CHAPTER 05
A few days later, early in the morning, everything was ready for Scarlett to leave for the monastery.
She hugged Victor tightly before departing.
“I’m going to miss you, Victor.”
Victor brushed her hair behind her ear as she gazed up at him so earnestly from within his embrace.
“By the time you come back, Father will probably have calmed down.”
Scarlett nodded, rested her head against his chest, and asked softly,
“Will you forgive me too?”
“No.”
At his matter-of-fact answer, the smile vanished from the corners of Scarlett’s lips.
“Even after a month?”
“You betrayed me.”
What is my husband thinking?
During their newlywed days, she had spent countless sleepless nights trying to understand the man she’d fallen in love with at first sight.
She had even plucked flower petals, asking the ridiculous question, Does he love me? Does he not? She searched for rare grasses said to make love come true. She laughed for him, sulked at him, cried in front of him…
Yet Victor never changed.
He never caught fire.
Standing beside him, so eternally composed, she always felt as though she alone was burning.
Sometimes she wondered how she had managed to love such a man for two whole years.
Then she would remind herself that this was simply what unrequited love was.
Loving someone who did not love you back.
In the end, she believed only time could solve it. Someday the flames inside her would burn out, and when they did, this love would disappear as well.
Stepping back with a smile, Scarlett asked gently,
“What about three months? Would you forgive me after three months?”
“…”
“Then a hundred days. After a hundred days… forgive me, okay? Any longer than that… I’m afraid you’ll forget me.”
“All right. Let’s do that.”
As soon as Victor answered, Scarlett beamed.
She threw her arms around him one last time before climbing into the carriage.
“Wear well meet again in a hundred days, my love.”
“Yes.”
When a hundred days passed… would his anger finally fade?
And if I stayed away from him for a hundred days… would the fire in my own heart finally die out as well?
Praying desperately for both, Scarlett boarded the carriage.
The Melin Monastery stood far from the capital.
As Scarlett and her servants entered the isolated monastery, surrounded by nothing at all, gloomy expressions spread across their faces.
The room prepared for Scarlett was built entirely of stone.
It contained nothing.
It looked more like a prison cell than a room.
Candace, the maid carrying Scarlett’s luggage, frowned.
“My goodness. Even if it’s a monastery, shouldn’t there at least be a bed? This isn’t a place for monks—it’s for ascetics.”
Having expected something like this, Scarlett merely smiled and looked up at the tiny window.
Her only concern was that so little sunlight entered the room.
The servants busied themselves arranging winter bedding and carrying in braziers.
For a family as wealthy as the Dumpelts, bringing this much luggage during travel was perfectly normal.
At that moment, Father Delphio entered the room.
Gregory himself had entrusted Scarlett to his care.
Looking at the servants laying out her belongings, the priest spoke sternly.
“What do you think you’re doing? Why would a woman who has come here to repent need so many possessions?”
The servants froze.
Delphio continued.
“Take everything out immediately. God Leskia will be displeased.”
“No matter what, how can you treat our mistress like—”
Candace began to protest.
Delphio cut her off.
“This is also Lord Gregory’s order.”
“…”
Once Gregory’s name was invoked, Candace had no choice but to back down.
Though reluctant, the servants gathered the luggage they had just unpacked.
After they had left—looking back several times before disappearing down the hall—Delphio stood before Scarlett, holding the holy scripture.
A nun quietly whispered,
“You should kneel.”
She, too, left the room.
Scarlett hesitated before kneeling before the priest.
Turning the pages of the scripture, Delphio declared,
“God Leskia has said this: Every devil resides within the technologies mankind invents to surpass one another. Therefore, as the daughter of clockmakers, born into House Crimson, you entered this world carrying original sin.”
Scarlett’s face stiffened.
Leskia was the God of Nature, worshipped by Edelrode, the state religion of Salantier.
Centuries earlier, the nomadic ancestors of Salantier had followed a small star to this land.
There, they settled and began worshipping both the star that guided them and Leskia, the god who had created the natural world.
Followers of Leskia certainly valued living close to nature.
But using that religion to claim Scarlett herself was born sinful…
That was nothing more than Delphio’s twisted interpretation.
