The Price of Salvation

After Marianne’s blindfold was roughly torn away, the blinding light instinctively made her squint.

She stood at the edge of the Lower City’s Municipal Plaza.

Pigeons ambled leisurely across the light gray flagstones, cooing and pecking at breadcrumbs scattered by children.

Unimpeded sunlight poured down, illuminating the fountain’s jets in the plaza’s center, making them crystal clear. The splashing water mingled with the citizens’ laughter and the hawkers’ cries, converging into a vibrant, cacophonous torrent.

The air was permeated with the sweet scent of freedom—

Warm, carrying the aroma of baked goods, and even a faint, elusive floral fragrance.

This stood in stark contrast to the Heretical Inquisition’s perpetual scent of rust and blood.

Marianne inhaled deeply, the warm air filling her lungs, yet it brought with it a dizzying unfamiliarity.

She felt like someone who had just surfaced from the deep sea, overwhelmed and disoriented by the excessively bright light and the overly boisterous ‘normal’ world.

In a daze, Marianne’s thoughts were pulled back to the night the de Laval manor was attacked.

By the time the Heretical Inquisition finally arrived at the de Laval residence, Allen de Laval lay in a pool of blood, his face ashen as paper, his breath so faint it was barely perceptible.

The accompanying doctor, clad in a white coat, swiftly examined Allen’s injuries, only to deliver a chilling, cutting prognosis:

“Hemorrhagic shock. There’s no time to crossmatch blood. His chance of survival is slim.”

Slim.

The four words pierced Marianne’s heart like an icicle.

She didn’t understand hemorrhagic shock, but she understood the doctor’s expression—

It was the pity and guilt of a doctor facing a dying patient.

Her knees buckled, and she fell with a heavy thud onto the cold floor, the hard flagstones biting into her bones, though she felt nothing.

“Please, save him!” She clutched the doctor’s hand as if it were her last straw, pleading with desperate humility. “I’ll do anything! Anything at all!”

Witnessing Marianne’s fervent loyalty to her master, even Bernard de Laval and the butler were moved.

“Child, you’ll hinder the doctor…” The old butler gently pulled Marianne away, comforting her. “The young master will be fine. He has received the Lord’s revelation; the Lord will protect him.”

“Yes… it’s all my fault… How could I not have noticed his injury…?” Bernard, too, was consumed by endless self-reproach.

Perhaps Marianne’s despair was too genuine, or perhaps her words, ‘I’ll do anything! Anything at all!’ had touched something within him.

A fleeting ripple of emotion flickered behind the doctor’s cold spectacles.

He fell silent for a few seconds, then swiftly produced a strange test strip and several tiny needles from his medical kit.

“There’s one last resort: emergency homologous transfusion. The risk is extremely high, but we can try.”

The doctor’s voice remained flat, yet his evident professionalism drew all expectant gazes to him.

“Everyone present, blood type test!”

When the small test strip showed identical reactions only for her and Allen’s blood samples, Marianne was on the verge of tears from sheer joy.

Blood type, homologous transfusion—Marianne didn’t understand, but she trusted this doctor.

Behind him stood the Church; he represented the glory of the Lord!

“If you save him, you might die from excessive blood loss yourself. Even so, do you still wish to save him?”

Without hesitation, Marianne extended her slender arm, azure veins clearly visible beneath the pale skin.

“I will save him!” Marianne declared, her voice resolute.

The doctor nodded, saying no more.

Watching the dark crimson liquid gushing from her body, flowing through the transparent tubing, and then into Allen’s cold wrist, Marianne’s heart pounded furiously.

It wasn’t from fear, but from a determination bordering on self-sacrifice.

She had long prepared for death.

Rather than dying as a cultist, she hoped to die as Allen’s maid.

‘Goodbye… Mother… Father… Brother…

Live well after I’m gone.

Whatever you do… don’t end up like me… beyond redemption.’

