noxian Rubellot, he could take on the burden in her stead.

It didn’t work anytime—it only triggered under desperate, urgent need.

‘But what was it last night?’

He remembered the piercing heat just before he was summoned.
Even in the cold rain, the burning sensation was vivid.
A sure sign of strong will or need.

“If anything, today should’ve triggered it more…”

“When I called your name, you suddenly appeared.”

“…Why did you call my name?”

“It just came to mind.”

“……”

Noxian pressed his jaw tight.
She said it so casually, not even realizing how it sounded to him.

And then last night’s memory flashed in his mind.

He abruptly stood.

“Bring me something to drink.”

When he left briefly, Shariette’s eyes wandered to the chessboard on the table.
Black and white pieces were tangled—had he been playing alone?

She picked up one of the black pieces.
It was shaped like a horse’s head.

“That’s called a knight.”

Noxian returned, carrying two steaming cups. He handed one to her.
It was warm milk with honey—something Mia had been preparing for evenings lately.

Noxian never let maids or servants into his room, always handling such things himself.
Another result of the trauma from Argen.

“Mia Dellen says you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Shariette sipped the milk and asked,
“You drink this too?”

The words Noxian Rubellot and honey milk didn’t belong in the same sentence—it felt absurd.

“I’ve tried everything said to help with insomnia. Don’t forget that.”

“Strictly speaking, there’s no medical proof that drinking something before bed helps with sleep.”

“No wonder it doesn’t work at all.”

He shrugged, but still took a sip.

Noticing the piece in her hand, he glanced at the board.

“Do you know where to place it?”

Of course she didn’t. It was her first time even touching chess.

But admitting that hurt her pride. So after pretending to think, she placed it down—anywhere.