"When will the master arrive? The young lady did it again today… I feel quite sorry for her."
The whispers drifted faintly, nearly swallowed by the soft footsteps pressing against the old wooden floor. Liam and I were led along by Glorim, the maid who always accompanied the Count's daughter, walking through a long and narrow corridor.
The candlelight along the walls flickered from time to time, making Glorim's shadow appear to dance, as though it were trying to conceal something behind such calm movements. Liam walked beside me in silence, his expression flat.
I tried to scan every detail around me—the cracks in the walls, the traces of other footsteps on the dusty floor, the subtle movement of Glorim's uniform as it brushed against the night wind slipping through the small window. Everything felt like an unheard sound, like the echo of a heartbeat reverberating inside my own head.
I thought this would be a journey toward important information, something useful for the investigation. But instead, Glorim led me back to the servants' quarters provided for us—a place that was supposed to be safe, yet felt unfamiliar and filled with anticipation.
"You should rest for now… the sun has already set, which means the duties for part-time workers have ended," Glorim said with a faint smile.
"Ah, that's right. I'll prepare something for tomorrow as a token of gratitude for helping calm the young lady," she added.
Before I could respond, Glorim gave a polite bow, glanced at us once more, and walked away with quick yet composed steps. The sound of her retreating footsteps left behind an empty space.
Liam let out a long sigh beside me, his voice low but clearly audible.
"She's quite suspicious… and I'm pretty hungry," he muttered.
Was that really something necessary to say at a time like this?
His gaze remained fixed on the corridor Glorim had just passed through, as though weighing every possible outcome even after we had just returned from that strange task.
Liam whistled softly as he walked with an easy stride. His eyes swept across the building in front of us—from the neatly arranged stone walls to the tall windows lined up at even intervals. His expression showed no excessive admiration, more like someone verifying whether everything matched his personal expectations.
It wasn't as large as the Count's main residence, but by servant housing standards, this place was clearly excessive. At least four times larger than where I used to live. Even the corridor alone was long enough for footsteps to echo lightly with each step.
"Quiet," he remarked.
It really was quiet.
This kind of silence wasn't unfamiliar.
Most of the servants were still working in the main residence until well past ten at night. Over the past week, this place had almost always been empty after sunset. There were no hurried footsteps, no hushed conversations between servants—only the occasional creak of old wood as the night wind slipped through the cracks of the windows.
Something like this was normal for part-time workers.
Or at least, I had forced myself to think of it as normal.
"I didn't realize the inside of this place was quite luxurious for servant quarters," Liam added.
His tone sounded sincere enough to make me glance at him briefly. The way he observed the ceiling, the simple carvings on the supporting pillars, even the small chandelier still lit above—it made him look like someone stepping into a place like this for the first time.
Why are you acting like you've never entered a place like this before?
Aren't the guards' quarters anything like this?
"I guess I shouldn't be sleeping outside every night," Liam muttered again.
Did that even make sense?
No.
I mean—what kind of normal person would choose to sleep outside, on open ground, under unpredictable weather, when a proper bed and a solid roof were clearly provided?
I glanced to the side.
Well.
The perfect example was walking casually beside me, whistling as if he were talking about something completely normal.
Liam's steps remained light, his shoulders relaxed, as though this place was merely a temporary stop not worth taking seriously. Meanwhile, I felt that this building—supposedly a place to rest—held a strange pressure, something unseen yet clinging to the skin.
A silence that was too orderly.
A comfort that felt unnatural.
The lamps were still lit, the floors clean, the air warm, yet it felt like stepping into a waiting room before something happened.
After satisfying himself exploring the building, Liam finally agreed to follow me to the room I usually used. The corridor leading there was narrow and quiet, lit only by dim wall lamps that barely helped.
The room wasn't large. A single bed with neatly arranged sheets, a small wooden table in the corner, a chair that wobbled slightly if sat on carelessly, and an old wardrobe I used more for storing work clothes than anything valuable. Still, it was enough. At least enough to sleep and wake up without being disturbed.
Liam glanced around, then without ceremony sat himself down on the edge of the bed.
My bed.
