V16C11: The Right of Revenge

Isaac had come all the way to the front of the reception room, but stopped in his tracks before the door and lowered his hand, which he had raised to knock.

I wonder what kind of expression should I face her with…

Even knowing the true identity of the Silent Witch, Isaac still could not fully accept everything.

The feelings Isaac harbored towards her were far too complex.

The respect and admiration the Seven Sages had for the Silent Witch.

The guilt towards Monica Rayne, the girl who had lost her father because of Isaac.

These overwhelming emotions were all jumbled up in the depths of his stomach, still indigestible.

And yet, he could not just stand there forever.

Isaac took a small deep breath and knocked on the door, which then opened from the inside. The one who opened it was the black-haired, golden-eyed servant.

“Yo, Sparkles.”

As usual, the Black Dragon had no intention of remembering people’s names, grinning mischievously as he invited Isaac in.

Inside the room, Monica was sitting neatly on the sofa.

Clad in the navy robe only the Seven Sages were permitted to wear, with her light brown hair tied up beautifully, Monica slowly raised her face upon noticing Isaac.

Her green eyes, shimmering in the lighting, gazed at Isaac. The moment their eyes met, Isaac felt a tightness in his chest, as if it were being constricted. Words would not come out smoothly.

As Isaac stood frozen before the door, Monica slowly rose from the sofa and──

“Fwah!?”

──she stepped on the hem of her robe and fell flat on her face.

A resounding crash echoed through the quiet room.

“……..”

“……..”

The awkward silence was broken by the pitiful sound of Monica sniffling.

“Nero… get me… my staff…”

“Alright, here you go.”

He discovered one thing. The name of this Black Dragon, who named himself Bartholomew Alexander, seemed to be Nero.

Come to think of it, I feel like she had occasionally murmured “Nero” under her breath… Could it be she was referring to him?

Nero handed Monica the staff that had been leaning against the wall.

Puffing out rough breaths of “Fuh fuh”, Monica clung to the staff as she stood up.

However, her legs were trembling unsteadily, more ungainly than a newborn fawn.

“…Did you hurt your foot from that fall?”

When Isaac inquired, Monica shook her head vigorously.

“Um, today the heels on my shoes were just… sooo, sooo high…”

Saying this, Monica spread her thumb and index finger as far apart as possible to demonstrate.

I see, so that’s why she had looked quite tall today──it wasn’t due to a dignified bearing, but rather the extreme height of her shoe heels.

“After wearing these shoes all day… my toes, were at their limit…”

Clutching her staff, Monica tried to walk but Isaac raised a hand to stop her.

“Please, stay seated. May I join you over there?”

“O, of course!”

Looking relieved, Monica sat back down on the very edge of the sofa, her body scrunched up.

Finding that rather amusing, Isaac took a seat right next to her.

Monica’s slight shoulders twitched, and her teary eyes avoided Isaac’s gaze, fixated on the floor instead.

Her completely deflated demeanor did not at all resemble the person who had carried herself so proudly in the Supreme Council chamber.

Isaac leaned in and placed a hand on Monica’s forehead.

“Oh dear, your forehead is swollen.”

He gently caressed the spot she had knocked against the floor, then glanced at Nero.

“Could you fetch some ointment from the infirmary?”

“Ah, I see what this is. You want me to be considerate, is that it?”

“Your perceptiveness is much appreciated.”

Monica was staring up at Nero, her mouth agape.

Nero snorted and nodded in response.

“Well, I am a considerate kind of servant, you know. Alright, I’ll go grab some real quick.”

With that, Nero left the room with a shuffle.

Beside him, Monica let out a voice of utter despair, “Ahhh…..”

As the door closed with a thud, Monica froze like a statue.

＊　＊　＊

Wh-, wh-, wha-, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do!?

Monica was sweating profusely all over as she inwardly clutched her head.

She had intended to carry herself with dignity before Isaac as the Silent Witch.

But the moment she tripped over the hem of her robe and fell, her spirit had somehow… broken.

Just blurting out “Fwah!?” as she fell, there was no way to maintain any sense of dignity after that.

On top of that, all the words she had wanted to say to Isaac had spilled right out of her head when she tumbled over. Ah, if only numbers and formulas were as easy to forget!

“Monica.”

Isaac called out her name. Not Lady Everett, but Monica.

Turning towards him, Monica scrunched up her face like a scolded child and lowered her head.

“Um… I’m really sorry for telling so many lies…”

She had truly wanted to live up to his expectations as the Silent Witch.

But having expended everything at the council, Monica no longer had any reserves left to put on airs before Isaac.

“…I’m sure you’re disappointed that I’m the Silent Witch… I’m sorry…”

“I’m no different from you. I was telling lies too.”

A quiet voice informed her so.

As Monica fell silent, Isaac calmly asked,

“What kind of trick was that with the Black Chalice?”

The King and Isaac were not blood-related, yet the Black Chalice had turned crimson.

In response to Isaac’s doubt, Monica forced an awkward laugh.

“Well, you see… that chalice is a proper magic tool.”

The Black Chalice was currently submitted as evidence. If they had it appraised by either Minerva or the Association of Magicians, it would be proven to be a genuine magic tool.

The crucial part of this deception was THAT “Black Chalice is authentic.”

“The blood I poured into the grail at that time… was His Highness Albert’s.”

“Albert’s?”

The Third Prince Albert could not attend the Supreme Council meeting, but he was currently staying at the palace.

Right before the council began, Monica had taken a blood sample from Albert and stored it in a vial to prevent coagulation, concealing it in her sleeve.

When the time came to pour Isaac’s blood into the grail, the reason she touched his hand was to naturally let the vial’s blood drip into the grail from her sleeve.

At Monica’s explanation, Isaac looked surprised.

“…So Albert was one of your co-conspirators, then.”

He murmured, gazing intently at Monica.

“You knew I was a fake, and yet… why would you help me like that?”

Isaac wore a self-deprecating, bitter smile.

His azure eyes looked dull and hollow.

“I wouldn’t mind even if I had just been executed at that time.”

“Y-, You can’t!”

Monica blurted out instinctively.

The words she wanted to say were all jumbled up in her head, failing to cohere.

But she could not stay silent.

“You can’t say things like that. So many people lent their strength to help you… Lord Cyril, Lady Bridgett, Glenn, and others…!”

Monica alone could not have completed the Black Chalice or gathered that many testimonies.

More importantly, if Glenn and the others had not stalled Louis, he might have seen through their deception.

“Everyone wanted to help the Student President they admired. They wanted to attend graduation with you. So… they all, they all helped so much…”

As Monica desperately pleaded, Isaac’s cold, expressionless face softened, his dull azure eyes fixing on her.

“The scholar Benedict Rayne… he was your father, wasn’t he?”

The mention of her father’s name from Isaac’s lips pierced Monica’s chest.

“Y-, yes.”

As Monica answered with trembling lips, Isaac suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

“Hyaah!?”

Monica ended up straddling the supine Isaac on the sofa as if she had pushed him down onto it herself.

As Monica blinked with wide eyes, her hands braced against Isaac’s chest, he guided her hands to his own neck.

“I was the reason for your father’s death… My obsession, and Duke Crockford’s obsession, has killed your father.”

With her fingers pressed against his neck by Isaac’s hands, Monica could feel his pulse throbbing through the thin skin.

“You have the right to take revenge on me.”

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