Marianne’s blindfold was roughly pulled off, and the harsh light made her instinctively squint.
She was standing at the edge of the Downtown Municipal Square.
Pigeons strolled leisurely on the light gray stone-paved ground, cooing and pecking at breadcrumbs scattered by children.
The sunlight poured down without obstruction, making the fountain’s water jets in the center of the square sparkle crystal clear.
The sound of splashing water mingled with the chatter of citizens and the cries of street vendors, merging into a lively, noisy torrent.
The air was filled with a sweet scent of freedom—
Warm, with a hint of baked goods, and even a faint floral fragrance.
This formed the most stark contrast with the perennial smell of rust and blood that never dissipated from the Inquisition Tribunal.
Marianne took a deep breath. The warm air filled her lungs, but it brought a dizzying unfamiliarity.
She was like someone who had just surfaced from the deep sea, stunned by the overly bright light and the overly noisy “normal” world.
In a daze, Marianne’s thoughts were pulled back to the night of the Laval estate attack.
By the time the Inquisition Tribunal finally arrived at the Laval estate, Alan de Laval was lying in a pool of blood, his face as pale as paper, his breath so faint it was almost imperceptible.
The accompanying doctor, wearing a white coat, quickly examined Alan’s injuries and left only one ice-cold remark:
“Hemorrhagic shock. There’s no time to type and crossmatch. His chances of survival are minimal.”
Minimal.
Those two words stabbed into Marianne’s heart like icicles.
She didn’t know what hemorrhagic shock meant, but she understood the doctor’s expression—
It was the pity and guilt of a physician toward someone about to die.
Her knees went weak, and with a heavy thud, she dropped to the cold floor. The hard tiles bit painfully into her bones, but she felt nothing.
“Please, save him!” She grabbed the doctor’s hand like it was her last lifeline, begging with utmost humility. “I’ll do anything I can!”
Seeing Marianne’s desperate devotion to her master, even Bernard and the butler were moved.
“Child, you’ll get in the doctor’s way like this…” The old butler gently pulled Marianne away and comforted her. “The Young Master will be fine. He has received the Lord’s revelation. The Lord will protect him.”
“Yes… it’s all my fault… How did I not notice he was injured…” Bernard also fell into endless self-blame.
Perhaps Marianne’s despair was too genuine, or perhaps the words “I’ll do anything I can” struck a chord. A rapid flicker passed behind the doctor’s cold glasses.
He was silent for a few seconds, then quickly took out a strange test strip and several thin needles from his medical bag.
“There’s one last option: emergency allogeneic blood transfusion. The risk is extremely high, but we can try.”
The doctor’s voice was flat, but his professional demeanor drew everyone’s expectant eyes.
“Everyone here, get your blood type tested!”
When the small test strip showed that only her blood sample and Alan’s reacted the same way, Marianne almost wept with joy.
She didn’t understand blood types or allogeneic transfusions, but she trusted this doctor.
Behind him stood the Church; he represented the glory of the Lord!
“If you save him, you might die from excessive blood loss as well. Even so, do you still want to save him?”
Without hesitation, Marianne extended her slender arm, the blue veins clearly visible beneath her pale skin.
“I will!” Her voice was utterly resolute.
The doctor nodded and said no more.
Watching the dark red liquid flow out of her body, into the transparent tube, and then into Alan’s cold wrist, Marianne’s heart raced.
Not from fear, but from a determination that bordered on sacrifice.
She had long been prepared for death.
Rather than dying as a heretic, she preferred to die as Alan’s maid.
‘Goodbye… Mother, Father, little brother…’
‘After I’m gone, you must live well.’
‘Please… don’t end up like me… someone beyond salvation.’
When a faint flush of color appeared on Alan’s ashen face and his chest began to rise and fall weakly, Marianne’s taut nerves suddenly snapped. Her vision went black, and she completely lost consciousness.
When she woke again, Marianne found herself lying on a cold hospital bed, surrounded by unfamiliar, metallic walls.
A church nun, who was taking care of the patients, happened to be in the room. She told Marianne that this was the Inquisition Medical Ward.
The heretics who survived the Lord’s “loving kindness” with half their lives were sent here, and after they were healed, they would continue to experience that “loving kindness.”
These words made Marianne’s heart tighten. She had come to the Inquisition Tribunal she so feared after all.
From the nun, she learned that although Alan had been temporarily saved, his fate was still uncertain. Marianne’s heart instantly jumped to her throat.
She couldn’t leave Alan alone in this place!
That thought dominated her with overwhelming intensity.