The springs creaked softly in polite protest.
The red-eyed man looked completely at ease, as if the room had been his all along. His elbows rested on his thighs, his body leaning slightly forward, his gaze not truly focused on anything in the room. For a moment, the atmosphere fell back into an awkward silence.
"If one day I fall unconscious… would you kill me?" Liam suddenly asked.
"…?"
Huh?
My mind went blank for a few seconds. Why was he talking about something like that now? There wasn't even a hint of joking in his tone. Just flat. Too flat.
"Maybe?" I finally replied.
The answer came out faster than my intention to hold it back. Liam turned to look at me. His face immediately soured, clearly displeased with my response. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressed thin.
Hey, wasn't he the one who asked?
What's wrong with answering honestly?
"You're quite cruel for someone who's extremely cowardly," he remarked.
"I feel offended," I replied shortly.
---
"Peter… Peter… who is he, and why would the captain go that far?"
The murmur slipped out softly, barely more than a breath, as her footsteps continued pacing the same room. Two steps forward, stop, turn, and repeat. Her slender fingers moved restlessly, crumpling the documents in her hands without realizing what she was doing. The papers were wrinkled, folded, some nearly torn.
Normally, Charlotte would scold anyone who dared treat important reports like that. This time, she was the culprit herself.
She stopped.
Charlotte let out a long sigh before finally walking toward the soft sofa in the corner and dropping herself onto it without a trace of elegance. Her back leaned lazily, her head tilted upward as though hoping the answer was written on the ceiling.
"Ah… does the captain like that type?" she murmured again, the corner of her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "I really didn't expect that~"
The image of the captain—always flat and serious for a normal person—clashed in her mind with the image of Peter, fragile, quiet, and looking like he might break from a loud sound. A… strange combination.
And precisely because of that, Charlotte felt a little excited.
Footsteps cut through her thoughts.
"Clear your mind."
Charlotte turned quickly, almost reflexively, toward the source of the voice. The white-haired man approached calmly, holding a scroll in his hand as though he hadn't heard any of that conversation at all.
"I only think of him as my own son."
The sentence was delivered without hesitation, without pause, and without the slightest change in expression. That was exactly what made Charlotte grin even wider.
"Ah, what a shame," she replied lightly, almost dramatically. "You two look quite good together."
The captain stopped.
He turned slowly.
"I'll cut your salary."
The threat was delivered in the same flat tone as a weather report. Not emotional, not exaggerated, yet enough to make Charlotte immediately straighten up and cover her mouth with both hands.
"…Ah, Captain~ I was only joking," she murmured softly, though her sly smile hadn't completely disappeared.
Yet behind the joke, one thing lingered in the air.
If Peter was truly only regarded as a son, why did the captain's attention feel far beyond what was normal?
Charlotte's bright green eyes stared sharply, though a trace of curiosity was impossible to hide. The captain's quiet voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, making Charlotte lean forward slightly as if trying to catch every word.
Her fingers moved slowly, gripping the edge of the cold wooden table, trying to steady herself. Charlotte swallowed, realizing that her teasing might have annoyed him a little, yet it was hard to suppress her smile—her captain was quite amusing when disturbed.
"So what brings you here, my lord?"
The captain frowned deeply. He didn't respond immediately, only glancing at Charlotte before answering in a low, flat voice, "Nothing important… it seems Caroline finished the cake in my cupboard."
Charlotte blinked, her body rising from her seat almost reflexively. Her cheeks felt warm, though not from ordinary embarrassment—more like a mix of admiration and amusement. Her smile widened, and without waiting for permission, she quickly turned toward the door.
"Don't worry, I'll bring one as big as the office~"
After that, she dashed out, her light and quick footsteps cutting across the faintly creaking wooden floor. The captain stood near the door, watching her leave without changing his expression, only occasionally glancing toward the direction where her figure disappeared into the corridor.
"I wasn't finished speaking…" he muttered.
Before turning and slowly closing the door, his gaze swept across the room Charlotte usually used. The stacks of papers and rolled documents remained neatly arranged—nothing moved, no sign that someone had just left.
