MTMT 11

Chapter 11

The branded mark on his back burned.
The moment it was seared into his flesh, the boy knew his already miserable fate would only get worse.
The brand felt like a period at the end of his life’s sentence.
Giscard wished for his death.
Please, let the god of death take me away.

His life had always been that way—no salvation, no mercy.

A warm hand, a gentle sense of safety—things a child should naturally be given—were never granted to him.
The only person who had ever shown him a nervous sort of care had already been beheaded.

He wanted this cursed life to end.
At fourteen, Giscard sincerely wished for it.

“Treat him.”

A delicate girl’s voice reached his ears. There was some arguing in the background, but the voice came through clearly.

“Do you really think there are things you can just do without consequence?”

It was a young-sounding voice, yet it was cold beyond belief. Curious about the owner of that voice filled with a hint of fury, Giscard opened his eyes. But the person he saw was far smaller than expected.

A small girl.

He remembered her.
The girl from this accursed household who had stared at him when he first arrived.
Dressed in fine clothes, she gazed at him with clear, bright eyes.
For some reason, the moment he saw those eyes, a surge of anger welled up inside him.

The same look—looking down on me, pitying me.

She was trying to pity him with her clumsy sense of morality. There had been many like her around him before. But that pity was always temporary—a hand extended only to soothe their own discomfort.

And to top it off, she was the young lady of the household that had made him into this pitiful state.

A sudden murderous urge flared up.
Was it because, for once, he saw someone weaker than himself?
He didn’t know. But he glared at her with the eyes of a beast.

She only watched him blankly, then curved her lips into a smile.

“You can’t kill me.”

The girl had instantly recognized his murderous intent. She was innocent yet not naïve.
When she pointed to the restraints on him, he suddenly became aware of how suffocating they felt.

It was a first meeting tinged with twisted emotions and lingering questions.
The bluish moonlight outside the window shone between them, making the girl’s curly blonde hair glisten. For some reason, the moonlight in her eyes held no trace of that nauseating ‘pity.’

And yet, tears fell from her eyes.

Who was she to cry? he thought for a moment—before closing his eyes and hearing her say:

“I’m sorry.”

Strangely enough, it was kinder than any words he’d ever heard before.

“Miss, what on earth are you doing?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

Diana widened her eyes as Mirva entered and spoke.
It seemed someone had tattled the moment they returned home. Her gaze fell on Giscard, asleep after having his wounds treated.

“You brought that slave into this house—into this room!”

“He looked pitiful, so I brought him in, Mirva. Is there a problem?”

“This is the mansion, and this is my responsibility!”

“But my room is my responsibility. And even if it gets dirty, isn’t that why we hire people to take care of it?”

At Diana’s words, Mirva’s face tightened. She looked at Diana as if she were a troublesome child.

“A young lady shouldn’t be letting strange men into her room!”

“Then I’ll give him the room next door.”

“Miss!”

In truth, Diana knew Mirva’s point was correct.
Rumors about a noblewoman and a male slave could be incredibly filthy.

But Diana was only twelve years old.
Such a thought was in itself vulgar.
And for a mere maid to say such things aloud—Mirva was overstepping. Yet Diana couldn’t dismiss her just yet.

Mirva had her father’s strong backing. Until Diana took full control of the household, Mirva was effectively the lady of the house.

“By the way, Mirva, what exactly do you mean by ‘letting strange men in’?”

Diana feigned innocent curiosity.
Seeing her act the part, Mirva smiled.

“It means letting in lowborn, ill-bred men like him.”

“But you said slaves aren’t people.”

“They may not be, but they’re still men.”

“I see. So men are no good.”

Diana nodded obediently, and Mirva’s expression softened.
Then Diana smiled brightly and said:

“So what you’re worried about is sexual relations between a man and a woman, right?”

“What?! How could you—!”

Diana decided to speak plainly.

“You’re worried about taking off clothes and mixing bodies? About my pure body being defiled?”

“M-Miss, where did you hear such—!”

“I’m twelve. How exactly would I ‘mix bodies’ with him? Do you think I’d even do something like that? And to think that of me…”

Her cold tone, so unlike the usual innocent or cheeky demeanor expected of a young lady, made Mirva’s face contort.

Since the Duchess of Brienne’s death, Mirva had been the de facto mistress of the house. She’d always found it easy to manipulate children—until recently.
In the past few days, Diana had begun to push back, wearing expressions Mirva had never seen before.

