Chapter 16

Whooosh. A chilling sandstorm blows.

I stand alone on the endless wasteland.

[Save me...]

I looked around in a daze. The desolate landscape, stretching in all directions, felt more familiar than strange.

...Ah, this place is the southern archipelago of the Empire.

Queen Island.

My ruined hometown. A hell where the bodies of my comrades piled up like mountains.

That's right. The ground I stood on was a hill of corpses.

Crack!

The moment I realized this, a bony hand shot out from the ground and grabbed my ankle.

[Save me, Andert...]

The face revealed beneath the sand had melted flesh clinging to the skull, a sight that could not be called human.

[Andert...]

It was a voice I had heard somewhere, but I couldn't recall the face or the name.

A familiar voice. An unknown face.

I have many such people. On the battlefield, we didn't ask each other's names. Remembering names meant having more people to mourn.

[It hurts, save me. Save me.]

[Sir Andert. Why didn't you help me? Why did you let me die!]

These were soldiers who had ended their lives in war.

Was that why I couldn't shake off this person's hand.

Soon, a second arm reached out. Then a third, a fourth... a tenth arm emerged from the ground and grabbed my limbs.

As I lost the strength to resist and fell to the wasteland, the bony hands slowly approached my face.

[No, no.]

[You're not Andert!]

The hands that screamed pushed me far away.

They pointed at me and pressed.

[Who are you!]

I answered that I was Andert, but the dead did not hear my voice.

[Don't lie. Give your name.]

[Shed the skin of Andert!]

[Who are you!]

I am Andert.

I am the real Andert Pajer. I wielded swords and guns with you under this name! I rolled in hell for 10 years under this name!

[Tell us your real name.]

[How dare you use Andert's name!]

[You're not Andert! Who are you!]

I am...

I am not Andert Pajer.

Andert is my younger brother.

Then, who am I?

Shaking as if burned, I got up.

When I took a deep breath, instead of the dry air of the wasteland, a fresh and warm air filled my head.

Before I realized where I was, the voice lingering in my mind clouded my vision.

[Who are you!]

I was the one who was curious.

“...Who am I?”

“Who are you, Miss?”

Surprised, I turned my head to see the housekeeper standing beside the bed.

The housekeeper, who glared at me with a cold eye, continued in a voice that dripped with coldness.

“I'll gladly answer. You are a maid who slept in, Miss Daisy. Despite sleeping in, you seem to still be wandering in your dreams. Pull yourself together before I pour cold water on your head.”

Ah, overslept.

‘It was just a dream.’

How could I have had such a bad dream? And I overslept too?

I recalled the contract clause that my salary would be cut for two tardies. My already gloomy mood became even gloomier.

Moreover, my throat was so dry. It felt like I had just crossed a desert. I sat down with my knees bent, halfway through changing into my maid uniform.

“My throat is so dry.”

The housekeeper, shaking her head in disbelief, turned toward the door.

“Ha. I don't know if I'm raising a wild child or training a maid. I'll bring it, so change your clothes in the meantime.”

“Yes.”

Thud. As soon as the housekeeper left the room, I walked toward the window.

A small note, which I had noticed when I got out of bed, was neatly inserted between the window frames.

The note read:

There was no more content, but it was undoubtedly a letter from the butler assassin.

It meant that he had something to say and wanted me to visit the pub anytime.

‘Has he already found Dian Ket's legacy?’

After storing the note in my personal drawer, I finished getting ready for work and went downstairs.

As I stepped out of the open front door, I saw the housekeeper, who had gone to fetch water, standing at the front gate.

She was scanning the letter with an unusually serious expression.

“Threatening letter?”

Her grim face made me ask about the content of the letter.

The housekeeper, who stiffened at my approach, quickly gathered the letter and answered.

“Oh, Miss Daisy. No, it's just something I'm a bit concerned about... Let's go in. Have you had your water?”

“I plan to drink it.”

After drinking the water the housekeeper had filled in a pot, I started my morning chores.

Sometimes I think the housekeeper really sees me as a working ox.

After mopping the second-floor corridor, I went to the small garden before lunch to check the pots of Rue on the stairs.

