ESL Chapter 46

Luciel Lucan Mihael removed his coat and set it on the table. Then he wearily approached the bed and sat on the edge. His room, which he had returned to after a long absence, was exactly as he had left it, yet the oppressive weight of the ducal house pressed in on him like a vice. Or more precisely, it was the weight of his uncle that felt suffocating.

This is why I didn’t want to come back. Yet he was required to return to the ducal house at least once a year. The Mihael ducal family had a custom of holding a memorial rite for the former heads of the house once annually. And the officiant of that rite had to be the legitimate heir. This year, too, he had returned at the insistence of the elders, but he had no desire to see his uncle. He knew all too well of his uncle’s greed and ambition — and that the man had his sights set on Luciel’s neck.

What does a single childhood memory amount to… Luciel mocked himself. He found it pathetic that someone who never hesitated in any other matter could not bring himself to act decisively when it came to his uncle.

Do I still have some lingering attachment…?

Luciel smiled bitterly, then lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. But soon he slowly sat up at the sound of a knock.

“Luciel… oppa… are you inside?”

At the frail girl’s voice, Luciel let out an invisible sigh and answered.

“Come in.”

With his permission, the door slowly opened without a sound. A beautiful girl with platinum-blonde hair hesitantly stepped into the room. Her face, still carrying the soft roundness of youth despite her mature figure, was the kind that made men want to hold her close at least once. But to Luciel, she was a deeply troublesome presence. He pitied her, yet could not help her — that was the nature of their relationship.

“I…”

“What is it, Rosia?”

Her name was Rosia Lucan Mihael, the adopted daughter of Cheor. Cheor had married Arhvina Norman Goth, the only daughter of Marquis Goth — the second most powerful noble house after the Mihael dukedom — yet despite years of marriage, the two had no children. They were not a loving couple, of course, as the marriage had been arranged between the two houses. But as time passed, Arhvina had begun to long for Cheor’s love. Hoping that a child might turn their eyes toward her, she desperately wanted to conceive — yet even after many long years, no child came. In the end, she arranged to adopt a girl from a branch family. That girl was Rosia.

Whatever Cheor had been thinking at the time, he had not opposed the adoption. But that did not improve the couple’s relationship in the way Arhvina had hoped. In the end, exhausted, Arhvina declared a separation and returned to the Marquis Goth’s household — leaving Rosia behind.

When you think about it, this child is also a pitiable one…

Luciel looked down at Rosia, who stood before him with her head bowed, fidgeting with her fingers. She was introverted by nature and easily embarrassed. If she had been an outgoing girl, or a cunning one, she would actually have been easier to deal with. But because she was simply kind, Luciel could not bring himself to be entirely cold toward her.

Luciel found his thoughts drifting to a girl of an entirely opposite disposition from Rosia. A bold and unhesitating girl, one who walked whatever path she chose without regret and without looking back — a beautiful girl. When he looked into her jewel-like crimson eyes, his heart always felt at ease. And sometimes, when those eyes blazed like flames, he would find himself staring at her in a daze, as if bewitched.

I wonder if she’s doing well.

He had heard she found her place. He had known she would — it was only natural — yet an inexplicable sense of longing gripped him and refused to let go.

If I hadn’t told her that… she’d still be in the Kingdom of Hamel. As always, she would have come to find him once a week, lying sprawled on his sofa — her long, beautiful jet-black hair splayed out in disarray…

“Ha…”

Luciel laughed softly without meaning to. Her sofa. Since when had that sofa become her sofa? Like clothes soaked through by a gentle drizzle without one’s notice, at some point Lea had woven herself far more deeply into his life than he had realized. Under the name of friendship.

“I…”

Rosia called out to him, startled when he suddenly laughed. But the moment he looked at her, she couldn’t hold his gaze and began fidgeting again.

“If you have nothing to say, would you please leave? I’m rather tired from arriving today.”

At Luciel’s voice — gentle, yet carrying no warmth — Rosia hesitated for a moment, then suddenly squeezed her eyes shut and threw herself into his arms. The shawl she had been wearing slipped off, revealing her thin chemise beneath, but she paid it no mind. She wrapped her arms around Luciel’s waist and, in a tearful voice, began to plead.

“…Please, oppa… can’t you… hold me…? Even just once is fine… please…”

Her face flushed deep crimson, unable to even lift her head, Luciel looked down at her, his gaze growing cold and still. No matter how much his uncle coveted the legitimate bloodline of Mihael, how could he put a girl through something like this? He had watched her since she was nine years old. She was the child who used to follow him around like a little chick, calling out oppa, oppa. He had pitied her. And so he had allowed her a small place in his heart, under the name of little sister. And Cheor had not let that small place go to waste.

