IWMHWD 112

Chapter 112 – What Love Is
2024.02.20

Cordelia pressed her lips together. An awkward silence stretched between them. She couldn’t even imagine meeting his gaze, so she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Summoning all her courage, she finally broke the suffocating silence that felt as though it might last forever.

“Um, I… I’ll head back now…”

“Ah, yes. You should… rest. Yes, rest.”

“Yes. Um, I—I finished the assignment.”

None of their exchanges came out smoothly. Without looking back, Cordelia hurriedly fled the laboratory.

Only after the door had shut completely did Leonard rake a rough hand through his hair. A heavy sigh slipped out.

He knew Cordelia found him burdensome, but the words that had risen to the tip of his tongue had been impossible to hold back.

It hadn’t been willpower—it had been closer to an instinctive struggle, a desperate lashing out of his heart. His feelings for her swelled and swelled until they could no longer be contained.

For Leonard, it was the first time in his life experiencing such a storm of emotions for someone, and it left him utterly bewildered. Before meeting Cordelia, humanity, to him, had been divided into only two categories:

Leonard himself.
And everyone else.

The “everyone else” included his family, colleagues, and subordinates, all lumped together. There had never been a need to differentiate among them—none of them mattered much to him, and he had never felt they were worth the distinction.

But Cordelia… Cordelia did not belong to that “everyone else.” She didn’t fit into either category. She was something far greater—someone infinitely more important.

And that was why it hurt.

When he confessed, he had seen the bewilderment on her face, and it felt as though the ground gave way beneath him. He had expected it, but facing it in reality left him breathless, as if struck in the chest.

Even cutting her off before she could respond was unlike him. If Baron ever learned of this, he would surely click his tongue in disdain.

“Pathetic.”

Just like now—Candias, standing a short distance away, having watched their entire exchange, wiggled his eyes as he mocked him. His expression made it clear he was suppressing laughter, savoring the chance to tease.

“Get lost. My heart’s already in turmoil.”

“Turmoil? Kekeke! Now I’ve seen everything. You, of all people, saying you’re troubled over a woman!”

“I said, move.”

Leonard scrubbed his face with both hands and shoved the demon away when it leaned too close. But Candias only grew more gleeful, prattling on.

“For someone who struts around acting like he’s above everyone, you couldn’t even get a single proper word out in front of a girl. Looked like a dog desperate for a shit.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Do I even have a mouth? You call this a mouth? And that confession—pffft! Who confesses like that? Even if I did it with my foot, I’d do better. You really don’t know women at all, do you? Let me tell you—women are…”

Candias puffed up, clearing his throat pompously before launching into his self-important lecture. Leonard stayed silent, lips sealed.

The demon rambled on, then suddenly glanced at his contractor. Leonard was far too quiet, and that, strangely, felt more unsettling.

“…You done?”

“I—I think so. Why? What now?”

“Then bring me your eyeballs. I’ll gladly put you out of your misery.”

Magic flared in Leonard’s palm as he spoke. Candias immediately bolted.

“Why don’t we stop here for the night?”

“Sounds good, Sir Mervan.”

“You may simply call me Gasill.”

The brown-haired man spoke with a mix of courtesy and warmth.

Since the kidnapping incident, two knights had been assigned to escort them to the capital. One was, of course, Beluche. The other, whom Cordelia remembered only faintly in passing before, was the very model of a knight—Gasill Mervan.

“Pretending we’re all chummy, when we’ve barely met.”

Beluche muttered coldly as he brushed past, but Gasill didn’t even turn his head.

Days of traveling together had been enough for Cordelia to realize the two knights didn’t get along. To be precise: Gasill ignored Beluche, while Beluche envied Gasill.

Every time those subtle tensions clashed, Cordelia felt weary, but she had no reason to mediate between them, so she simply pretended not to notice. In truth, her mind was already overflowing with worries.

What do I say to my teacher when I return?

More than the news of her father’s failing health, more than the subtle rivalry between the knights, what consumed Cordelia’s thoughts—what shook her constantly—was Leonard. Whether sitting, standing, waking, or sleeping, he filled her mind so completely there was no space left for anything else.

“Ingrion?”

At Gasill’s muttered word, Cordelia lifted her head from her wandering thoughts. It didn’t sound like he was addressing Beluche. As she expected, his gaze had settled on the crowd occupying the first floor of the inn.

