013. The Essence of Dignity

The head butler, Ain, was twenty-eight years old and had only been working in this mansion for five years.

Thus, it was natural that he and Anastasia, who had been confined atop a tower for ten years, were meeting for the first time.

Fortunately, Ain was quick-witted. From the hint—“hair like molten gold and deep blue eyes reminiscent of lapis lazuli”—he was able to infer her identity.

The towering knight Saden who had been causing a commotion in the mansion, and the fourth chair he had never seen before.

“…So she’s not a knight of the duke, but a knight serving the princess.”

Soon, the high-backed chair reserved for the head of the family moved.

Anastasia looked at him with those deep blue eyes.

“Is there a problem?”

“…No, there isn’t. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess. I am Ain, head butler.”

“Head butler?”

Was there such a position?

Anastasia sifted through her memories. Before Enoch had been demoted, there had been a position called Chief Butler, but she didn’t recall there being a rank called Head Butler.

And yet, head butler?

At that moment, Ain added perceptively:

“It is a provisional rank, Princess. I am not yet old or experienced enough to hold the title of Chief Butler.”

“Ah… I see.”

The black-haired young man bowed his head. His eyes were dark brown, and while he was tall and well-built, his lean frame did not inspire much confidence.

“This works out well. A maid has been selected to replace Diana, who was dismissed.”

That was good news. Anastasia blinked slowly.

It was a signal that she was ready to listen.

“The girl’s name is Trish. She previously worked for the Count of Gerland and has brought a letter of recommendation from the steward there.”

The Count of Gerland’s house was a prestigious one. A recommendation from such a place was enough to hire someone with confidence.

And yet, such a girl was being assigned as her personal maid?

Anastasia’s brow furrowed slightly.

“…Is there something you’re dissatisfied with?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just surprising that you’re assigning me a proper maid now.”

Having hit the mark, Anastasia’s words made Ain quickly compose his expression.

“…The reason for the reassignment is quite clear.”

“And what would that be?”

“Sir Enoch is said to be that child’s grandfather.”

Sir Enoch…

Before Anastasia had even been born, she had heard that Enoch once saved the Duke of Etrange during a territorial war.

It was from the time when he was a famed swordsman of the North.

She didn’t know why he had been satisfied with the position of butler or why he had even preferred not to be addressed with the title “Sir”… but by status, he was still a knight, a non-hereditary minor noble.

“…So that’s how it is.”

She had entrusted Enoch with selecting her new personal maid.

He likely found it difficult to choose someone trustworthy. In that case, bringing in a relative might have seemed like the better option.

But to bring in his own granddaughter…

If she were to serve as a maid in the duke’s household where she might be treated poorly, the conditions wouldn’t be very… good.

“Alright. You may go.”

“If I may be so bold, what about the chairs in the reception room…?”

“After the meal, I’ll have the other servants bring them back.”

“Thank you.”

Ain bowed deeply and withdrew.

It was Arcturius who spoke next.

“…Since I became a monster, I’ve gained several things I didn’t have when I was human.”

Anastasia pushed her empty plate aside and wiped her mouth with a napkin as she looked at him.

It wasn’t a wrong statement.

He had gained the Abyss, the will to wield it, immense power, the experience of enduring long years, and a monstrous appearance.

And he had gained her.

“Shall we get up, Anastasia.”

Arcturius stood first and pulled her chair back for her.

“Very well.”

When Anastasia stood, the maids hurriedly cleared the tableware, their faces pale with fear.

Why they were afraid became clear the moment Anastasia turned away from her seat.

“…What are you doing here?”

The Duke of Etrange stood there with his wife, his eldest daughter, and his youngest son.

Anastasia merely shrugged, as if they weren’t worth responding to.

“How insolent!”

Lady Cecilia Etrange frowned and pointed an accusatory finger, while the Duke stood silently with a hardened expression.

At that moment, Janice Etrange stepped forward.

“This is too great a fault to overlook, sister.”

Her voice was gentle and composed, as it always was.