So, she made a decision that seemed utterly absurd to outsiders—
She voluntarily asked to stay, to take care of Alan.
Even if it deepened the Inquisitor’s suspicion of her and doomed her beyond redemption.
The days in the Tribunal were the longest and most agonizing nightmare Marianne had ever experienced.
She was locked in a narrow solitary cell, very close to the interrogation room.
The deliberately suppressed screams, cries, and desperate pleas for mercy, which could never be completely blocked, pierced through the thick walls day and night, drilling into her ears and her mind.
More than once, she saw black-robed Inquisitors expressionlessly carrying stretchers covered with white cloth, the stiff outlines of human forms beneath the cloth silently testifying to the cruelty of this place.
The nights were the hardest.
Lying on the hard, bone-jarring plank bed, an unknown “heretic” in the next cell would emit intermittent, agonized moans, slicing at her nerves like a dull knife.
She dared not imagine what that person had experienced, nor dared to think whether she would be next.
Anxiety, fear, and guilt wrapped around her heart like vines, tightening more and more, keeping her awake night after night, teetering on the edge of collapse.
The Inquisition Tribunal never subjected her to any actual torture, but this silent, oppressive environment alone was enough to gradually break down her psychological defenses.
Every word of those terrifying rumors about the Tribunal was true.
They would not wrong an innocent person, but they would never let a real enemy go.
And she, Marianne Durand, was precisely that criminal who colluded with a heretical cult and conspired to kill her master!
A complete enemy of humanity!
She felt like a fish on a chopping block, waiting for the blade to fall at any moment.
The only place in the entire Tribunal where she could find a moment of relief, a moment of peace, was Alan de Laval’s hospital room.
No piercing screams, no grim Inquisitors—only the regular ticking of machines and Alan’s steady but faint breathing.
When she was allowed in and saw his still-weak but breathing figure on the bed, the fear, grievance, and lingering terror accumulated over many days burst like a breached flood, instantly overwhelming her reason.
She rushed to the bedside, grabbed the hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV, buried her face in his cool palm, and sobbed like a lost child.
Only here, beside this person she had harmed and also saved, could she release her crumbling emotions without worrying about being suspected.
She always felt that the Tribunal’s all-seeing eyes had seen through everything about her.
But in the end, she was not convicted.
The Inquisition Tribunal released both master and servant, citing insufficient evidence.
The order for release came so suddenly, like a nightmare abruptly waking.
Now, standing in the noisy yet warm square, feeling the real sunlight on her skin and the gentle breeze through her hair, Marianne was struck by a strong sense of unreality.
Had she really… survived? With the Young Master?
The overwhelming impact of survival made her eyes burn and her nose sting; she just wanted to cry her heart out.
Just then, a warm hand lightly tapped her shoulder.
Marianne spun around.
Alan de Laval was standing right beside her.
His face was still a bit pale, his lips lacking color, and his frame seemed thinner than she remembered, but his black eyes were astonishingly bright, filled with a light, triumphant ease and smugness that Marianne couldn’t understand.
He even gave her a teasing, boyish grin.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry, Marianne,” his voice carried a deep weariness, but he tried to sound lighthearted. “Smile! We pulled it off perfectly this time! Come on, give me a high-five. Let’s celebrate getting through this for now.”
Smile? High-five? What was he talking about?
Did he even realize how close he’d come to not coming back?
Marianne’s mind went blank. All the pent-up grievances, fear, lingering terror, and some fierce emotion she couldn’t name exploded at that moment.
“Idiot!!!”
She let out a tearful scream, threw herself into Alan’s arms, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, as if trying to press him into her own body.
Tears burst forth, instantly soaking the fabric of his chest.
“I was… so scared…” She buried her face deep in his chest, her voice muffled and shaking violently. “I thought… we’d never… never get out…”
Alan’s hand, still raised for the high-five, hung awkwardly in midair.
He obviously hadn’t expected this reaction from Marianne. After a few seconds, he tentatively lowered his hovering hand and gently placed it on her soft black hair.
Marianne didn’t resist his touch.
So, like petting a stray cat that had finally let its guard down, Alan stroked her hair, once, twice, gently.
“Don’t cry. We survived, didn’t we?” He tried to keep his voice calm and reassuring.
“This is just the beginning, Marianne. We need to pull ourselves together and come up with the Livia capture plan! I’m telling you, if you don’t win Livia over for me, then my blood will have been spilled for nothing!”
“Idiot.”
Marianne muttered softly in his arms, though her voice had softened.