“My parents didn’t make clocks to surpass other people.”
“Time is something nature reveals on its own. Creating devices that artificially measure time and make people’s hearts race—that is the work of the devil.”
“That’s absurd…”
“And that is why you betrayed your husband.”
Delphio motioned to several monks.
They forced Scarlett onto her knees.
Looking almost proud of himself, he proclaimed,
“You may not understand your sins now… but you soon will. Here, you shall obtain both repentance and purification.”
A hundred days turned out to be much longer than Scarlett had imagined.
The bitterest part of winter passed.
Then came the harsh winds of early spring.
Salantier received heavy snowfall throughout December and January.
By February and March, rain fell frequently over the capital while icy winds continued to sweep through the city.
While his wife remained at the monastery, Victor found himself giving interviews to reporters—a task completely unsuited to his temperament.
He gazed out the carriage window at the pouring rain.
Blight carefully adjusted the countless medals decorating Victor’s uniform, making sure not a single one sat crooked.
Squinting critically, he pouted slightly, still dissatisfied.
Victor himself had hired Blight because of this almost obsessive perfectionism.
Since he had chosen the man personally, he tolerated the habit despite finding it exhausting.
After finally finishing Victor’s appearance, Blight plucked the wilted petals from the bouquet he had brought.
Even the way he handed Victor the flowers was meticulous.
“Will you be all right?” Blight asked.
“Seeing Duchess Marina, I mean.”
“I visit her often.”
“But this time the reporters are coming with you.”
“It can’t be helped.”
He had wanted to avoid using this method until the very end.
But the Royal Police and the newspapers continued attacking him relentlessly over his alleged cruelty toward his mother.
He had run out of alternatives.
Blight stepped down from the carriage first and opened an umbrella.
As reporters crowded around, Victor descended carrying the bouquet in one hand.
The moment his handsome yet expressionless face appeared beneath the rain, even the reporters preparing hostile questions fell silent.
It was hard to believe this imposing officer was only twenty-six years old.
He entered Oslit Monastery, the wealthiest monastery near the capital—
the place where his mother, Marina Dumpelt, lived.
Oslit Monastery was famous for its chapel filled with magnificent stained glass.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Very few people were ever permitted inside.
Marina Dumpelt sat in a comfortable chair on a porch overlooking the garden.
The entire area had been lavishly furnished with Victor’s donations.
When Victor approached, Marina looked up.
“Victor.”
“Mother.”
Smiling faintly, Victor walked over.
He knelt on the finely polished wooden floor beside her chair and looked up at her.
Marina gently stroked his hair.
Then, suddenly, she leapt to her feet.
Her expression twisted.
She seized him by the throat.
“If only… if only you had never been born…”
“…Then you could have remained royalty. Yes. I know.”
“You should never have existed! You ruined my life!”
“You’ve told me that many times.”
He made no attempt to stop her as her thin fingers clawed at his neck and shoulders.
It was nothing new.
Eventually Marina grew exhausted from striking and scratching him.
She breathed heavily.
As a little clarity returned to her eyes, she asked,
“Is your wife doing well?”
“Yes.”
“Does she still love you that much?”
Victor smiled faintly.
“She does.
Enough to overwhelm me.”
Marina nodded absentmindedly.
Then she began speaking again.
“Did I ever tell you about the slide in the royal palace when I was little?”
“…No.”
He had heard the story nearly a thousand times.
The slide with golden handrails.
The jade-inlaid cradle passed down through generations of royalty.
She spoke at length about growing up inside the palace.
Then, midway through the story, she once again blamed Victor for everything.
The bouquet he had brought had long since been torn apart in one of her fits of rage and scattered into the rain.
Victor listened patiently.
Eventually Marina became too tired to continue.
Seeing that she was drifting toward sleep, he quietly rose.
She caught his arm.
“My son…”
“One day…”
“Take me back to the royal palace.”
Her face held an indescribable mixture of hope and madness.
“My beloved son.
You’re the only one I can trust.
You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Victor straightened the blanket covering her.
“One day…
I’ll take you back to the royal palace.”