When a faint flush of color appeared on Allen’s otherwise ashen face, and a subtle rise and fall in his chest began, Marianne’s taut nerves snapped abruptly. Her vision went black, and she completely lost consciousness.

Upon regaining consciousness, Marianne found herself lying on a cold hospital bed, surrounded by unfamiliar, metallic walls.

The church nun responsible for patient care happened to be in the room. She informed Marianne that this was the Heretical Inquisition’s medical ward.

Heretics who survived the ‘Lord’s mercy’ with half a life left were sent here, healed, and then subjected to more ‘mercy’.

These words made Marianne’s heart clench; she had indeed arrived at the Heretical Inquisition, the place she feared most.

Learning from the nun that Allen, though temporarily stable, remained in critical condition, Marianne’s heart immediately leaped into her throat again.

She couldn’t leave Allen alone in this place!

This thought fiercely dominated her mind.

Thus, she made what outsiders would deem an utterly preposterous decision—

She voluntarily requested to stay, to remain and care for Allen.

Even if it deepened the inquisitors’ suspicions of her, plunging her into an abyss from which she could never return.

Her days in the Inquisition were the longest, most tormenting nightmare Marianne had ever experienced.

She was confined to a cramped solitary cell, located near the interrogation rooms.

The deliberately muffled yet inescapable screams, cries, and desperate pleas for mercy would penetrate the thick walls day and night, drilling into her ears, into her mind.

More than once, she saw black-robed inquisitors impassively carrying stretchers, completely covered with white shrouds, hurrying past. The rigid human outlines beneath the white cloth silently testified to the brutality of this place.

Nights were the hardest.

Lying on the hard, bone-jarring plank bed, some unknown ‘heretic’ in the neighboring cell would emit intermittent, agonizing groans, slicing at her nerves like a dull blade.

She dared not imagine what that person had endured, much less wonder if she would be next.

Anxiety, fear, and guilt coiled around her heart like vines, tightening their grip, keeping her awake night after night, her sanity teetering on the brink of collapse.

The Heretical Inquisition subjected her to no actual torture, yet this silent, oppressive environment alone was enough to make her psychological defenses crumble bit by bit.

All those terrifying rumors about the Inquisition were true, every single word.

They would not wrongly accuse the innocent, but they would never let go of a true enemy.

And she, Marianne Durand, was precisely that sinner: one who had colluded with a cult and plotted regicide!

A public enemy through and through!

She felt like a fish on a chopping block, awaiting the butcher’s knife to fall at any moment.

Within the entire Inquisition, the only place that offered her a moment of respite, a sliver of peace, was Allen de Laval’s sickroom.

There were no jarring screams, no sinister inquisitors, only the rhythmic beeping of instruments and Allen’s steady, albeit faint, breathing.

When she was permitted to enter and saw the figure on the bed, still weak but with a chest that continued to rise and fall, the accumulated fear, grievance, and dread of many days burst forth like a breached dam, instantly sweeping away her reason.

She rushed to the bedside, tightly grasping Allen’s hand—the one not hooked up to an IV—and buried her face in his cool palm, sobbing uncontrollably like a lost child.

Only here, beside this man whom she had both harmed and saved, could she unleash her crumbling emotions without restraint, without fear of suspicion.

She always felt that the Inquisition’s omnipresent eyes had long seen through her.

Yet, in the end, she was not condemned.

The Heretical Inquisition released the master and maid, citing insufficient evidence.

The order for release came so suddenly, like waking abruptly from a nightmare.

Standing now in the bustling, warm plaza, feeling the sun’s genuine warmth on her skin, the gentle breeze caressing her hair, Marianne was overcome by a powerful sense of unreality.

‘Did I truly… survive? And with the young master?’

The sheer impact of her narrow escape made her eyes sting and her nose prickle; she longed to simply weep her heart out.

Just then, a warm hand gently patted her shoulder.

Marianne spun around.

Allen de Laval stood beside her.

