Chapter 15

Chapter 15

[To the pathetically petty and disgracefully shameless Mr. Arthur Granfield—
I have reviewed the claim you sent.
The revenue split was agreed upon by both parties at the time of the establishment of the partnership, so I have no objection to proceeding.
The amount you stated will be deposited via the Central Bank account within three days.
–Rose Stellania Taylor
This signature is authenticated by Mythos truth-binding and is legally binding and immune to forgery.]

[Did you think I’d come crawling just because you demanded money? I have my pride.
And saying the claim becomes void if we get married… how low can you go?
What lunatic proposes marriage like that after parading his cheating around so shamelessly?
Take this money and get lost.
It was revolting being with you, and may we never cross paths again.
May you and that red-haired woman cling to each other in blissful ignorance of your own hellish circumstances for eternity.
–With murderous intent, Rose.
P.S. Don’t bother inviting me to your wedding.]

“Bwahahaha! Masterpiece. This is a masterpiece!”

A raucous, unrefined burst of laughter echoed through the shabby room.

Somewhere on the second floor of an old inn on the outskirts of Romberton, two people stood facing each other.

“Pfft… Puhuhu!”

Arthur Granfield’s view was repeatedly blocked by a wild mane of curly red hair bouncing up and down in hysterics.

“Come to think of it, this is all your fault, Griselda—”

“Excuse me? My fault?”

She turned around, barely suppressing her smile. The sight of her was utterly seductive.

“Blaming me for the collapse of your relationship? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Her crimson curls rippled like firelight, a striking contrast to her porcelain-white skin. Her eyes were slanted ever so slightly, sultry, and her dark pupils seemed like they could suck in anyone who stared too long. Dressed in a deep green gown that clung to her voluptuous figure, she read the two letters over and over before bursting into laughter again.

“Granfield. You’re the one who asked to meet at the office that day.”

“You’re the one who accepted, Griselda.”

“What was I supposed to do? I’m not the kind of woman who turns her back on someone with a shattered Umbelt.”

Arthur’s handsome face contorted with frustration as he snatched the letters from Griselda’s hand.

Umbelt.

An Umbelt is, metaphorically speaking, a personal vessel for storing magical energy. When it breaks, magic continues to build up unchecked, requiring regular release. Without proper discharge, the body can no longer handle the overflow of magic and the person will eventually die.

A cracked Umbelt might only need a few big spells cast each month, but in Arthur’s case, the vessel was completely shattered…

“There aren’t many benevolent Absorbers like me around, you know.”

“More like depraved Absorbers like you.”

“And yet you keep coming back, don’t you? Admit it.”

“……”

“You even ask, every single time, ‘Can I call you Rosie?’ You know that makes you a real pervert, right?”

“……”

“Fine, I admit my absorption methods are a bit unconventional.”

Sighing at Arthur’s glare, Griselda finally backed down and waved a small fireball through the air, trying to justify herself.

“But that time, there was no other way. To absorb your magic before it exploded, I had to do it that way.”

“Damn it, I know!”

“See? If you’d just called me more often, you wouldn’t have shown her such a depraved scene.”

Griselda Gibson, a Fire-type Absorber, had honed the ability to neutralize certain magical energies—a kind of specialist who treats Mythos whose Umbelts are damaged.

Not all Absorbers use such… primal methods, of course.

Although sexual stimulation is the most efficient way to trigger a magical surge, most Absorbers would be slapped into oblivion if they tried her approach. But normal standards never applied to Griselda, so yelling at her was pointless.

“What else could I do? You’ve got no one else to treat you but me.”

At that, Arthur’s face twisted with discomfort.

“It’s hard to keep working as an agent at the Royal Bureau of Paranormal Investigations without anyone knowing your Umbelt is broken, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Arthur’s voice dropped into a threatening growl.

“I heard you were removed from your assignment monitoring Rose Taylor.”

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“No, just clarifying for your treatment plan.”

She shrugged.

“You’ve been working field assignments until now, but now that you’re moving to a desk job, you’ll need to see me more regularly if you want to hide your condition.”

Her crimson lips curled into a crooked smile.

“Make the right call, Arthur Granfield.”

She leaned close to whisper into his ear.

“Destruction for the sake of creation.”

Her cryptic mantra sent him clenching his teeth.

“…From the ruins, we shall rise again.”

Satisfied, Griselda turned and left him alone in the room.

“Damn it!”

The chair clattered noisily to the floor from his frustrated kick. His eyes burned with anger, regret, and longing.

“Haa…”

He buried his face in both hands with a deep sigh. Outside the dusty window, the setting sun bathed the sky in gold.

The crows flying by, cawing in a flock, sounded like mockery.

This is the worst.

He thought he’d already hit rock bottom. Apparently not.

Arthur stood frozen in the empty room for a long time.

In his pocket, a badge no larger than a fingernail irritated him more than usual. He had the urge to hurl it out the window—but clenched his fist instead. He couldn’t afford to ruin everything now.

“Destruction for the sake of creation. From the ruins, we shall rise again.”

His whispered creed weighed heavier than usual.

“When the time comes, Her Majesty shall bestow grace upon the foolish, and be with them forevermore.”

James could hardly hide his disappointment when his lawyer and secretary returned empty-handed.

Their explanation only deepened the scowl on his face.

“She said… nothing happened between us?”

“Yes. She was extremely upset…”

“Said it was an insult…”

Nothing happened? Insulting?

Ha!

How could she say something so blatantly false with a straight face?

He pictured her—Rose, the woman who’d not only defiled his dignity but had etched a bizarre tattoo onto his chest before vanishing—and scoffed.

She’d willingly spent the night with him. Now she was pretending otherwise?

What woman of marriageable age wouldn’t want to be the lady of the Dautryche family? A life of wealth and influence, guaranteed.

Unless…

Was it because she still had feelings for that Mr. Huckard, despite saying they’d ended things?

James ran a hand through his hair as he sorted his thoughts.

Even if it was all some misunderstanding, the fact remained—he’d taken a virgin, violating both his own code and society’s ethical standards.

He had to take responsibility.

“I refuse to become trash like my father.”

Maybe it was because nothing was going according to plan. A headache throbbed at his temples.

“Send a telegram. Tell her I’m coming to see her myself.”

He should’ve postponed his morning meetings and gone instead of sending proxies. Persuasion, certainly—but perhaps a bit of intimidation too.

Questions had to be asked:
About the mysterious, unremovable tattoo on his chest.
About the paper-folded flower.
What kind of trick had she pulled?
Where did she learn that origami?

Nothing else could explain it.

Surely the eagle-and-rose emblem on his left chest was only visible to him. He’d tried bringing it up to his valet and the butler, but both looked at him like he was speaking gibberish.

They weren’t just pretending not to see. They truly didn’t see it.

If they had, their gazes would’ve been drawn to the sudden appearance of the mark. But they hadn’t flinched.

Did that woman hypnotize me somehow?

Olga Blavatsky’s stage show had included hypnosis as well as necromancy.

So why? Why use such an approach?

From the very beginning, it had been suspicious—her insistence that he be her first.

Was this some kind of trap?