Chapter 22
The words “my resolve was broken after three years” meant that Ian and I had spent three whole years together at this villa.
In those three years, no mysterious madmen appeared, no corpses were found in ditches, and no servants who happened to meet Ian after ten at night went missing.
The days passed with astonishing tranquility.
Every month without fail, I wrote letters to Duchess Brighton, describing the moments I shared with Ian.
The Duchess always replied with surprise and admiration at the stories I sent.
And who could blame her?
The very boy who caused countless incidents back at the ducal mansion was now enjoying quiet seaside picnics and shutting himself away in the library to read.
Now and then, a piece of furniture might be found moved overnight, or eerie laughter would echo through an empty corridor, or unidentified rats or crows turned up dead. But none of these led to anything serious.
The servants swapped ghost stories among themselves, yet no one suspected Ian was behind any of it.
It was peaceful. So peaceful, I often wondered if it was really alright.
In the end, Ian Brighton and I turned fifteen without ever returning to the ducal mansion.
But Ian didn’t seem to miss the mansion at all.
If anything, he looked like he was quite pleased with the days we spent together here at the villa.
Well, “just the two of us” wasn’t entirely accurate.
The villa did have a sizable number of servants.
Of course, Ian Brighton seemed not to register their existence.
All day long, out of everyone, he only sought me out.
When I first woke up in the body of Sissy Grington, the illegitimate daughter and servant of the Grington count, I thought I would die young or grow up gaunt and shabby.
But against all those fears, life by Ian’s side—eating well, sleeping well, and keeping regular hours—had made me into a healthy teenager.
And Ian Brighton…
“Annie from the kitchen says she has a crush on young master.”
“Oh my, that explains why she insists on carrying the tart out to the dining hall herself!”
…had grown into someone tall and striking enough to stir up that sort of gossip.
Boys are said to shoot up suddenly in their late teens. Ian hadn’t even hit that rapid growth spurt yet, and he already stood over 170 centimeters.
And his face—his face! It had always been doll-like and beautiful, but now he’d grown into such striking features that, when we went out into town, people couldn’t help but stop and stare in awe.
Since he hadn’t caused any notorious incidents here, no one saw him as the frightening young master. Instead, there were no shortage of people who admired him.
And I pitied them.
How unlucky, to fall for him of all people…
If he was already like this now, just how much more popular would he become three years from now?
In Holy War of Heaven’s Evil, eighteen-year-old Ian Brighton was described as smooth, polished, and dangerously charming.
Ruby-like eyes glimmered with a bloody sheen beneath long lashes, casting seductive shadows. No one could tear their gaze away from him.
…So the novel said.
The author lavished such attention on detailing his charm that even his first debut into society took up three whole pages.
Seeing him now in real life, I could understand why.
In the three years we’d lived here, Ian had grown noticeably calmer.
To be exact, it felt like he was learning how to wrap up his twisted inner thoughts.
Was that demon teaching him each night?
Whether this was a sign that he was slowly becoming more dangerous or if it truly meant he was changing for the better remained uncertain—but at least there were no victims. That fact alone reassured me.
Ian seemed to genuinely enjoy his life at the villa, too.
He rarely left the villa grounds, but that seemed enough for him.
About two years in, he was asked once or twice to return to the ducal mansion.
Of course, he paid no attention to such suggestions.
“They were delighted to drive me out when I left of my own accord, and now because I’m behaving nicely, they say I can come back? Tell them not to make me laugh. This place is my kingdom now.”
He ground his teeth and even scoffed while saying so.
And then, in the third year, Ian Brighton’s ban on leaving the villa was lifted entirely.
The Duke of Brighton sent me a long letter of thanks, and the Duchess’s reply was blotched in places with tears that had smudged the ink.
I admitted I’d had some hand in it, but I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction.
Honestly, I still couldn’t fully relax.
Demons lull you into false security, only to explode like a bomb afterward.
In Holy War of Heaven’s Evil, it was often described how he would act meek and harmless—only to stab everyone in the back.
Still, with everyone else letting down their guard, I too felt my tension easing.
Most of all, the Duchess was overjoyed.
[I’m so grateful, Sissy. You’ve done so much.
My health has improved greatly. My research is progressing little by little as well.
I think I’ll be able to visit the villa soon. It’s all thanks to you.
Margaret tells me we should raise your wages. I agree. So I’m going to double your weekly pay.
I’ll send along some desserts you like with this letter. I’ve chosen kinds that will endure long travel without spoiling.
As for cakes or tarts, I’ll instruct the villa’s staff to make some fresh for you. Please share them with Ian.]
Of all that news, it was the doubled pay that thrilled me most!
To think, I, Sissy, would become rich at fifteen. The title practically hovered before my eyes.
One early summer day, while folding laundry and heading into the courtyard, I suddenly thought:
“At this rate, maybe I really can exorcise the demon. Maybe it’s time I researched how to perform a ritual.”
Of course, I’d need help from the protagonist, Cecil.
But at least the earlier stages—befriending Ian and nurturing his humanity—felt more or less complete.
That meant it was time to start looking into ways to drive the demon out of Ian alone…
I swallowed hard as tension welled up inside me.
Until now, I’d been too young to even imagine facing the demon directly.
But now, I had no choice but to consider it seriously.
How could I destroy only the demon inside Ian?
If I really succeed without incident…
Maybe it was the positivity of recent days, but even though I hadn’t done anything yet, I was already excited for what lay ahead.
“What will I do once I’ve saved the world from destruction?”
With the wages I’d saved, maybe I could buy a house?
No, I probably didn’t have that much yet. I’d start with clothes.
I’d been living frugally, so aside from uniforms and pajamas, I hadn’t bought many casual outfits.
After that, if I saved every penny, by my mid-twenties I might even be able to buy a small plot of land and a house.
I could grow tomatoes there.
Make tomato jam and sell it, living quietly…
“Sissy, there’s a typhoon coming next week.”
Lost in happy thoughts of a safe future, I turned my head toward the voice behind me.
“This villa’s on a cliffside by the sea, so we’ll need to prepare in advance. If it pours hard, the bridge to the village will flood. We’ll have to stock up on food and water.”
“Haven’t the past three years been fine? Is this one different? Is it really that dangerous a storm?”
“Yes. The meteorologists say the typhoon has taken an unprecedented turn. Usually they just graze past, but this time it’s headed straight for us. Still, it’s not that unusual. We had one a few years ago too. As long as we prepare, there’s no need to worry.”
The senior servant balanced a basket of laundry at his side and smiled reassuringly.
“But this week will be busy, so I’m warning you ahead of time.”
“Yes! I’ll make sure we prepare thoroughly.”
“Good. Speaking of, could you run an errand?”
The thought of the bridge being submerged filled me with unease, and my heart began to pound faster.
Events like this usually signal a flag in the story…
Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe I was just being dramatic.
“The Holy Order of Paladins from the capital’s temple has come to this region. The pilgrimage route they follow each year passes through here. It would be good if you could go and bring back a protective relic. The one we got last time is already three years old—it’s time for a new one.”
“Th-the Holy Order of Paladins?”
“Yes. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? The ‘White Mediators.’”
The White Mediators of the Holy Temple.
Of course I knew them well. But not because of their fame.
“Ah, that’s right. Among their number this time is the one everyone’s been calling the reincarnation of a saint. She’s about your age, I hear. Her name is…”
Even aside from the fact that, as the servant of a demon-possessed boy, I had every reason to fear the Holy Order’s existence—the mere fact that they were being mentioned now meant…
“Ah! That’s it. Saint Cecilia!”
…that the protagonist’s entrance was finally here.