His face was still somewhat pale, his lips lacked color, and his physique was leaner than she remembered, yet his black eyes shone with astonishing brilliance, brimming with a nearly euphoric ease and smugness that Marianne could not fathom.

He even offered her a teasing, boyish smile.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, Marianne,” his voice carried a profound weariness, yet he strove for a lighthearted tone. “Smile! We pulled this off flawlessly! Come on, let’s high-five, celebrating our temporary triumph.”

‘Smile? High-five? What is he talking about?’

‘Does he even realize he almost didn’t make it back?’

Marianne’s mind went blank. All the grievance, fear, dread, and a fierce emotion she couldn’t quite articulate, erupted completely at this moment.

“Idiot!!!”

She let out a choked scream, abruptly throwing herself into Allen’s embrace, her hands tightly circling his waist, as if to meld him into her very being.

Tears streamed forth, instantly drenching the fabric over his chest.

“I was truly… truly so scared…” She buried her face deep in his chest, her voice muffled and intensely trembling. “I thought… we would never… never get out…”

Allen’s hand, poised for a high-five, remained awkwardly frozen mid-air.

He clearly hadn’t anticipated such a reaction from Marianne. After several seconds, he tentatively raised his hovering hand and gently settled it on Marianne’s soft black hair.

Marianne did not resist Allen’s touch.

So, Allen, like someone stroking a wild kitten that had finally allowed itself to be petted, gently stroked Marianne’s hair, again and again.

“Don’t cry, we’re alive, aren’t we?” He tried to make his voice sound calm and reassuring. “This is just the beginning, Marianne. We need to cheer up and devise the Livia Conquest Plan! I’m telling you, if you don’t win Livia over for me, my blood would have been shed in vain!”

“…Idiot.”

Marianne muttered a muffled curse into his chest, her voice, however, softened.

Allen’s heartbeat, transmitted through the thin fabric, made Marianne suddenly realize that a part of the blood surging within that heart now belonged to her.

An indescribably subtle emotion washed over her.

The blood she had given Allen was like an invisible, searing chain, binding their lives tightly together.

Their relationship transcended master and servant, transcended enemies, becoming a destiny intertwined by blood.

This realization made her shudder, her heart pounding wildly.

She looked up, her tear-filled eyes gazing at Allen’s face, so close to hers.

The sunlight outlined his slightly pale jawline. Those dark eyes, usually holding a hint of mockery or calculation, now seemed to hold helplessness and tenderness because of her tears.

Her proximity to Allen was so close, close enough to feel his breath.

Yet, her distance from Livia von Stern was so vast, as if separated by a vast and frigid river of stars.

‘Did Livia still remember their promise?’

‘What should she do?’

‘We two are destined to be entangled, until death do us part.’

Allen’s words echoed in her heart like a spell.

‘Only this promise…’

‘Deep in her heart, she secretly yearned to fulfill it.’

“Young master…” Marianne’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes complex as she gazed at Allen. “Did you… truly forgive me? Even though… I am an ungrateful, treacherous, even murderous… wicked woman.”

“Huh?”

Allen froze for a moment, then burst into laughter as if he’d heard something amusing.

He withdrew the hand stroking her hair and reached for her cheek, gently tidying the stray strands of hair across her forehead, attempting to restore her to the image of the impeccable head maid.

“What nonsense are you spouting, Marianne? We’re long past the stage of who forgives whom.”

His fingers unintentionally brushed her earlobe, sending a faint jolt like an electric current.

“You’re not some wicked woman,” Allen stated with an undeniable certainty. “You’re my maid, Livia von Stern’s childhood friend, a beloved character to players… uh…”

Allen seemed to realize he’d slipped up, abruptly coughing twice and diverting his gaze in a feigned manner.

“Cough, cough! Disregard that last part! In any case, we’re strategic partners now! Let’s get along well, and I promise to help you win Livia over, so you two lovers can eventually be united!”

‘United with Livia…’

These words pricked Marianne’s heart like a needle.