To think I still can’t let go of it… I really am a fool.

Luciel let a quiet, self-directed sneer settle within him. What does a childhood memory amount to? The warmth of that large hand that had once stroked his head… If only he could forget it… but that single memory had embedded itself too deeply and become a shackle around him. He knew he needed to cut it away before it pulled him under completely, yet he kept hesitating — a foolish wretch. That was the cold assessment Luciel passed on himself.

“You know well that I cannot do that, Rosia.”

At Luciel’s refusal, tears spilled freely from Rosia’s eyes. He firmly but gently unwound her arms from around him, then picked up his coat from the table and walked toward the door, speaking as he left.

“I would prefer this room to be empty when I return.”

“…Oppa…”

Rosia called out desperately, but Luciel left without once looking back. Only the sound of the door closing reached her ears.

“Sob… hic…”

Rosia crumpled to the floor right there and burst into tears. Luciel would not hold her. She knew that. And yet she had no choice but to cling to him. Because—

“…!”

The sound of the door opening again made her lift her head, a flicker of desperate hope in her eyes — and the blood drained instantly from Rosia’s face.

“Failed after all, did you. This is why I said low-born blood is useless.”

Rosia stared blankly at the black dress shoes that had stopped in front of her. She did not want to raise her head. She couldn’t. Yet against her will, her head was forced back — a strong man’s hand had seized her by the hair and wrenched her head backward.

“…Father… please, forgive me…”

Reflected in Rosia’s blue eyes was the face of a middle-aged man wearing a cruel smile. A man with hair closer to red than gold, and eyes of a deep, dark blue — her adoptive father, Cheor.

“Kyaah!”

With a tearing sound, the thin chemise Rosia wore was ripped away, exposing her full, white chest.

“With these tempting breasts—”

Cheor’s hand seized her mercilessly, kneading and taunting her. Between the pain and the fear of what was to come, Rosia sobbed and pleaded.

“Ah!… Father… please, forgive me…!”

The rustling sound of a belt being undone reached her ears, and all color completely vanished from Rosia’s face.

“And with these lips.”

At Cheor’s sneering voice, her mouth was forced open and he thrust himself roughly down to the back of her throat.

“Kgh… kghh…”

Rosia’s face turned scarlet as if she could not breathe, her muffled cries escaping as tears welled in her eyes, but Cheor showed not an ounce of consideration, gripping her head and thrusting roughly as he murmured with feigned tenderness.

“To think she couldn’t seduce even that one boy… hff…”

Useless. Cheor clicked his tongue as Rosia endured his voice, willing only for this time to pass quickly. She had known he would not lay more than this on her until she had seduced Luciel. But today was different.

“Ah—!”

The hand that had been gripping her hair suddenly shoved Rosia’s slender body down to the floor. As her right arm struck the ground, the largest bead on the bracelet she wore on her wrist flickered with a brief flash of light — but neither Cheor nor Rosia noticed.

“Ah… Father… why…?”

Rosia was so startled that she stumbled over her own words as he pressed his weight down onto her fallen body. At that, Cheor seized her chin painfully and pulled his lips into a smile of amusement.

“That useless body of yours, which couldn’t even seduce one Luciel, has found a purpose. Be glad.”

The hand not gripping her chin tore away what remained of her chemise and her undergarments together, and Rosia’s eyes flew wide open in shock. She wanted to flee, but the madness in his eyes — the cruel smile curling at his lips — closed around her like a vice, and she could only tremble, unable to offer any resistance. Even as he pried open her slender white legs, she couldn’t so much as think of fighting back. And then a pain so overwhelming it turned her mind white came crashing over her. At the searing agony of feeling as though her body were being split in two, Rosia screamed and, with all her strength, pushed at the body of the man she had once called father. But the man’s body did not move even a fraction, and at some point Rosia lost consciousness, unable to endure the pain any longer.

“Useless body, just as I thought.”

Cheor sneered and leisurely took his fill of Rosia’s unconscious form.

“Hah… hah… hnngh…”

Having spent his desire within her to his satisfaction, he slowly pulled away. Then he carried her limp body over to Luciel’s bed. Dropping Rosia onto the bed carelessly, as one might toss away trash, he walked toward the display cabinet beside the table. A thin smile playing on his lips, he opened the lowest drawer. Inside lay a beautifully ornate knife.

“To think he still keeps this… what a sentimental fool. Are you still trusting me? All of it was a lie. Heh heh.”

Cheor took the knife and held it in his hand as he approached the bed. On his face, unmistakable cruelty gleamed openly.