On their shoulders gleamed crests of peonies and birds, the same emblem etched into Beluche’s scabbard. She snuck a glance at his face, but his expression revealed nothing.

“Oh, my apologies, my lady,” the innkeeper exclaimed, rushing forward the moment he saw Cordelia’s group. “The Marquis of Ingrion’s household has reserved all our rooms.”

Then, noticing Beluche’s scabbard, he faltered. “Ah—might you be part of their party?”

“No. We’re not. If there are no rooms, we’ll find another inn,” Cordelia quickly interjected. She vividly remembered how the Marquis of Ingrion had once tried to kill his own son.

She hunched her shoulders slightly and moved toward the door. But just as she neared it, a dagger flew at her.

Clang! Beluche’s sword deflected it with a sharp ring. When had he drawn it? He stood with blade in hand, eyes blazing as he glared at their attacker. Gasill silently stepped in front of Cordelia.

“Well, if it isn’t the famed hound of Atillay.”

A young, black-haired man swaggered toward Beluche. From his attire and appearance, he could only be one of the Marquis of Ingrion’s sons.

“And what business does the likes of you have in a place where Ingrion resides?”

“I didn’t come to see your face, Noah Ingrion.”

Aside from their hair color, there was nothing in their features to suggest they were brothers. Cordelia held her breath quietly behind them.

“Noah? Did you just call me by name, you insolent bastard?”

“Then how shall I address you? ‘The half-wit who only managed knighthood at twenty-five?’”

“You filthy—die!”

It happened in an instant. Noah charged at Beluche with sword drawn.

But his furious momentum was all bluster. His skill fell pitifully short—or perhaps Beluche’s strength was simply overwhelming. With only a few swift swings, Beluche’s blade was already at Noah’s throat. Even Cordelia, with little knowledge of swordplay, could see the vast difference in ability.

“Did you think I’d forever be the boy who took your beatings?”

“You bastard…”

Noah seethed with rage, his eyes bloodshot as he glared. Beluche, by contrast, remained cool, almost bored, lowering his blade without hesitation.

“Unless you want more humiliation, you’d best stop.”

“You dogs! What are you standing around for? Seize him!”

Noah spun toward the Ingrion knights filling the inn, shouting furiously. An older knight, seemingly their captain, approached him carefully.

“Lord Noah, the Marquis will be here shortly. Please, let this go—”

“What? ‘Let it go’? Who are you to order me?”

As if venting his fury, Noah swung his scabbard at the old knight. Though there had been plenty of chance to dodge, the man endured it as though long accustomed to such violence.

By then, Cordelia met Beluche’s eyes. He gave a small nod toward the door. Understanding the signal, she murmured to Gasill,

“Let’s leave now.”

“Yes. That would be best.”

Gasill opened the inn door cautiously, never lowering his guard. But the moment the worn wooden door creaked open, a new figure stood there.

Cordelia froze as she looked up at the stern, black-haired man. In that instant, she knew who he was.

His eyes… they’re exactly the same as Beluche’s.

She suddenly recalled what Leonard had once said: that no one could deny Beluche was the Marquis’s son, for their eyes were identical.

When sunlight struck them just so, Beluche’s black eyes gleamed with golden streaks. The same was true for the man before her—the Marquis of Ingrion himself.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“F-Father.”

Noah faltered at once when he saw his father enter. The old knight, who had silently endured the blows, finally staggered to his feet.

The Marquis strode straight to his son and struck his cheek with an open palm so forceful it sent the grown man reeling.

“I told you to behave yourself. You never listen.”

“Ugh—”

“Go to your room.”

The Marquis didn’t ask why Noah had been attacking his knight. He didn’t demand an explanation. Noah, humiliated in front of so many, flushed red and fled upstairs.

Without sparing him another glance, the Marquis turned to Beluche.

“And you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m on guard duty.”

“Guard duty?”

To Cordelia’s surprise, Beluche’s demeanor toward the Marquis was completely different from the hostility he’d shown Noah. He yielded without protest.

The Marquis’s sharp gaze shifted to Gasill, then finally to Cordelia.

“Sir Mervan. And you are?”

“My name is Cordelia Vasquez.”

She didn’t bother with pleasantries or hollow words of respect. But the Marquis’s reaction was immediate. At the mention of her name, his eyes changed at once.