She watched Allen’s smug, ‘everything under control’ expression, saw the purely opportunistic gleam of excitement in his eyes, fueled by the smooth progress of his ‘plan’.

The warmth and subtle emotion that had just begun to stir in her heart were instantly replaced by a more complex and cutting emotion.

Allen was completely immersed in his grand ‘yuri enterprise’ blueprint, not even noticing the subtle shift in Marianne’s gaze.

The more he thought about it, the more flawless his plan seemed; the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Livia von Stern would soon be manipulated with ease. A surge of villainous pride welled within him.

Unable to resist, he spread his arms, facing the bright sunlight in the plaza (though largely blocked by the city hall building), and in a dramatic, almost operatic tone, loudly recited the line he thought was so cool:

“Hotter than hope! Deeper than despair—is love!”

How profound! How moving! How perfectly suited to his style as a mastermind!

Allen was so moved by himself that he could almost see Livia von Stern living happily ever after with Marianne thanks to his help, overflowing with gratitude (?).

A true villain, he mused, should have the protagonist constantly on their mind, like Lex Luthor with Superman, or the Joker with Batman.

Undoubtedly, the villains’ obsession with the protagonists was love!

His understanding of Livia von Stern was bone-deep.

He even knew what color underwear she preferred and what type of men she detested!

Could Livia von Stern herself understand herself as well as he did? What a joke!

“Livia von Stern,” Allen thought, struggling to maintain his outward composure while laughing wildly with hands on hips in his mind, “you’ve never seen a true mastermind? Just wait, this young master will show you what it means to be haunted by nightmares! And what it means for… uh, lilies to bloom?”

Allen’s bold declarations and his chuunibyou line, like a bolt of thunder, unexpectedly cleaved through the confused chaos in Marianne’s heart.

“Hotter than hope… deeper than despair…”

She murmured, repeating the words, each one hammering against her very soul.

Her deep-seated hatred, her reckless sacrifice, her gnawing worries and fears, and the strange, blood-bound thrum she felt as she held him tightly at this moment…

All her chaotic, contradictory, tearing emotions, at this instant, seemed to be given a clear name by this line.

Love.

‘So it was love!’

This realization, scalding like magma, instantly swept through her entire being, making every fiber of her tremble.

Love was so powerful, it could make her willingly give her life for him; yet love was also so dangerous, like a double-edged sword, capable of wounding herself at any moment, and even… harming Livia von Stern.

She was afraid of harming Livia von Stern, afraid of betraying the promise made under the starlit sky.

But what if it were Allen?

What if it were this young master who demanded they ‘be entangled, until death do us part’?

Mutual torment and mutual harm—wasn’t this precisely the ‘love’ he anticipated?

Marianne felt as if she had been struck by a powerful light, achieving instant enlightenment.

All her pain, struggles, and confusion had found their purpose.

She loved Allen de Laval.

She loved this man who had once brutalized her, but who now shared her blood and had led her out of hell.

Therefore, she would never leave Allen. And Allen must never leave her!

“Young master,” Marianne looked up, her face still streaked with unshed tears, but in her crimson eyes, a light bordering on obsession now burned. “I will try my best.”

“Oh?” Allen’s eyes lit up, and a brilliant, ‘promising pupil’ smile immediately bloomed on his face. “Excellent! Marianne! You’ve finally come to your senses! That’s more like it! With our combined strength, Livia von Stern will be easy to win over, right? Haha!”

He happily extended his hand, wanting to high-five or at least shake hands with this capable assistant who had ‘finally understood his grand plan’ to signify their cooperation.

Marianne gazed at the hand extended before her—knuckles clearly defined, a hand that had countless times brutalized her, yet now offered goodwill. A surging emotion so hot it threatened to burst forth instantly overwhelmed her.

“Mhm.”

She responded softly, extending her own hand, carefully taking Allen’s.

His palm was much larger than hers, cool from his recent illness, yet warm in its center.