"Three people," he murmured softly, his voice as low as a breath. The words slipped out unhurriedly, like counting steps and mapping possibilities, attaching themselves to a vigilance always ready for whatever might come.
"The captain isn't someone who openly says he wants something… it's definitely not a good sign after he says something like that, especially by bringing up Caroline's name," Charlotte muttered after stepping out of the rather luxurious building.
The night was calm, the breeze carrying a chill that made her skin prickle while still feeling fresh against her face. The moon shone brightly, reflecting off the large windows, some of which appeared empty as their occupants had already gone to rest.
The city streets were quiet. Only the sound of her own footsteps echoed faintly, a reminder that this was a silent night—almost impossible to find anyone, let alone cake in the middle of it.
Her eyes shifted after hearing a rustling sound from the east. A noise subtle enough to be missed by most, yet Charlotte caught it clearly, as if her instincts signaled that something was happening.
"Cake in the middle of the night and Caroline finishing it… easy, that little girl must be in trouble, huh? Honestly, Captain, why not just say it directly if you have a bad feeling~" Charlotte muttered, half grumbling, half curious, as her steps moved steadily toward the east.
She felt her heartbeat quicken slightly, as if it ran alongside her thoughts, trying to anticipate what might happen.
"But honestly, now I want cake just because the captain mentioned it~" she added, a wide smile spreading across her face despite the tense atmosphere. Her steps remained steady, but her eyes never stopped scanning her surroundings. The night wind felt sharp, slipping through her white dress and making the fabric flutter. Her hat almost flew off if she hadn't caught it with her right hand.
She lowered her gaze briefly, her green eyes focusing on the ground beneath her feet, sensing something unusual in the surface. Something small, yet striking enough to make her stop.
With a quick motion, Charlotte crouched down and picked it up—a worn piece of paper, damp at the edges, as if it had just been thrown or fallen from a height.
At that exact moment, something was hurled toward her from an unknown direction. If Charlotte hadn't ducked quickly, it might have hit her.
"Oh my~" she exclaimed spontaneously, her smile still wide even as her heartbeat spiked.
She examined the worn paper carefully, observing every curve of the letters and the stains marking it. Without delay, she continued walking, her steps steady, each movement calculated yet light, as though dancing across the silent night ground.
Charlotte kept moving east, trying to guess what Caroline might be doing tonight while maintaining her vigilance. The wind carried the distinct scent of the night, slipping through her hair, sending a cool sensation that sharpened her awareness. The object she had picked up was held tightly in her grasp, as if it were the only small proof of something happening within that grand residence.
Her thoughts wandered through various possibilities, from trivial matters to those that could lead to serious trouble, while her faint smile remained. The night atmosphere, the shining moon, the empty streets, and the worn paper in her hand combined into a scene that felt dramatic—even tense—yet Charlotte remained calm, moving like a shadow through the darkness.
The rooftop of the building was quite high, high enough to make anyone standing on it feel like a ruler of the night. Yet the cold air slipped through the gaps between the tiles, making the entire body tense. Faint sounds echoed above—light footsteps mingling with the hiss of the night wind sweeping through the quiet city.
Several weapons glinted in the hands of those figures, the moonlight reflecting off the cold metal, as if warning anyone watching not to move or breathe too loudly.
One of them stared down at Charlotte from above, his body partially concealed by the shadow of a black cloak blending into the darkness. His gaze was sharp, assessing every small movement, every change in expression. He let out a breath, as though calming himself, though it was nothing more than formality—the awareness that his opponent was a white-clad noblewoman with swift movements had already made him cautious.
His eyes shifted, seeking the companion standing beside him—silent, unmoving—to judge whether he could rely on help or face the threat alone.
On the other side, Charlotte remained calm, even under that looming gaze. Her white dress fluttered gently in the night wind, and every motion of her hand tightening its grip on the dagger looked precise. She lowered her head briefly, adjusting her footing to maintain balance, ready for a sudden attack, while her wide smile remained—showing confidence mixed with faint mockery.
The moment she turned, the white-clad woman was already standing right in front of him. Her smile remained wide, yet her eyes held enough seriousness to make any opponent think twice.