Through the thin fabric of his clothes, she could feel Alan’s heartbeat. Suddenly, she realized that a part of the blood rushing through that heart right now belonged to her.
An indescribable, extremely subtle emotion surged within her.
The blood she had given Alan was like an invisible, scorching chain, binding their lives tightly together.
Their relationship had transcended master and servant, transcended enemy, becoming a blood-linked community of fate.
This realization made her tremble all over, her heart pounding wildly.
She lifted her head, her tear-filled eyes looking at Alan’s face so close to hers.
Sunlight traced the slightly pale line of his jaw. His black eyes, usually tinged with sarcasm or calculation, now seemed flustered and gentle because of her tears.
Her distance from Alan was so close, close enough to feel his breath.
Her distance from Livia was so far, as if separated by a vast, icy galaxy.
Did Livia still remember their promise?
What should she do?
“The two of us are destined to be entangled until death.”
Alan’s words echoed in her heart like a spell.
Except for this promise…
Deep down, she secretly longed for it to come true.
“Young Master…” Marianne’s voice trembled as she gazed at Alan with a complex expression. “Have you… truly forgiven me? Even though I’m an ungrateful, treacherous woman who nearly killed you?”
“Huh?”
Alan blinked, then looked like he’d heard something funny.
He withdrew his hand from her hair and instead reached for her cheek, gently tucking the stray strands of hair from her forehead, as if trying to turn her back into the meticulous Head Maid.
“What nonsense are you talking, Marianne? We’re way past the stage of who forgives who.”
His fingers accidentally brushed against her ear, sending a faint electric current through her.
“You’re not a bad woman,” Alan said with a matter-of-fact certainty. “You’re my maid, Livia von Stern’s childhood friend, and a character deeply loved by players… uh…”
Alan seemed to realize he had let something slip. He coughed twice loudly and looked away.
“Ahem! Forget that last part! Anyway, we’re now strategic partners! Let’s get along. I promise I’ll help you win Livia over and get you two together!”
Together with Livia…
Those words stung Marianne’s heart like needles.
She looked at Alan’s smug expression of “everything under control,” at the excitement in his eyes purely kindled by the “smooth progress of the plan.”
The warmth and subtle emotion that had just risen in her heart were instantly replaced by a more complex, sharper feeling.
Alan was completely immersed in his grand “Lily Grand undertaking” blueprint. He didn’t even notice the subtle change in Marianne’s eyes.
The more he thought about it, the more flawless his plan seemed, and the more he felt that Livia would be completely under his thumb. A surge of villainous pride welled up inside him.
He couldn’t help spreading his arms toward the bright sunlight of the square (though most of it was blocked by the town hall building) and, in a dramatic, operatic tone, loudly recited what he thought was a cool line:
“Hotter than hope! Deeper than despair—that is love!”
How philosophical! How touching! How fitting for a mastermind like him!
Alan was so moved by himself that he could already picture Livia, with his help, living happily with Marianne and being eternally grateful (?) to him.
A true villain should have his mind full of the protagonist—like Lex Luthor to Superman, or the Joker to Batman.
Without a doubt, the obsession villains have with protagonists is love!
He knew Livia inside and out.
He even knew what color underwear she liked and what type of man she hated!
Did Livia herself know him better? Ridiculous!
“Livia von Stern,” Alan thought as he maintained his calm exterior, laughing maniacally inside, ‘You’ve never seen a true schemer. Just wait, this Young Master will show you what nightmares are! What… uh, a lily blooming?’
Alan’s bold words and that chunibyou line struck Marianne’s chaotic mind like a sudden thunderclap.
“Hotter than hope… deeper than despair…”
She murmured the words, each one hammering against her heart.
Her unforgettable hatred, her desperate sacrifice, her gnawing worry and fear, and the strange, blood-linked tremor she felt while holding him now…
All the chaotic, contradictory, tearing emotions were given a clear name by that line.
Love.
So it was love!
This realization washed over her like molten lava, searing through her body and making every limb tremble.
Love was so powerful that she would willingly give her life for him; and love was so dangerous, a double-edged sword that could hurt herself, even… hurt Livia.
She feared hurting Livia, feared betraying that promise under the stars.
But what about Alan?
What about this Young Master who asked her to “be entangled until death”?
Mutual torment and mutual harm—wasn’t that exactly the “love” he anticipated?
Marianne felt as if she had been struck by a blinding light, instantly enlightened.
All her pain, struggle, and confusion had found a destination.
She loved Alan de Laval.
She loved this man who once abused her, but now shared her blood and led her out of hell.
