* * *
“Who said I didn’t know? I said even if you restore it, it’d still be hard to read.”
“So you do know how to fix it?”
“Of course I do.”
Puffing out his chest, Petro placed both hands on his hips with confidence.
“The problem is that the impurities in the ink have clumped together. You have to remove the sticky mucus without damaging the actual letters—and ordinary substances won’t cut it.”
“Then what do I need to use?”
“Demonroot.”
Demonroot, which feeds on demonic energy, originally grows near the snowy mountains where demons live.
But not everyone who harvests it in the Empire has to risk running into demons.
There are still a few frost-covered lands within the Empire where demonic energy lingers, making cultivation possible.
So, where exactly are these lands?
With a smug expression, Petro began his explanation.
“After the long war with the demons and the founding of the early Empire, cold energy still flowed throughout the continent.”
The corrupted aura of the demon realm froze the land, stifling all life.
In response, those chosen to carry out the will of the gods sought to create places of purification to tame the demonic energy.
“And that’s how the Grand Temple in Lima, the capital, came to be.”
Afterward, the Grand Temple issued orders to send those blessed with holy power to cold, desolate lands across the continent, to establish monasteries.
The clergy dispatched to these monasteries, built across the Empire, purified the frozen ruins.
Lands once tainted by a chilling demonic energy transformed into fertile grounds overflowing with divine grace.
As people began to gather around the Grand Temple and its regional monasteries, the shadow of death that had loomed over the continent gradually faded.
However, the demonic energy lingering in the atmosphere hadn’t completely vanished.
As a result, magical herbs could still grow in those lands.
These herbs, though, were now purified enough to be used safely in human medicine.
That’s why the only places one could now acquire magical herbs were the Grand Temple and its affiliated monasteries.
“And among those, the most fertile and sacred land where various rare magical herbs grow is…”
“The Grand Temple in Lima.”
“That’s right.”
“Then… the reason you’re telling me this is, perhaps…”
Ranshel slightly lifted the prayer book in his hand.
After a brief pause, Petro, who had been confidently straight-backed, averted his gaze and slouched.
“…You mean it’s only possible to restore the book using the rare magical herbs from the Grand Temple?”
“Essentially, yes…”
Ranshel almost let out a dry laugh.
As if it wasn’t enough that all of Zavad’s villains were conveniently stashed away inside the Grand Temple—forcing him to infiltrate the place—now he also had to go there to find traces of Charlotte.
At this point, it felt like the game’s god or system or whatever it was, was deliberately guiding him to that place.
“And you have to process that magical herbs using a special method, which means you’ll need a skilled apothecary.”
“…I see.”
That could be taken care of by someone from the seminary’s apothecary division.
‘Once I finish the training, I’ll infiltrate the Grand Temple, track the archbishop’s prayer gatherings, and find the magical herbs to restore the book.’
As Ranshel organized the plan in his mind, his eyes dropped to the prayer book in his hands.
Each page was filled with carefully handwritten prayers.
The book required rare magical herbs and a skilled apothecary just to be opened.
It had been left in a place where people who couldn’t even read would reside.
Unsurprisingly, no one paid it any attention.
Ranshel didn’t believe that it had been left there without purpose.
Charlotte was the type who achieved everything she desired, even when completely alone.
This wasn’t a mistake—it was intentional.
She had hidden the book in a place where no one would ever think to look, allowing time to naturally wear it down.
It felt like unearthing a treasure buried deep in a pit.
One that had been deliberately caked in mud to appear worthless, and now he was painstakingly scrubbing it clean to reveal what lay inside.
‘Charlotte… what secrets did you hide in this book?’
Ranshel returned to the room where Zavad was sleeping and moved silently, erasing all trace of his presence.
After quietly navigating the stillness to avoid waking the sensitive sleeper, he sat carefully at the edge of the bed.
He listened to the steady rhythm of Zavad’s breathing.
The sound of sleep filled the quiet room.
Ranshel closed his eyes, listening.
His chest ached faintly.
‘Charlotte, Zavad has been waiting for you all this time. He’s taken the Pomel household into his own hands and keeps vowing to protect the place you would return to.’
‘But you…’
‘You’ll never come back, will you…’
Ranshel had never seen a living Charlotte in the game.
When Frey met Zavad, he had already been consumed by rage, determined to avenge his mother and wipe the Pomel family off the map.
While Zavad waited for a family member who would never return, Ranshel chased after the traces of the one who left.
Because he had to bring back at least her body.
Only then could Zavad maintain his thirst for vengeance.
Ranshel gently reached out and touched Zavad’s sleeping cheek with his fingertips.
Then he whispered.
“…Blame me.”
So softly that his voice wouldn’t disturb Zavad’s sleep.
Ranshel diligently attended his training classes.
The instructor stood in the center of the classroom, holding a teapot, as he explained.
Since this was the lower-level class for those who couldn’t read, the lessons were mainly visual and auditory.
“Always keep the teapot closest to yourself.
And keep an eye on your master’s cup to make sure it never stays empty.
Keep refilling it unless they gesture for you to stop.”
Hmm. I see. Since Zavad never actually empties his cup, I guess I don’t need to refill it at all.
“The important thing is to always prepare a tea set that suits your master’s taste. Some prefer sweet, crisp cookies. Others like soft cakes. Occasionally, they might ask for a crème brûlée with a sugar crust to crack. A thoughtful servant is one who senses their master’s mood and prepares different desserts every day.”
Hmm. I see.
Zavad hates all of that, so I guess I don’t need to prepare anything.
“Oh, and if the tea gets cold, even if the cup isn’t empty, you have to pour a new one. Never serve lukewarm tea that’s lost its aroma!”
Hmm. I see. So once it cools down, I’ll just drink it myself.
‘I’m going to be full of tea at this rate.’
Ranshel nodded eagerly, focused on the instructor’s explanation.
The instructor, seeing how engaged Ranshel was, gave him a proud smile.
Once class ended and the instructor left, sighs erupted all over the room.
“How are we even supposed to know what our master likes? Can we just ask them directly?”
“I’m so worried. If I screw up on the first day, I might get fired.”
“Ranshel, what was it like when you were first assigned to the Pomel estate?”
Ranshel shrugged at the question.
“It was… pretty intense.”
He recalled the moment he first stepped into the duke’s mansion.
Zavad had attacked him from a cupboard with a piece of broken glass.
“Oh wow… that sounds serious.”
“Right? As expected from someone who served in a duke’s house. He’s built different.”
While the other servants whispered among themselves, Ranshel stood up.
“I’ll head out first. The young master asked me to come right away.”
He left the classroom at a quick pace.
Zavad complaining about him being late wasn’t anything new, but today, he had to hurry a bit more than usual.
“I’m here.”
“Why not just show up tomorrow, huh?”
“Should I?”
“Wanna get yelled at? Just carry this and come on.”
Ranshel slung a bag filled with a few books over his shoulder and followed behind, asking:
“Do we not need to bring anything else?”
“No. Hans will move the rest later.”
“I can carry it now if needed.”
“What are you even saying, you walking pile of bones? Just carry that bag properly.”
He wasn’t that weak.
Sure, Zavad’s wardrobe was a lot, but if he made a few trips, he could carry everything just fine.
‘…Okay, maybe it’d be really heavy.’
* * *
