I awoke, the familiar white ceiling a stark contrast to the soft lavender scent that tickled my nose. My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw was her face. It was breathtaking, stealing my breath. Clear blue eyes, shimmering with worry, were framed by lavender hair, like silk.
'Is that an angel?'
"You're awake?" the figure asked, her voice melodic, almost too sweet for this world, wrapping around me like a lullaby.
"Am I… in heaven?"
"Huh??" the beautiful face twisted into one of pure disgust. "Heaven my ass. If you're awake, quit spouting nonsense already."
'Ah… it's Epsilon. I thought I was dead for sure.'
"Fufufu… why so harsh, Epsilon? Just a moment ago, you looked completely panicked," said another voice, soft and teasing. Cynthia. She stood beside me now, watching with her usual amused elegance.
"Lady Cynthia, that's not true!! Who said I was panicked?!" Epsilon barked in defense, flustered.
My memory was hazy, and I struggled to recall what had happened. I'd blacked out after being struck by a storm spell cast by a magician who clearly didn't understand the concept of restraint.
Despite that, I had won, though only barely. It was a lesson in underestimating me. Someone, however, must have healed me, but who? Was there even a doctor present?
A gentle voice spoke from my right, saying, "Thank goodness he's alright." I turned my head slowly.
There, dressed in pure white priest's robes and a transparent veil over his head, stood a man. His golden eyes sparkled like sunlight over honey, and his blond hair shone under the soft room light. His features were delicate—so pure they seemed almost divine.
'Wait… don't tell me… is that Pastor Eliot Ingrid?'
He is a minor character in the novel. he only appeared after Leyla received her divine blessing and was recognized as a Saint. A background support character whose unwavering loyalty to Leyla was unmatched—yet curiously, he was barely mentioned again, as if the author forgot he existed.
"How are you feeling?" Eliot asked, walking toward my bedside with a warm smile.
"...My heart's pounding."
"I beg your pardon?" he tilted his head.
"Ah—no, I mean… my chest feels tight, probably from the lingering pain in my head." I stumbled over my words, trying to explain.
"I see. So your head still hurts." He reached out gently to examine me.
'He smells… divine…'
"I think he's fine now. Thank you for your help," Epsilon cut in sharply, appearing beside Eliot and grabbing his wrist before he could continue the inspection.
"In that case, I'll excuse myself and return to the church," Eliot bowed politely.
"Allow me to escort you, Pastor," Cynthia offered, and the two left together.
I slowly pushed myself up, groaning a bit as I sat. Epsilon remained seated at the edge of the bed beside me.
"You called in the High Pastor… just to heal me?" I asked, my voice low.
"Huh? High Pastor? He's just a regular pastor. He's an acquaintance of Lady Cynthia, that's why he agreed to help," Epsilon replied.
Just a regular pastor? No way…
In the novel The Way to Save Her, Eliot was a High Pastor. Could it be he hasn't been officially promoted yet?
And more importantly—he's close to Cynthia?
That wasn't in the novel, right? The more I dig into this, the more things seem off—the details keep deviating from what I remember.
Why…?
Is it because of me? The air hung thick, a silent pressure.
Could my presence be affecting the flow of events this much?
The imagined scenario felt cold. Or… is it simply because the novel was written entirely from Leyla's point of view? The pages felt distant.
Maybe even she didn't know the full truth—that Eliot had ties to Cynthia all along.
If that's the case…
'This is bad.' The word tasted metallic.
Eliot was supposed to be on Leyla's side, a powerful supporter. If Cynthia gets him under her influence, she'll have both the Church and nobility on her side. As a duchess, she already holds enormous political power—this just makes her stronger.
But… why am I worrying? Leyla's the protagonist. She won't lose. She can't die. She's the main character.
Right…?
"Are you really okay?" Epsilon asked with a raised brow, clearly noticing I had drifted into deep thought.
"In that duel… I won, didn't I?" I turned quickly, locking eyes with him.
"That wasn't a duel—ugh… fine, yes. You won," Epsilon muttered, clearly annoyed.
"Then, as agreed, the loser has to grant the winner one request," I said firmly.
"What kind of request?" he asked warily.
I smiled, leaning back slightly. "That… I'll tell you later."
Epsilon looked utterly unamused.
But I already had a plan. One that required me to stay by his side for now.
During Leyla and Xerta's marriage arc in the novel, Count Nerwine falls victim to a puzzling death curse. Its source remains unknown until the final confrontation, when Leyla faces off against Cynthia. It's revealed then: the curse was Cynthia's doing all along.
However, the method remained a mystery, with the novel offering no specifics. Consequently, I must seek the truth independently.
'I won't let anyone die.'
And so, I pray—Epsilon…
I hope you're not the one behind it…
-------
After I started feeling better, I decided to finally leave my room. I'd been cooped up for three hours, and the dullness was starting to get to me.
The moment I stepped out, several maids immediately asked about my condition. I guess they were worried after all.
"I'm alright now," I said.
"That's good... We were genuinely worried," replied a maid named Leifa.
"You weren't moving at all, so we started imagining the worst," added a guard named Erick.
