* * *
A jolt of pain shot to the tips of his fingers.
Ranshel slowly uncurled his trembling hand.
His fingers were slick with blood.
Though the wound he’d torn open still bled, the bandage wrapped around Danie’s injury held firm.
It should have been soaked by now, yet only a faint trace of blood was slowly seeping through.
Ranshel let the stone in his hand drop with a dull thunk.
“This should be enough. Let’s end it here.”
“…What are you saying?”
“My goal from the start was to deal with whoever tried to harm the young master. You’re not my target.”
“…I just told you—I intend to bring ruin to House Pomel.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve been watching us since we met back at the viscount’s estate, haven’t you? Whatever you’re planning, it’s not something you’d do just to squeeze out compensation.”
Ranshel let out a sigh and slumped to the floor.
He reached into the torn front of his shirt and pulled out a familiar, loathsome bottle of Merk medicine.
Merk could be deadly depending on how it was used—but as medicine, it was fairly effective.
‘Not that it matters. Even if it’s poison, it won’t work on him anyway…’
Ranshel crushed the clumped mixture and roughly smeared it over his torn palm.
As long as it stopped the bleeding for now, that was enough.
He’d already lost a good amount of blood, and honestly, even if his legs were fine, he didn’t have the strength left to walk.
If something else were to jump out now, he wouldn’t be able to fight anymore.
“You don’t need medicine, do you? You’ve got something much better, after all.”
Without sparing a glance in his direction, Ranshel shoved the medicine case back into his coat.
After a moment of silence, Danie spoke again.
“Why do you think that?”
“Oh, you won’t let it go unless I explain it too?”
Ranshel openly showed his annoyance, but Danie’s face remained completely blank.
He simply stood there quietly.
It looked like he intended to wait until Ranshel gave him an answer.
Doter’s the same, and so is Danie…
Honestly, all these underlings ever think about is what kind of report they can bring back to their master.
Ranshel clicked his tongue.
He wasn’t planning to say anything to Zavad.
There weren’t many things he could say without lying, and the idea of chatting away with a tired kid who’d just finished his trial rubbed him the wrong way.
‘Wait, is this what Zavad meant when he went on about the virtues of a servant?’
He recalled the time Zavad grumbled that his attendant should have filed a report if he was going to be absent.
Maybe it really was the norm to fabricate something—anything—to keep your master informed, like Doter and Danie did.
After a moment of thought, Ranshel shrugged.
He was a villain.
Why should he act like a thoughtful, master-devoted servant?
He was only by Zavad’s side to carry out the quest.
“You do realize that Lord Frey didn’t even need to take the entrance exam in the first place, right? He already had a student status granted to him through special means.”
Danie, who had been gazing into space indifferently, suddenly sharpened his eyes.
Ranshel continued, indifferent.
“He didn’t come from Vershel this time. He came from the capital… turned back and came out from there, didn’t he?”
Why had they even met this early?
In the original story, Zavad wasn’t supposed to meet Frey at this point—not only that, there was no reason for them to cross paths at the Venders estate, of all places, instead of inside the academy.
If something that wasn’t supposed to happen did happen, it meant a variable had been introduced.
Maybe others wouldn’t know, but Ranshel was someone capable of recognizing that variable.
Because he knew of Frey’s unchangeable future—his fate to become the Saintess.
That destiny wouldn’t change no matter how twisted the game’s storyline became.
Zavad, who was supposed to remain cloistered in Pomel Castle until his coming-of-age ceremony at the Imperial Palace, had come out into the world prematurely.
Behind the scenes, the royal court must’ve been abuzz with discussions about Zavad’s unexpected arrival in the capital.
Those who wanted to protect Zavad, and those who wanted to harm him, now had to act fast—far faster than before.
So what had driven Frey to change his actions?
“Lord Frey… No, Saintess Frey has already received her baptism at the Great Cathedral, and returned to the Venders estate. To meet the young master.”
Frey had become the Saintess earlier than scheduled.
“She likely wanted to judge for herself. Whether the young master was someone worthy of receiving divine protection.”
To bestow a blessing upon Zavad.
To protect him from the attacks aimed his way.
The only person who might’ve thought of such a move would be the Empress—a powerful figure backed by the Great Cathedral and herself a former Saintess.
Frey was aligned with the Empress.
These people had no reason to harm Zavad.
And so Ranshel completely let down his guard and smothered his murderous intent.
There was no longer any need to stay on edge.
“That wound of yours… It was healed by Lord Frey’s blessing, wasn’t it?”
It wasn’t a defensive skill.
That particular blessing already had a rightful owner.
And if it had been defensive, the wound wouldn’t look like that.
Ranshel had bled a lot, after all.
‘It’s a healing skill.’
As soon as the arrow struck, healing had kicked in, minimizing organ damage and preventing a fatal injury.
Even after the arrow was removed, the wound had continued to regenerate.
As long as the attack wasn’t instantly fatal, the body could restore torn tissue and replenish lost blood.
Ranshel knew someone who had a skill like that.
‘One of the capture targets had it…’
If the game had followed its original plot, Frey would have encountered other capture targets and passed through the common route.
During that time, personal events would trigger as he bestowed blessings on different characters.
But they had already finished the “Flower of the Ice Castle” event at the Venders estate.
This was firmly Zavad’s route now.
The common route had been skipped altogether.
All the other capture targets had been relegated to extras, and their blessings had become skills for sub-characters instead.
Which meant Frey had joined the entrance exam only to bestow a blessing on Zavad.
Even if neither of them tried very hard, the two were destined to become close here.
It wasn’t hard to understand why Zavad fell for him at first sight. It wasn’t just because Frey was beautiful.
The beauty of a Saintess, after all, was said to come from her noble character.
If Zavad had been dealing with a rude servant all day, then laid eyes on someone so pure and kind… it must have been breathtaking.
‘…Though Zavad is technically prettier.’
A quiet chuckle slipped from Ranshel, but his head soon dipped downward.
His hand ached.
Maybe he’d overdone it—his chest was throbbing too…
* * *