Anastasia raised her eyebrows and replied:

“Wasn’t it the dignity of nobility to forgive the faults of subordinates? Congratulations on losing yours, sister.”

But Anastasia was not someone Janice could easily outtalk.

She had simply believed for a long time that she shouldn’t.

Until the day her father cut her wrist as she lay dying, taking her blood.

“You’re the one who’s lost your dignity, Anastasia.”

Janice narrowed her eyes and retorted.

“The Anastasia I remember from a few days ago was very dignified—one who did not dare oppose her father’s words and quietly upheld long-standing traditions and rules as a duke’s daughter.”

Click, click, click.

Wearing slippers and pajamas, the small and slender Anastasia stood in stark contrast to Janice, who wore a dress and heels, tall and well-built.

“Now you’re nothing more than a vulgar tomboy wandering the mansion in sleepwear. Isn’t that right?”

Anastasia casually glanced at the clock, which pointed to 9 a.m.

“Really? Then your dignity must come from being dressed up by maids from the morning.”

Janice raised her eyebrows, failing to grasp the hidden meaning in Anastasia’s words.

“Or maybe it comes from the dull mind that can’t even understand a simple sarcastic remark?”

“…You.”

Seeing her sister grit her teeth, Anastasia narrowed her eyes in response, smiling lightly.

“Unlike you, I feel perfectly dignified without needing to wear a dress.”

Janice’s right hand suddenly shot toward Anastasia’s cheek.

Smack!

But she did not succeed.

Arcturius intercepted her wrist.

“…How dare a mere knight—!”

Janice shouted in anger, but Arcturius didn’t budge.

Instead, he leaned his grotesque helmet—its blue light gleaming—close to her face to intimidate her.

Janice instinctively staggered back four steps.

“…How rude!”

Seeing this, Aslan tried to step forward from behind, but he couldn’t move and only raised his voice.

To Anastasia, everything seemed almost comedic.

“Why don’t you just send a mannequin dressed in clothes to the next ball? That way you can display your dignity unchanged.”

She brushed past Janice with a light mocking tone and stood before Aslan, looking up at him.

Even though his hand rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist, no one stopped him.

That was her position in this household.

Anastasia quietly placed her hand over Aslan’s sword grip, pressing down the partially drawn blade and pushing it back into its sheath.

The reason Aslan couldn’t fully draw his sword, despite breaking into a cold sweat, was one thing alone:

Arcturius, behind Anastasia, glaring at him with eyes like a demon that had crawled up from hell.

“And as for you talking about manners… weren’t you the first to throw yours into a cold stew, Aslan?”

“W-what are you talking about…?”

“How dare you draw a sword in front of your sister? Is that how your parents taught you about hierarchy in the family?”

At her words, Duke Etrange and Lady Cecilia looked ready to speak out in anger, but soon fell silent.

Because Anastasia’s left hand had summoned a golden osmanthus sword, its blade lightly pressing against Aslan’s throat.

“Unfortunately, I never received any such education from the two of you.”

Anastasia replied in a low, calm voice, as though she already knew what they would say.

Then, raising her voice slightly, she addressed the gathered maids:

“So… if any of you here—besides Aslan—have been improperly taught about hierarchy by the duke and his wife, step forward. I will personally teach you.”

The golden osmanthus sword in her left hand dissolved into petals and vanished.

As she turned, her golden hair flowed with her movement.

And under her deep blue gaze, all the maids lowered their heads and bowed deeply.

“…You’re quite imposing, Anastasia.”

The Duke of Etrange growled at her in a low voice.

The old Anastasia would have trembled in fear, even to tears, at the thought of being bound and locked back in the tower…

But not anymore.

“Of course. If Father became a ‘true mage’ like me instead of a ‘cheap fake mage’ like he is now, he’d be just as imposing. Certainly.”

At her mocking words, veins bulged on the Duke’s forehead, but he had no reply.

“You’d better conserve the blood in your orb. It won’t be easy to obtain again.”

With that, Anastasia left the dining room with Arcturius.

A long silence followed.