The dagger rose, pointing directly at the throat of the man in the black cloak. Every tension in Charlotte's muscles appeared trained, like movements repeated countless times until they became instinct.
"Hello, handsome~ how rude of you to spy on a lone noblewoman," Charlotte said lightly, her voice laced with mockery and hidden threat, making the man tense.
He could feel the air tightening around them, as if every inch of space had turned into an invisible battlefield.
Charlotte's dagger pressed against his neck, emphasizing that this was no mere small talk. Yet beneath it lingered a sense of ease—even amusement—as if she were playing with risk, enjoying the moment when her opponent didn't know what to do next.
The night was quiet, the wind whispering, Charlotte's wide smile and the gleaming dagger—all these elements formed a tension that could almost be felt on the skin, making every heartbeat seem to echo within it.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes, that wide smile etched on her face like a subtle yet deadly warning. A faint explosion sounded in the distance, its vibration seeping through the night air, reminding that this world was never truly calm—even when the city appeared silent.
In front of her, the man in the black cloak panicked. His body moved hastily, his hand reaching for the sword at his waist.
But Charlotte gave him no chance.
Every movement of his seemed to slow in her eyes, time clinging to each second, allowing space for only a single action. With precise steps, Charlotte's hand shot forward, striking the back of his neck—an impact strong enough to make him collapse and lose consciousness.
"I'll interrogate you later," Charlotte murmured coldly, leaving no room for argument.
From her right arm, Charlotte produced a glass bottle reflecting the blue flame flickering in her palm. With a smooth motion, she opened the lid. The unconscious man's body slowly shrank, turning into fine, sand-like fragments that drifted and entered the bottle.
Charlotte then turned her gaze toward the city from the rooftop. The night wind blew stronger, making her dress and hair dance wildly. Her eyes narrowed, staring straight toward a light near the edge of the city. The glow shimmered in the distance, drawing both attention and curiosity while stirring the sense that something was waiting.
"Over there, huh?"
---
Her footsteps echoed through the narrow alleys, no longer silent. The sound of explosions rang out repeatedly, this time much louder—like blasts tearing through the night air without permission. The vibrations spread into the ground, sending stray cats scattering with fur bristling and frightened cries.
Some of them even froze, their small bodies trembling, as if their instincts couldn't decide whether to run… or surrender.
Charlotte lifted her gaze briefly toward the buildings around her. The windows were half-open, silhouettes of people visible behind the glass. They covered their ears, their pale faces tense with expressions that resembled insects trapped under a bright light—helpless, confused, and able to do nothing but wait for something worse to happen.
What exactly is happening?
The question hadn't even fully settled in her mind when the answer appeared before her with cruel clarity.
Charlotte stopped abruptly in front of a half-collapsed old building. Flames licked its fragile walls, wood crackled as it burned, and black smoke curled up into the night sky. The heat pierced her skin, making the air around her feel heavy and difficult to breathe.
There, amidst the flames and debris, a blue-haired girl sat on the ground. Her small body looked far too fragile to be in the middle of such chaos. In front of her stood a young man, faint sparks of unstable lightning flickering from his fingertips. The light pulsed in rhythm with his breathing, clearly showing that he was forcing himself to stay standing—to keep protecting.
"Caroline!" Charlotte called sharply, her voice nearly cutting through the roar of flames and the fading echoes of explosions.
The girl turned. Her eyes widened before she finally broke. Tears streamed down uncontrollably as Caroline stumbled to her feet, running toward Charlotte and clinging to her tightly, as if the world would collapse if she let go.
On the other side, several figures in black cloaks stood in a half-circle. Their presence contrasted sharply with the fire and panic around them. One of them held a sword—its blade, its shape, even the faint aura surrounding it felt far too familiar. Charlotte's eyes widened for a moment, her breath catching not from fear, but from recognition that came too quickly.
"Hand over the necklace, and your lives will be spared," one of them said.
His tone was flat, as if what he offered was not a matter of life or death, but a simple transaction. In his hand, small flames danced, bright enough to make it clear that he possessed power—not an empty threat.
