Aftermath of the Incident

“So… it was all just a dream?”

Ewan leaned back against the plush headboard, his gaze lost in the ornate, golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A profound, almost euphoric sense of relief washed over him.

He was alive.

After being impaled with a dagger wreathed in the unholy flames of a dark god, he was somehow, against all odds, still alive. Had the universe finally decided to cut him some slack?

“According to the Master, the formal suit you were wearing, Young Master, was actually a rather fine defensive magical artifact. It absorbed the majority of the damage at the critical moment, which is the only reason you survived.”

“Is that so.”

My dearest, most precious suit, I am so, so sorry. I take back every terrible thing I ever said about you. Your twenty-kilogram weight was never a flaw; it was a reassuring, life-saving, tangible sturdiness! If I ever get the chance, I swear I will have you repaired and wear you with the pride you deserve, not for show, but in eternal gratitude for saving my life!

“What about my injuries now…?”

Ewan flexed his hands. Honestly, for someone who had been so grievously wounded, he couldn’t feel a shred of pain. There was just a faint, lingering exhaustion deep in his bones, a hollowness that spoke of a debt paid.

“That was the work of Her Highness, Princess Celicia.”

Anne’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. “She personally summoned the chief healing mage of the Royal Magic Division to cast healing magic on you, Young Master. Your wounds were mended almost immediately. The only reason you remained unconscious for so long was due to extreme physical weakness.”

“Long?”

“You were asleep for three whole days, Young Master.”

“Three… days.” Ewan let out a long, slow breath. “That really is quite a long time.”

“By the way,” he said, a fresh wave of anxiety gripping him at the mere mention of her name. He couldn’t help but ask, his voice a cautious whisper, “Celicia… did she say anything about me?”

“Say anything about you, Young Master…?” Anne tilted her head, a picture of perfect, innocent confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Um… you know. Anything… negative.”

“That, I could not say. But I imagine she did not.” Anne paused, as if in deep thought. “When Her Highness left, she spoke with the Master for some time. From what I observed, they seemed to be having a very pleasant conversation.”

“Is that so.”

Ewan couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped him. It seemed that, in the end, Celicia hadn’t exposed the beastly thing he had done. Was it to protect her own reputation, or was it because… he had saved her?

“Young Master Ewan.”

“Hm?”

“This may be overstepping my bounds, but I feel I must ask.” Anne suddenly knelt by his bedside, a faint floral scent wafting up to his nose. For some reason, her voice seemed to carry a chilling undertone. “The reason you are so very concerned about this… is it because you did something untoward to the princess while you were alone with her in that room?”

“…No! Of course not!” Ewan shook his head so vigorously he almost got whiplash, his face a mask of stern, practiced denial. “That’s the princess we’re talking about! If I did anything to her, it would be off with my head!”

“Is that so? I suppose you are right.” Anne seemed to accept his explanation and didn’t press the matter further. Instead, she picked up the bowl of medicine again. “Come, it is time for you to take your medicine. It has cooled to the perfect temperature.”

“Do I have to?” Looking at the bowl of dark, viscous, sludgy liquid, Ewan’s carefully constructed stoic expression crumbled into a childish pout. “I’m afraid of bitter things.”

“That simply will not do, Young Master. Your first priority must be to recuperate.”

“But aren’t my injuries already healed?”

“Strictly speaking, this is not medicine, but a restorative tonic. It just happens to look like medicine. Besides, knowing that you dislike bitter things, I have already added a generous amount of sugar.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, alright then…” Ewan tentatively reached out a hand. “Just give it to me.”

Anne simply stood there, an unreadable expression on her face.

Ewan blinked. “?”

“Young Master,” she said, her voice impossibly gentle, “feeding you your medicine is my sacred duty as your personal maid.”

“But my arms are perfectly fine…”

“Young Master, are you attempting to take away this poor, humble maid’s very reason for being? Of course, if you simply despise my presence, I can tender my resignation to the Master at once.” Anne dabbed at the corner of her eye, where there were no tears to be found. “It is just that, as a helpless maid who knows nothing but how to care for her Young Master, I would have nowhere to go. I would be all alone, cast out onto the streets. If I were to encounter a bad person, my only choice would be to…”

“Alright, alright, fine! You can feed me! Just please, for the love of all that is holy, stop talking!” Ewan surrendered with a sigh of utter defeat. This was a privilege of being a duke’s son, wasn’t it? Being spoon-fed by a beautiful girl was the ultimate fantasy of countless otaku! He should be enjoying this!

“Come now, Young Master. Open your mouth. Say ‘Ahhh’—”

“Why does this feel like you’re feeding a toddler? Ahhh— Mmph, so bitter! You said you added sugar!”

“Oh, dear. I must have misremembered. Come now, Young Master, let us continue. Ahhh—”

“How could you possibly misremember something like that?! You’re definitely just treating me like a child! Ahhh—”

“You can do it, Young Master. Just two more bites and it will all be gone. Ahhh—”

“I told you, I’m not a child! Ahhh—”

…

“By the way,” Ewan asked suddenly, after the ordeal was over, “were there any major consequences from that incident?” The attempted assassination of an imperial princess was a massive event. It was impossible for there to be no fallout during the three days he was unconscious. As his personal maid, Anne would surely know the details.

“There have indeed been some significant developments,” Anne replied calmly as she tidied up the medicine bowl. “First, regarding the identity of the assassins. After being personally interrogated by the Master, it was discovered that they were not professional assassins, but a bounty hunter organization that operates in the Belland underground. They worship an dark god known as the Withered King, and it is said they will do anything for money.”

“The Withered King… bounty hunters…” Ewan murmured. In his memory, the original novel had never mentioned a dark god by that name, let alone a cult of bounty hunters who worshipped him.

I see. The novel’s scope was far too limited. A novel is always told from the protagonist’s narrow point of view. It could never fully describe an entire, complex world. In other words, the moment the plot deviated from the original script, it became completely, terrifyingly unpredictable.

“The Young Master need not worry. That entire organization was personally annihilated by the Master last night,” Anne added, as if commenting on the weather.

“…Is that so.” Ewan was stunned for a moment, then couldn’t help but smile in relief. Although the plot hadn’t followed the novel, because of that very fact, he was still the high and mighty son of a duke. He didn’t have to worry about the fallout. Someone else, someone far more powerful, would take care of it for him.

“What about the mastermind who hired them?”

“That, for the moment, cannot be determined.” Anne shook her head. “All the members of the organization were under a powerful curse. The moment they tried to speak on that topic, they would spontaneously combust and die.”

“Of course… it would be something like that.” Anyone who dared to make a move on a princess would naturally not leave any loose ends. But even a beggar on the street could tell you that there were only a few factions with a motive to assassinate Celicia.

“It is said that His Majesty the Emperor was enraged by this incident,” Anne concluded, “and has personally ordered a complete ‘cleansing’ of the rats in Belland’s underground.”

“Is that so…” Hearing this, Ewan couldn’t help but shake his head with a bitter smile. Looks like I won’t be visiting the black market for a good long while.