~Chapter 74~
※ This chapter contains some violent scenes. Please keep that in mind.
‘Noxian’s curse?’
Why would Blanche bring that up—
“From what I hear, you’re Noxian Rubellot’s personal doctor, aren’t you? You lived in comfort selling out your family, so now it’s time to pay back properly.”
Thud! Her head slammed against the floor again. The back of her head felt wet.
“No matter how much you wag your tail, what will these people say when they find out where you’re from? How did you get so stupid? You used to at least know your place, little rat.”
Anette’s words stabbed Shariette right in her weakest spot—the one she least wanted to face.
Her instincts screamed:
‘Don’t listen. Don’t think. Don’t touch this now.’
So she forced her thoughts away.
Paper, ink, letters. Potions, scales, numbers, calculations.
Golden afternoon sunlight.
White blossoms in full bloom.
Jewels glittering in the sun.
The steady warmth of a back she could lean against.
She focused on safe, unshakable things—so she could step back, observe, and think clearly.
“Because, dare, lowly, just, only, your place… those words mean nonsense.”
Yes. Just earlier, Blanche had filled her rant with the same “nonsense words” Noxian had taught her to spot.
Shariette breathed slowly, recalling his voice, piecing together the broken fragments.
‘I want to stay here.’
And to do that, “here” had to remain safe.
After swinging her fists enough, Anette’s voice grew calmer.
“Until we go to Rubenshire. Before then, find out exactly what curse Noxian Rubellot received from Latium. If you fail, everyone here will know what a hopeless rat you are.”
“Latium’s curse is sleeplessness. No doctor, no drug has ever made me sleep. Except you.”
The curse of sleeplessness.
That was why Noxian had come to Meyrillie. That was why Shariette had been brought to Rubellot.
Most of the mansion knew of the young duke’s insomnia, but only his family, closest aides, and Shariette knew it came from Latium.
‘So that’s why Blanche, as Anette, forced herself to be friendly with knights, maids, even servants.’
It had all been for information.
Her disguise, her patience—it was an act of incredible endurance.
But no one had spoken. Not one servant or knight had revealed anything.
‘They endured Blanche’s temper for that long.’
Shariette shivered as she remembered Anette linking arms and smiling sweetly:
“Shasha, let’s be close friends.”
It had been all pretense. And now her patience had run out—her true self was revealed, and she was using Shariette directly.
Two threads tied together in Shariette’s mind:
“I came here to propose.”
“Since she may become the young duke’s fiancée, it would be good for you to get along with her.”
And three years ago—
“That old king was finally useful, wasn’t he? If our house gave a son, they had to give a daughter in return.”
Her engagement then, her pretense now—both had the same target.
‘Both times… Noxian Rubellot.’
Three years ago, Blanche had rejoiced at her engagement. Collecting beautiful things had always been her hobby. She had thought of Noxian the same way.
But now—it was different. She had once been killed by him. She still ground her teeth and called him “that bastard.”
Yet she had to claim him again. Why?
‘Three years ago, and now—it’s the same reason. A failed experiment. A retry.’
What experiment?
“Ah, daydreaming again. Some things never change. Shasha, answer me properly.”
Slap! Slap!
Anette grabbed Shariette’s chin and slapped her face several more times.
Shariette realized—the grip, the force—it was stronger than Blanche had ever been.
“This body is completely healthy.”
Yes—Anette Maze wasn’t weak or frail. She was everything Blanche had envied: beauty and health in one.
So this was truly “another body.”
Not only had Blanche revived from death—she had gained a strong, flawless vessel.
Anette kept talking, but Shariette’s mind chased after a terrifying clue.
‘Did the Argen immortality research… actually succeed?’
She had been excluded early, demoted from researcher to test subject. She had never known the project’s core.
She had only assumed it failed, since it dragged on endlessly.
But if it had worked—
‘That’s the only way Blanche could live again. But how…?’
“Surprised, Shasha? I died because of you, and yet here I am, in another’s body.”
As if her soul had been transferred into Anette’s flesh.
‘Soul… consciousness transfer.’
The thought sent chills through Shariette.
And then—another horror struck.
‘If Blanche’s mind lives in Anette’s body… then what happened to the real Anette?’
“Shasha.”
Anette’s voice was calm—so calm it was terrifying.
Shariette’s eyes focused again. Anette stared at her as though she were a strange creature.
“You don’t know how much I’ve held back from ripping you apart.”
“….”
“But you stole what was mine, and then killed me.”
Shariette could not deny it. Noxian had killed Blanche—but Shariette had freed him, given him the chance for revenge.
“This is all your fault. Do you understand?”
Then—
Clack! Clatter! Thud!
The locked door handle rattled and slammed.
The tension broke instantly.
“Lady Shariette! I’m coming in!”
Janet’s voice called through the door. Ten minutes early.
“…Hah. That dog is loyal.”
Anette sighed, her mood ruined.
That mutt who never left her side—Shariette’s guard dog.
Her lips twisted. She wanted to chop off that knight’s hands for daring to touch her.
“So that’s why you came alone. You had your mutt waiting outside.”
“….”
“That’s about what your little brain could come up with. Now stand up.”
Anette sneered as she yanked Shariette to her feet.
Shariette swayed and leaned against the wall.
“Planning to show your bruises and tattletale to Rubellot?”
As if she hadn’t thought of that first.
Anette chuckled, then reached out—stroking Shariette’s head almost gently.
“……!”
Shariette felt the injuries on her face, her body—vanish.
Just like when Anette had healed a knight before.
Cuts, bruises, swelling—gone, as though they never existed.
Different from Shariette’s own “recovery.” This was something else entirely.
“What is this…?”
Her heart sank.
Yes. She remembered.
Blanche Argen’s power wasn’t “healing.” It was—
“Transfer.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you,” Anette murmured, stroking her cheek.
Her swollen, bloodied skin was now smooth.
Crash!
The door burst open. Janet stormed in, having smashed the lock. Behind him, shocked servants poured in.
“Kyahhh!”
At the same time, Anette let out a thin scream and collapsed as if pushed.
“…!”
Her cheek bore the exact same marks that had been on Shariette’s face seconds ago.
As if the wounds had been transferred to her.