Therefore, she would never leave Alan. And Alan must never leave her!
“Young Master,” Marianne lifted her head, tears still on her face, but a almost obsessive light kindled in her crimson eyes. “I will do my best.”
“Oh?” Alan’s eyes lit up, and a bright smile blossomed on his face like a teacher praising a teachable student.
“Great! Marianne! You finally got it! That’s right! With our combined strength, Livia will be a piece of cake! Haha!”
He cheerfully reached out his hand, intending to high-five—or at least shake hands—with this “finally understanding his grand plan” right-hand woman to celebrate the cooperation.
Marianne looked at the hand extended before her—the hand with prominent knuckles that had once hit her countless times, now offered with goodwill. A scalding emotion that nearly erupted swallowed her whole.
“Mm.”
She responded softly, reached out, and carefully took hold of Alan’s hand.
His palm was much larger than hers, cool from his recent recovery, yet warm at the center.
The moment her fingertips touched his skin, an indescribable, immense happiness surged through her like an electric current, making her almost dizzy.
This feeling of being filled, connected, needed… was this what happiness was?
Those past acts of violence she had hated to the bone now seemed blurred and distant in the face of this surging “love.” Even her resentment dissolved and was absorbed into the immense happiness, leaving only a nearly morbid satisfaction.
So happy.
‘This happiness… I want the Young Master to feel it too…’
“Ow ow ow!!! Marianne! Since when did you have such a strong grip?! You’re breaking my bones!”
Alan let out an unexpected shriek, trying to pull his hand out of Marianne’s “iron vise.”
“Ah! Sorry! Young Master!”
Marianne jerked her hand back as if burned, apologizing frantically, her cheeks turning bright red.
But in the moment she let go, watching Alan wince and shake his wrist with a pained, accusing expression, the panic in Marianne’s heart was eerily replaced by a sweeter feeling.
He had reacted to her touch, felt pain from her strength. His pain was ultimately transmitted to Marianne, making her heart break!
This was love! Love connected the two!
A secret, twisted excitement took root in Marianne’s heart, like a vine sprouting.
“Young Master…” Marianne’s voice was almost pleading, her crimson eyes locked on Alan, swirling with complex emotions. “Please don’t hate me… please… don’t leave me.”
“All right, all right.”
Alan rubbed his reddened wrist, completely missing the change in Marianne’s eyes. He just thought she was traumatized by the Tribunal, still shaken.
“How could I hate you? How could I leave you before you and Livia are together and living happily ever after?”
“I’m your Matchmaker… uh, love matchmaker? Anyway, I’m an important NPC who has to witness your happy ending!”
He patted his chest, vowing confidently, his face once again wearing that “everything under control” villain smile.
But that promise was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirring huge ripples in Marianne’s heart.
Together? With Livia?
What if… what if she couldn’t end up with Livia?
Then… could she stay… with the Young Master… forever?
This thought slithered into her mind like a venomous snake, bringing a sharp pain and… a chilling, dark sweetness.
Betraying Livia’s promise… it hurt so much.
But being with the Young Master forever… was so happy…
This emotion, mixed with pain and happiness, was also love!
Alan would never realize that he had just lit a very dangerous bomb.
Repeatedly using his words and actions to destroy Marianne’s already fragile inner world, then going through the life-and-death trial of the Tribunal together with her—
Marianne Durand had transformed from a heretic trainee driven by revenge into a person completely dominated by a distorted love, a sickness.
His “Livia capture plan” had already gone bankrupt the moment Marianne took his hand, and was now rushing wildly in a direction he could never anticipate, let alone control.
He watched the pigeons flying over the square and indulged in thoughts of the future.
As long as he solved the big problem that was Livia, he could avoid the death ending and live a carefree, idle life.
Though he thought it unlikely, a man could still dream.
With that thought, Alan couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from rising into a perfectly standard villainous smile.
If he added a creepy “hehehe” laugh, he might actually scare passing children into crying.
Seeing Alan’s silly (in her opinion) yet glittering (in her eyes) smile, Marianne seemed to be infected.
The sunlight fell on her pale face. Her expression, once as cold as a frozen lake, now melted like spring snow.
She lowered her head slightly, and when she lifted it again, the corners of her mouth curved into a gentle, heartfelt smile.
That smile was beautiful, like a blooming lily, carrying the relief of survival and the anticipation of the future.
But deep within her slightly narrowed crimson eyes, a hair-raising dangerous light flickered—
A nearly obsessive, heavy dependency.
Alan was completely unaware of it.