“...Hmm, good.”

This morning, the first sprouts appeared.

The cotyledons of the seeds I planted were dicotyledons.

They were small but sturdy, and a total of 22 seeds had germinated. The way they clustered irregularly was not at all insignificant.

‘Cute.’

Even weeds can be cute.

Rue, you have 22 bodies. Even though you have 22 bodies, it's good that your name is Rue. No matter what, you are Rue.

“Prune them.”

A dry tone fell to break the mood.

“Or transplant them. But there are too many to transplant. There's no special place in the garden. It's better to thin them out.”

I looked up to see a delicate face, like a glass doll, staring at me.

Behind the blue hair that reminded me of a waterfall, the noon sun shone. But the sun couldn't possibly catch my eye. This man's face was more dazzling.

“Why?”

“Choose the ones with thin cotyledons and weak, transparent stems.”

“So why?”

“If the nutrients are dispersed in such a small pot, they won't grow properly. It's right to keep only the ones that will survive.”

Applying such a barbaric logic!

I looked at the pot with a heavy heart. Although barbaric, it wasn't wrong. If they crowded together in this small pot, they would only end up killing each other.

‘Life is bitter. Even weeds compete to survive.’

But it felt strange to thin out the cotyledons I had planted with my own hands.

As I glanced around the garden, Rue warned in a cold tone.

“I said there's no space in the garden.”

“Not there? There are so many empty spots. There's only grass next to the fountain, and only grass in front of the flower beds.”

Here, there, and there.

Forgetting that my lips were tingling, I pointed to various spots in the small garden. Rue, grabbing my finger, answered with a condescending and pitiful expression, as if teaching a fool.

“It's the beauty of emptiness. The value of beauty is maximized by emptiness. The flowers in the garden are not refugees. There's no reason to fill the empty spots indiscriminately.”

So you don't want to, no matter what.

‘I can't even dig the ground by force.’

At the Weatherwood mansion, all household chores are shared by all the staff (except cooking).

So when Rue is busy, I water the garden, and when I'm busy, Rue cleans the fireplace (except cooking).

But the aesthetics of the garden are definitely under Rue's jurisdiction.

To transplant more than ten pairs of cotyledons, which could potentially harm the aesthetics of the garden, requires his permission.

“Plant...”

I can't bring myself to say it, facing my nemesis, Rue.

“Plant...”

I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Plant them for me.”

I barely managed to say it, but there was no response.

Glancing at him, he asked with a face that clearly didn't want to plant them.

“Plant them for you?”

His expression seemed to ask, ‘Am I your slave?’

“P, p...”

“P?”

“Please.”

His face tilted in a dreamy way. Rue pointed at the pot with the crowded cotyledons.

“What kind of flower is it?”

“It will be beautiful.”

“Why are you so confident?”

“Because its name is Rue.”

Rue's eyes narrowed even more.

His eyelids were thin, and his eyelashes were sharp, so even when he squinted, it looked good.

“Can you flatter?”

His voice sounded more like a hollow laugh than mockery.

Rue, who had been staring at me, looked around and walked behind the fountain. He soon touched the grass near the fence.

“Plant them in a row here. If they get messy, I'll cover them with soil. I'll inspect, so move carefully.”

Oh, so obediently?

Before he could change his mind, I quickly moved the pot of Rue. As I turned to get a shovel, he blocked my path and gave a command.

“Say thank you.”

“...Thank you, Mr. Rue.”

He enjoyed watching me say it with a grimace and then disappeared with a long stride. Such a picky guy.

I started digging the firmly rooted grass with a shovel.

...But if I transplant them to the garden, will these Rues still be Rues? Rue is the name of the pot, and these cotyledons will be in a new place in the garden.

‘Maybe I should give them a new name, like "Rue's Branch," or something.’

How long had I been transplanting each cotyledon?

The argument of children could be heard from beyond the fence.

“I'll be Raphael.”

“No, I'll be Commander Raphael!”

“Hey, you idiot. Your hair is brown. You should be Commander Andert or Lieutenant Natasha.”

“What? I don't want to be Andert. Then I have to die to the Grand Mage Mephisto. I'm Raphael!”