* * *
Simon pulled a carrot from the bucket he was holding and tossed it.
Ranshel caught it easily.
“The family head praised you, by the way. Said he didn’t expect you to make it this far, thought you’d fail midway.”
“You were planning to send in the next guy the moment I did, weren’t you?”
“You catch on quick. You were just a test run. If we were serious, you’d have had a higher number in the lineup. No one expects much from number eight.”
Ranshel debated whether to eat the carrot himself but ended up feeding it to the horse.
“Keep doing well. That young master’s life isn’t something to take lightly.”
“Just how much is the promised reward? Did he offer you a gold mine or something?”
“He’s the emperor’s illegitimate son. You think a few bars of gold are enough? Anyway, you’ve made it this far—so hang in there and finish the job properly with your own hands.”
“Yeah. I’ve no intention of returning empty-handed.”
As he rummaged through the bucket, Simon suddenly shot him a sharp glare.
“You’re not getting any ideas, are you? Don’t forget your job. Remember—I’m your handler and your cleanup crew.”
“…Of course. Give me the order and I’ll kill him anytime.”
The horse, clearly fond of carrots, nudged Ranshel’s hand insistently with its nose.
Ranshel smiled and stroked its fur.
Simon clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“This is your warning. Don’t screw things up just because of your personal vendetta.”
“What vendetta?”
“Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself back then.”
Simon threw another carrot at Ranshel.
“You said you hated nobles to the core. That you were thrilled for the chance to get close to one. Said it’d be a waste to kill him right away, that this was perfect. Don’t start messing around just to amuse yourself. If the order comes, kill him cleanly. Too much damage to the body leaves evidence.”
“…Your memory is impressive, as always.”
Ranshel fumbled and dropped the carrot.
He bent down to pick it up, clenched his jaw with his eyes tightly shut, then straightened up with a nonchalant smile.
To define things clearly: Ranshel is a bastard.
Specifically, a bastard when it comes to Zavad.
Because Zavad is the only one who ever sees Ranshel’s true nature.
Nameless assigns its children roles strictly by order.
The first and second are raised meticulously to be adopted into noble families currently in power.
The third, Simon, was given the role of a wanderer, constantly shifting identities and moving freely.
Those below him serve nobles directly—assistants, attendants—and those ranked even lower, like Ranshel, are assigned as menial servants.
And that’s exactly what Ranshel wanted.
He even hid his true abilities to get a lower rank, just so he could end up here.
In the original story, he was a full-blown villain.
And being ordered to stay indefinitely by Zavad’s side?
That was music to his ears.
He didn’t have to kill right away.
He could torment the noble brat to his heart’s content for days.
What joy.
As long as he didn’t leave visible injuries, he could do whatever he wanted.
For Ranshel, it was the perfect assignment.
Just as Zavad hated commoners, Ranshel despised nobles.
Possibly even more than Zavad did.
Simon shook his head.
“Hard to forget. We all got screwed by Nameless in one way or another, but you—you were on a different level.”
He rummaged through the feed bucket again, then threw the next carrot like a stone.
Ranshel caught it with both hands and gave it to the horse.
“Still pisses me off. You almost ruined everything back when you were just an apprentice.”
“…Huh? What happened again?”
Ranshel tilted his head deliberately, playing dumb.
Simon looked at him like he was filth.
“Don’t tell me you forgot? When you were helping out as a gardener at Baron Davit’s estate? You tried to stab the baron’s son with shears!”
“…Oh, right. That… did happen, didn’t it?”
Ranshel swallowed a sigh rising in his throat and replied as if it were nothing.
Simon had described him perfectly.
Ranshel was a monster.
While making flower arrangements at the noble house he was assigned to, he raised a pair of shears to stab a boy playing nearby.
The kid had looked at him like he was dirt—that was reason enough.
In the original, Ranshel despised all nobles.
But the ones he loathed most were children born into nobility—those who’d never known anything but privilege.
That’s why he became the “most heinous villain” in Zavad’s route.
“…You’re really obsessed with me, huh? How do you remember all that?”
“Wouldn’t you? You look all cute, but you’re rotten inside.”
Simon let out a long sigh.
Ranshel shrugged and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart.
Good thing Simon remembers the original Ranshel so well.
Good that he understands what kind of monster he used to be.
As long as Simon’s around, Ranshel can stay convincingly evil.
And when Zavad finally finds out the truth—he’ll treat Ranshel the same way Simon does now.
No, that won’t be enough.
Ranshel needs to become a demon—a living nightmare that haunts Zavad.
He’ll make Zavad shatter, make him grip broken glass and swing it in desperation.
Hang Ranshel’s body from the castle walls, let crows tear at the rotting flesh.
Once all the villains who tormented him are dead, Ranshel will walk away and live happily ever after with Frey.
The revenge must be unforgettable—so intense that there’s no regret left behind.
So that Zavad can forget that someone like Ranshel ever existed.
“…”
Ranshel came to his senses when he felt the horse nuzzling into his palm again.
“Hey, you’re throwing the carrots too slow. Can’t you be faster?”
“…Don’t act like that in front of the others when we’re in the capital. They won’t go easy on you like I do.”
“By ‘others,’ you mean the first and second? I don’t even know what they look like. How would I dare?”
“When you first joined Nameless…”
Simon suddenly tapped his lips with his palm.
“…Never mind.”
“Okay.”
Simon tossed out two carrots at once.
Ranshel caught them midair and asked casually,
“So, both of them are in the capital right now?”
Simon smacked his lips again in frustration.
“Damn it. I haven’t slept, my brain’s not working… Forget you heard that. You’re not going to run into them anyway.”
“Sure. I don’t care either way.”
Ranshel tilted his head lazily side to side.
But that was a lie.
In truth, he cared a lot.
Those two were probably adopted into high-ranking noble families for some important mission.
Most likely enrolled at Delta Academy.
Especially the first son…
Yeah. This was going to be a problem.
The first son of Nameless was a target character in the original game—and no matter which route you took, he always showed an obsessive interest in the Saintess Frey.
Even though Ranshel had secured Zavad’s route, the first son was bound to meet Frey eventually.
And if he saw her with Zavad… if that broke something in him…
That would be catastrophic.
Moreover, he was someone connected to Ranshel’s past.
Unlike with the other siblings, Ranshel recognized him the moment their eyes met—and he, too, recognized Ranshel instantly.
That meant just making eye contact was enough to expose their true identities.
And with high probability, the first son would immediately seize the chance to kill Ranshel.
‘This is troublesome…’
Ranshel was certainly skilled, but frankly, in a pure one-on-one fight with daggers, he didn’t think he could defeat the first son.
The second son, maybe, if the situation worked in his favor.
But the first?
He couldn’t think of a single viable method to deal with him.
There was a reason that man was given the first rank.
The reason why female assassins were raised in families other than Nameless was because the first daughter had slaughtered all her sisters.
‘…For now, I need to focus on what I can do.’
There was no point in worrying over what he couldn’t control.
* * *