The moment her fingertips touched his skin, an immense sense of euphoria surged through her like an electric current, making her nearly swoon.

‘This feeling of being filled, connected, needed… was this happiness?’

All those acts of cruelty she had hated to her very core now became blurred and distant in the face of this surging ‘affection’. Even her resentment was assimilated and dissolved by immense happiness, leaving only a morbid sense of satisfaction.

‘So happy.’

‘Such happiness… she wanted the young master to feel it too…’

“Ow, ow, ow!!! Marianne! When did your grip get so strong?! My bones are going to snap, hey!”

Allen cried out unexpectedly, trying to pull his hand from Marianne’s ‘iron vise’.

“Ah! I’m sorry! Young master!”

Marianne released his hand as if burned, apologizing in a panic, her cheeks instantly flushing crimson.

However, the moment she let go, watching Allen grimacing and shaking his wrist, his face a pained expression of accusation, the panic in Marianne’s heart was eerily replaced by an even sweeter sensation.

He reacted to her touch, felt pain from her strength, and his suffering ultimately transferred to Marianne, breaking her heart!

‘This was love! Love connected them!’

A secret, twisted thrill, like the tender shoot of a vine, quietly broke through the soil of Marianne’s heart.

“Young master…” Marianne’s voice was almost a plea, her crimson eyes locked onto Allen, churning with complex, indecipherable emotions. “Please don’t hate me… Please don’t… leave me.”

“Alright, alright.”

Allen rubbed his reddened wrist, completely oblivious to the change in Marianne’s gaze, simply assuming she was still shaken and traumatized by the Inquisition.

“How could I hate you? Before you and Livia von Stern are united and live happily ever after, how could I leave you?”

“I’m your matchmaker… uh, cupid? In any case, I’m a crucial NPC who must witness your happy ending!”

He patted his chest, swearing his promise, his face once again sporting that ‘everything under control’ villainous smile.

This promise, however, was like a stone cast into a calm lake, stirring immense ripples in Marianne’s heart.

‘United? With Livia von Stern?’

‘What if… what if she couldn’t be united with Livia von Stern?’

‘Then… could she… stay with the young master… forever and ever?’

This thought slithered into her mind like a venomous serpent, bringing with it a sharp sting and… a chilling, dark sweetness.

‘Betraying Livia’s promise… was so painful.’

‘But… being with the young master forever… was so happy…’

‘This emotion, intertwined with pain and happiness, was also love!’

Allen would never realize what a dangerous bomb he had just personally ignited.

After repeatedly dismantling Marianne’s already fragile inner world with his words and actions, and then jointly enduring the life-and-death ordeal of the Inquisition.

Marianne Durand had completely transformed from a cult initiate driven by the fires of revenge into a yandere, dominated by twisted affection.

His ‘Livia Conquest Plan,’ from the moment Marianne took his hand, had already been declared bankrupt, and was now sprinting wildly in a direction he could neither anticipate nor control.

He gazed at the pigeons flying in the plaza, indulging in fantasies of the future.

Once this major nuisance, Livia von Stern, was dealt with, he could avoid his death ending and live a wonderful life of idleness and waiting to die.

Though unlikely, he mused, one must still have dreams.

At this thought, Allen’s lips couldn’t help but curve upwards, forming a perfectly villainous smile.

If he were to add a suspicious, ‘Heh heh heh’ laugh, he could probably scare passing children into tears.

Watching Allen’s foolish (in her view) yet dazzling (in her eyes) smile, Marianne seemed to be infected by it.

The sunlight spilled across her pale face; her expression, once as rigid as a frozen lake, now softened like melting spring snow.

She lowered her head slightly, and when she raised it again, a genuinely gentle smile played on her lips.

It was a beautiful smile, like a blooming lily, carrying the relief of surviving a calamity and a yearning for the future.

Deep within her slightly narrowed crimson eyes, however, gleamed a dangerously chilling light—

A dependence bordering on obsessive.

Allen, utterly oblivious.