"But Lord Epsilon carried you off so quickly… while flying, no less," chimed in another maid named Lily.
'What?'
I hadn't expected he'd care about anyone other than Cynthia. That... was surprising.
"Wait, he carried me?" I asked, confused.
Not to boast, but I'm not exactly light. With his slender frame, I didn't think he could manage it.
"Yes, like this," said a woman named Susan as she demonstrated with a basket of linens. She hoisted it onto her shoulder.
He slung me over his shoulder—upside down? No wonder my head was pounding when I woke up.
'Hahaha… Not gentle at all.'
"I was honestly shocked he managed to carry Lord Keith," said another guard, Luthor.
'If you're shocked, imagine how I feel.'
"He could've just asked someone else—like another guard," said Leifa. "But no, he insisted on doing it himself."
'That's what shocks you…?'
"I think maybe Lord Epsilon didn't want anyone else to carry Lord Keith," Lily said with a small smile.
'Maybe he just panicked…' I tried reasoning.
Panic? Why? It's not like we're close. Why would he be that concerned about me?
"Lord Keith, your face is a bit red. Are you alright?" one of the maids asked.
"Huh—?? Ah, yeah, I'm fine. I'll be going over there now…" I waved awkwardly at them and hurried away.
I ran fast, thinking maybe the blow to my head had scrambled my brain. Yes, that had to be it. No other explanation.
Eventually, I arrived at the front courtyard of Hemser's estate. As I passed beneath one of the trees, something suddenly hit my head. I snapped my gaze to the right and—
"Oi, done resting? Still hurt?" Epsilon perched in a tree, grinning down at me.
The wind tousled his long hair and caused his clothes to flow, creating a striking silhouette of ease.
'Oh god… he's beautiful,'
He jumped down gracefully and strolled toward me, casually tossing a small stone in his hand. "What is the matter? Turned into a statue now?" he teased, tilting his head.
Heat crawled up my face. Was I sick again? No, that had to be it. Definitely.
"Did you have to throw a rock?" I asked, scratching the back of my head and trying to regain my composure. "It hurt, you know."
"I didn't throw it that hard. Let me see." He tiptoed, the floorboards creaking softly, to check the back of my head.
"See? No damage." He turned, his shadow falling over me, and our eyes met. He was so close, the scent of his cologne filling my nose.
Too close. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence thick and heavy. We just… stared.
The air between us felt strange, a buzzing undercurrent. Off. A bit too charged.
'Too close.'
I quickly turned away, the sudden warmth flooding my cheeks.
"If you're done, take your hand off my head."
"Ah—yeah, right." He pulled away quickly.
Then, his eyes lit up. "Lady Cynthia!"
'oh crap..'
I turned to see Cynthia approaching in a sparkling gown. Walking beside her was someone in a hooded cloak.
They stopped in front of us. The figure slowly pulled back their hood, revealing glistening long rose-red hair and golden eyes.
"It's been a while, Keith…" she said softly.
"Leyla…"
Wait—why are you here? The wedding's tomorrow! Can't you explain first?
"Why are you here?" Epsilon asked, thankfully voicing what I couldn't. I was too stunned to speak. My body was practically screaming to run over and hug her.
"I decided to deliver a wedding invitation in person," Leyla replied, eyes shifting toward Cynthia. Her smile was polite—but sharp.
Cynthia's expression changed the instant she saw the invitation.
She took it from Leyla's hands.
"Please, do come… to my wedding with Xerta," Leyla said sweetly. "Considering we're such good friends, I thought it best to bring it myself."
That smile—where did you learn to smile like that, Leyla? It was mocking, cruel. You looked… like a villain.
Just three days ago, you were still you. What happened?
"Of course, this invitation is for you as well, Master Mage. I hope you'll attend." She glanced at Epsilon, who nodded awkwardly.
When Leyla's eyes met mine, I quickly looked away. I didn't understand why. It just… hurt.
"Well then, I'll take my leave." She gave a noble bow and turned to walk toward the gates.
'Leyla, what happened to you…?'
"Damn that b*tch!!" Cynthia snapped, shredding the invitation and stomping it into the ground. "I'll never forgive her." Her eyes flared with fury as she glared toward the gate.
"You'll see, Leyla!! I'll never forget it. I'll make you miserable!"
Epsilon tried to calm her, guiding her back inside.
'This is bad. Why did you provoke the villain like that?'
I stood alone in the downpour, the cold rain plastering my clothes to my skin.
I watched Leyla's form vanish behind the iron gate.
Even after Epsilon ushered Cynthia inside, I stayed, a statue of icy wetness.
'Damn it…'
The world felt like it was shattering. Her smile flashed, a fleeting warmth. Then her gaze turned cold, sharp.
'Do you hate me now?'
"Leyla…" I whispered, the word lost in the drumming rain.
A shadow loomed over me. I looked up—there was a dark silhouette holding a black umbrella, shielding me from the rain.
I turned to see Epsilon standing beside me again, holding the umbrella over us both.
"Epsilon…" I whispered.
"Come inside… you'll get sick."
After a pause, I finally nodded. "You're right…" I forced a small smile.
Then, I walked beside him, quietly following his steps into the estate.