It took Isama about a full day to grasp the contents of the book. With his body looking unwell from staying locked in his room for so long, he finally closed the book before him, stepped toward the door, and unlocked it.
When he opened the door, he found Olivia fast asleep on the floor, waiting faithfully for him to come out. A look of pity crossed Isama's face as he gently shook her awake.
"Olivia, wake up," Isama said softly.
His hand nudged her shoulder until at last she stirred. Rubbing her eyes, Olivia blinked up in surprise as she realized Isama had finally left his room after shutting himself away for an entire day.
"Master!!" Tears welled in her eyes. Fear had gnawed at her all day—she had even imagined the worst, that Isama had taken his own life in that room.
"Forgive me for worrying you," Isama said with a small smile, patting her head to reassure her.
"!?" Olivia froze, struck by a strange new presence about him—something felt different.
Not wanting to leave his loyal maid lying on the floor, Isama offered her his hand and helped her up.
"I'll take a bath first. Please prepare some food for me," Isama said, feeling sticky and weary.
"Yes, Master," Olivia replied with a nod.
Isama headed to bathe, while Olivia busied herself in the dining hall preparing a meal for him.
At the dining table, Olivia carefully arranged the dishes for Isama. But from the entrance came another servant—a young man dressed in uniform. He was Loco, the personal attendant of Beirtho.
"So, you're preparing food for your dying master?" Loco sneered, his lips curling in mockery.
Olivia ignored him, silently continuing her work.
"!?" Irritated by being disregarded, Loco's face twisted with anger.
"You little—!" he snapped, then a malicious thought crept into his mind.
He strolled closer, eyeing the steaming dish of broth Olivia had set on the table. Leaning in, he inspected it with feigned curiosity.
"You've made soup?" he remarked, peering into the bowl.
"?" Olivia tilted her head, puzzled by his odd behavior.
"Hmm… smells like something's missing," Loco muttered as he inhaled the aroma.
Then, with a smirk—"Pleh!" He spat directly into the broth, his saliva swirling into the dish meant for Isama.
"You!!" Olivia cried out in fury, seizing his shirt and yanking him hard.
"Ha! I've just added a special seasoning to your cooking," Loco laughed cruelly in her face.
Smack!
Olivia's palm struck across his cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"Do you not understand that Master Isama hasn't eaten for an entire day?!" she shouted, tears streaming as her voice broke with grief.
"When will you people ever understand Master Isama?!" she sobbed, screaming through her tears.
Groaning, Loco pushed himself up, clutching his reddened cheek. His expression twisted with rage as he lashed out, driving his fist deep into Olivia's stomach.
"Ugh!" She collapsed to the floor, saliva and tears spilling as pain tore through her body.
"It's his own fault for being such a weakling," Loco snarled, kicking her again and again. Blow after blow landed, bruising her body mercilessly.
Olivia writhed in agony, her body trembling and swelling from the abuse. Her vision blurred, her limbs grew heavy, until she could barely move at all. Through her hazy eyes, she saw the dining hall door creak open.
Isama stood there.
"Master… Isama…" Olivia whispered weakly.
Isama froze at the sight of her broken form. In an instant, the memory forced upon him by the God of Anarchy resurfaced—the vision of Olivia's death. Rage began to churn within him, rising like a storm.
"You'll pay dearly for this…" Isama said coldly, his eyes locking on Loco with a piercing glare.
"If you dare touch me, I'll report you to my master!" Loco stammered, retreating in fear, trying to shield himself with Beirtho's name.
Isama advanced slowly, step by step. Panicking, Loco thrust out his hand, shouting:
"God of Fire, show me your strength…!"
A glowing red circle appeared at his palm, etched with intricate runes.
"Fireball!!" he roared, desperate as Isama drew closer.
Sparks crackled within the circle, flames threatening to erupt—
But Isama simply raised a finger toward the spell. "Cancel."
At once, the magic circle shattered, bursting apart into fragments of light.
"What—?! Impossible!" Loco gasped, his incantation destroyed before his eyes. His heart pounded as realization dawned: Isama had canceled his spell. Fear rooted him in place.
Isama ignored him, kneeling beside Olivia. His eyes softened as he saw her battered, swollen body. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out, desperation flooding his face.
He rushed through the halls, searching frantically for help. Only one person came to mind—Piccaro Ethuida.
Piccaro was the most trusted retainer of Bara Ethuida, Isama's father. Once a commoner, he had been elevated into the Ethuida name because of his unwavering loyalty. With Bara and his wife away from the mansion, Piccaro had been entrusted to guard it in their absence.
At last, Isama reached the large wooden door of Piccaro's quarters. He kicked it open, bursting inside.
"Piccaro, help me!!" Isama cried, tears streaking his face.
Inside, a towering man sat reading a newspaper, sipping coffee. He was nearly two meters tall, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. A handsome face, framed by short black hair parted neatly in the middle, carried the mark of an old sword scar across his neck.
"?!" Piccaro looked up, startled by the intrusion.
"What's wrong, young master?" he asked calmly, folding the newspaper and setting it aside.
"Do you still have any healing potion?!" Isama pleaded desperately.
Piccaro's eyes shifted to the figure in Isama's arms—Olivia, beaten and bloodied. His expression darkened as he recognized her. Without hesitation, he strode to his cabinet, retrieving a small glass vial filled with glowing red liquid.
"This is all I have left, a small dose," Piccaro said, handing it over at once.
"Thank you!" Isama cried, wiping his tears as hope returned. He laid Olivia gently upon a sofa and tilted her head back, pouring the potion into her mouth. Forcing her lips open, he ensured she drank it, praying it would heal her battered body.