Charlotte tightened her hold around Caroline, her eyes sweeping the surroundings quickly. A burning building, civilians too afraid to approach, the young man whose lightning was beginning to weaken, and the black-cloaked figures standing with far too much confidence.
That organization again.
The strange group that had recently appeared, carrying power said to be a gift from the Creator. Power that was supposed to protect humanity, maintain balance, and restrain chaos. Yet the reality was the opposite. They stood here threatening, cornering, and using innocent people as bargaining tools.
Charlotte slowly lifted her face, a thin, cold smile forming on her lips. The fire reflected in her eyes, making her gaze appear far more dangerous than the flames behind her.
"Well, what a pity. Stirring trouble with my daughter is the same as stirring trouble with her mother here~" Charlotte replied lightly, her tone far too relaxed for a situation this dire.
The fire around the building still raged, casting an orange glow over her smiling face—one that resembled an invitation to a fatal mistake.
"What should we do? It just so happens I haven't had any fun in quite a while. How about a round of dance?" Charlotte added, her voice almost cheerful.
One of the black-cloaked figures holding a spear slowly raised his weapon. The tip gleamed, ready to strike without hesitation. The muscles in his arm tensed, clearly waiting for the slightest signal to attack.
But another hand rose first.
The figure standing slightly behind—the one who had been silent and observing—lifted his hand in a brief motion. That signal alone was enough to freeze the others in place.
"We withdraw now," he said in a low voice. "It's best not to deal with a noble like her."
He knew very well that one wrong step in front of that woman would end far worse than a failed mission.
Even though one of them let out an annoyed breath.
Without further resistance, the black-cloaked figures retreated. Their bodies slowly faded, blending into the night air, disappearing like shadows that had never truly existed. The fire still burned, the building still collapsed, but the threat vanished just like that—leaving behind a strange silence heavier than the explosions before.
Charlotte let out a soft breath. Her smile faded, replaced by a tired expression she rarely showed in front of others. Her hand reached for Caroline's shoulder, patting it gently as if to make sure the girl was truly there and safe.
On the other side, the young man who had been standing with lightning in his fingers finally gave in. The sparks extinguished one by one, his knees buckled, and his body collapsed onto the scorched ground.
Dust scattered as he exhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly. His face was pale, sweat mixed with soot clinging to his temples and jaw.
"I thought…" he said, his voice breaking as he swallowed with difficulty. "I was going to die here."
Charlotte turned to him. Her gaze assessed him quickly, ensuring there were no fatal injuries, then she clicked her tongue softly.
"Exaggeration," she muttered. "You're still breathing. That's enough proof."
Caroline tightened her grip on the edge of Charlotte's dress, as if the shadows of the attackers still stood before her. The fire behind them began to weaken, leaving only the crackling of burning wood and the sharp scent of smoke.
"It's alright, they're gone. We should put out the fire first, shouldn't we?" Charlotte said while gently stroking Caroline's blue hair, a motion that contrasted with the chaos around them.
The touch was enough to calm Caroline slightly, though her fingers still clutched Charlotte's dress. The flames behind them continued to lick at the remains of the structure with deafening crackles, the heat spreading against their skin.
"And you…" Charlotte added, shifting her gaze to the young man still sitting on the ground. Her stare was direct, sharp, yet wrapped in a faint, unreadable smile. The young man stared at the blazing fire devouring the building before him, his eyes empty, as if he had just escaped death in a way he didn't fully understand.
"Ahh… my cake shop was destroyed because of them. Mother will definitely kill me when she returns from her long vacation," he complained softly, his voice nearly desperate.
Charlotte let out a small sigh, her smile widening as if the complaint were nothing more than a light joke to her ears. "There's no time to worry about that, you know~" she said casually. "It seems you need to explain in detail about that lightning you were using."
Her voice sounded light—too friendly, to the point that even Caroline, who was hugging her, pulled back slightly, sensing something strange in the woman's aura.
Charlotte lowered herself slightly, aligning her gaze with both of them, her smile still firmly in place.
"What a aughty children," she said again, this time in a sweet tone that made the hairs on the back of the neck stand on end.