If the girl insulted her for overstepping, Mirva would simply tell the Duke about her selfishness. And if she complained to the Duke, the result would be the same—she’d show this twelve-year-old what happened when she acted out of turn.

Diana was unreadable.

“That’s really hurtful, you know.”

Diana pouted and leaned into Mirva’s arms.

“I’m not that kind of low person. My mother told me to be a refined lady.”

“…”

“He’s just a poor boy. I’ll ask for him as my twelfth birthday present. He’s practically mine already.”

As Diana spoke gently, Mirva’s expression relaxed. That cold look from earlier must have been her imagination—outwardly calm, but inside she was still just a naïve, inexperienced girl.

“Alright. I trust you.”

“Then can you call for a proper doctor for him?”

“Our lady’s heart is so soft, it’s troublesome.”

“You’re the best, Mirva.”

Mirva smiled and patted Diana’s head—unaware of how icy the girl’s expression truly was.

The only reason Diana let her live was because her end had been so miserable.

Diana sat in her chair. She couldn’t sleep.
She still feared that if she closed her eyes and woke up, she’d find herself in the Lodbrok royal castle as an undying corpse.

She had gone back to the past.
The proof lay before her—Giscard Lodbrok, sleeping soundly.
She couldn’t bring herself to touch him, only watching the monster who had once dragged her life into ruin.

I hate you.

I hate you for killing my family. I hate you for destroying my house.

I suppose you had your reasons.
Maybe you couldn’t help it.

But why… why did you have a child with her?
With the one who took my child from me?
Your tastes are truly twisted.
Did you hate me that much?

She looked down at Giscard’s sleeping young face.
It was the clearest proof that she had returned to the past. This wasn’t heaven—just a repetition of what had already been.

They said you couldn’t change fate, but it could be altered.

If she was only going to despair and do nothing, she might as well die.
Now that she had been given life again, she would make changes.

Looking at the wounded Giscard, Diana made up her mind.

First—she would protect him from suffering abuse.

This was a country where slavery existed.
Commoners naturally looked down on and abused slaves, who stood even lower in the hierarchy.
Though this house rarely kept slaves, Giscard was now the only one here, making him the lowest of the low.

He was someone anyone could treat however they pleased. His body was always covered in bruises.

In her younger days, she had believed she couldn’t stop it, only tend to his wounds. But now, she knew she must prevent the abuse from happening in the first place.

Diana thought hard. She had very little power right now.
First, she had to earn her father’s recognition and make everyone in the house her subordinates.
Then, she would ask her father to free him.

To do that, she needed to protect him now. She couldn’t block every injury, but she could at least ensure he didn’t grow to resent her or this place.

Yes, she would protect this boy.

Once, he had been a pitiful slave boy.
Once, he had been her husband, their bodies entwined.
Once, he had been the hateful deceiver who threw her into hell.

Diana laughed bitterly at her own thoughts.
She had hated him so much, and yet here she was, deciding to protect him.

But she still believed this decision was right.
Better to remove the cause of revenge before the chain of vengeance began. She could do it.

Just then, Giscard stirred.
After a few deep breaths, he shuddered and sat up.
When he opened his eyes, they were once again clear and bright. Diana thought they would soon turn into the beast-like eyes she remembered—eyes that might glare at her with hatred and attack her.
His gaze was already brimming with murderous intent.

From her chair, Diana spoke softly.

“Hello.”

For a moment, his eyes wavered. The greeting had been unexpected. Giscard sat up fully.

“You slept for a whole day. It’s night again.”

“…”

“Did people keep you from sleeping?”

Giscard simply looked up at her in silence. Diana didn’t care either way. Instead, she held out clothes she had prepared in advance.

“Change into these.”

They were clean clothes.
Giscard stared at them for a while before speaking.

“Why… are you giving me something like this?”

It was the first thing he had ever said to her. His voice was rough, like metal scraping, but clear.
Perhaps because he hadn’t yet been trained as a slave, there was no politeness in his tone.

From the first meeting, things had been off, and now the situation had ‘changed.’

Unaware of the magic in this change, Diana replied:

“Because I pity you.”

The only emotion that could explain her actions was pity—and in truth, it was partly true.
Though more than that, it was part of her plan.

Would he tremble in humiliation at being pitied?

But unexpectedly, he accepted it and began to put the clothes on.
She couldn’t tell what was going through his mind.