“Miss Cherryl, did you hear that?”
The soft sound of water was heard in the bathroom.
Something pricked Cherryl’s ears as she enjoyed soaking her relaxed limbs in the bath.
It was Lucy, the maid, who asked that attention-grabbing question.
She was organizing the laundry when she came close to the bathtub and knelt to whisper a secret.
“The bandits are going to visit our mansion.”
“Bandits? What do you mean?”
“Shh! Lower your voice.
Someone might be listening.”
Lucy hurriedly put her index finger on her lips and glanced at the door, ensuring it was closed.
A noblewoman was in the bath, so there was no way someone could barge in unexpectedly, but she looked nervous.
Cherryl tilted her chin in wonder.
“Why do bandits want to come to my house? To steal? They wouldn’t have to announce their arrival to do that.”
It wasn’t normal for bandits to steal upon the owner’s knowledge.
The story was absurd.
“He isn’t here to rob.
It’s not even his first visit.” Lucy leaned over and whispered in a quieter voice.
“Don’t be surprised and listen to me.
Remember the town festival you attended a few weeks ago?”
Cherryl recalled the grand village festival promoted by her father, Marquis Milose, who was an infamous miser.
The supply of barbecued meat was abundant, and several bottles of aromatic wine were airlifted from the southern part of the country, allowing the Marquis’ townspeople to enjoy them.
“Yes. I remember.
My father gave me some silver coins and told me to go out and have fun.”
That night, the Marquis of Milose flashed her a kind smile as he pushed Cherryl and several other people out of the door.
The festival was a fun event for Cherryl, spending her days going from place to place.
Outdoor lights had decorated the village.
She watched the street stalls, bought fruit skewers, and enjoyed the minstrel’s songs in the square.
It was an exciting time for the first time in a while.
“Something is bothering me,” Cherryl murmured, reflecting on the Marquis’ expression.
She found it strange that the stingy Marquis would hold a festival for his young residents’ welfare.
That night, she found his smile disconcerting since the Marquis did not show a single grain of affection while she was growing up.
Ever since he started a business in Hindel, the Capital, a few years ago, he was frequently away from home.
Neither did they make eye contact nor have a conversation with each other.
Therefore, her father’s smile on the night of the festival ade her approach him with great reluctance.
“That night–” Lucy whispered and broke Cheryl’s conception.
“Oliver, the coachman, had overeaten meat at the festival, so he went back to the mansion early because he felt sick.
That’s when he saw him.”
“The black men who look like bandits.”
Cherryl’s heart thumped.
“The group’s number could have been less than five.
Oliver was so shocked to see how tall and big they were.
All dressed in pitch black.” The maid lowered her voice further.
“I have heard bandits at the Northern border calling themselves ‘wildlings.’ The blood of wolves.
Rumors said that they glowed in the dark like predators when they look at you.”
“Don’t tell me–“
“These bandits were the Marquis’ guests.”
It was beyond belief.
The prestigious family of the Marquis was the next in line of power to lead the Empire, so why would her father, who considered an aristocrat’s reputation important, have contacted the bandits?
Was a deal going on while he was doing business in the capital?
Why would his father, who treated commoners like little bugs, have made a deal with barbarians?
Questions that she hadn’t known the answers to arose in her head one by one by one by one.
There was something else in her mind other than the band of bandits calling themselves ‘wildlings’ and whose bodies had the blood of beasts running through their veins.
The unusual combination struck a flash of thought.
Don’t tell me he’s…?’
Cherryl had lived in this world for more than twenty years, so her past life memories should have faded a long time ago.
However, the man in her memories gradually emerged when she heard the unfamiliar description.
What’s the point of him going to this remote central area in person?’
Cherryl shook his head vigorously to shake off the man’s afterimage.
Oliver must have been mistaken.
It was easy for a man to declare that one is a northern savage if he is tall, well-built, and dressed in all black.
Despite Cherryl’s skepticism, Lucy kept whispering.
“Oliver had never seen the Marquis laugh so loud before.
They even fed festival meat and wine on the black horses that the men rode.”
“Maybe the Marquis’ festival was a snow trick for a blind date.”
Sure enough, Cherryl swallowed her dry saliva.
That was hard to deny.
Lucy nodded wildly.
“The Marquis had greeted them when the men were on their horses.
One bandit said he would be back on
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