The Only Ending for the Villainous Pig Count Is Destruction

Scene 35 Fracture

“This man saved you?”

Bella frowned, her expression tightening. Had she misheard? It seemed unlikely, considering that the only person Blanche could be referring to was Tristan.

“Yes…”

“You told me you were just going to the restroom, didn’t you, Blanche?”

“…I did, but I started feeling unwell and went up to the rooftop to get some fresh air. That’s when I got caught up in the explosion. Fortunately, the Count, who happened to be nearby, saved me.”

“Hmm… is that so?”

Bella looked at Blanche. The black dress she had bought her earlier was now torn. As a temporary solution, Blanche was using Tristan’s coat to cover her exposed skin.

“Yes… I’m sorry. The dress you bought for me is ruined.”

“That doesn’t matter at all. You were caught in an explosion. Are you hurt anywhere?”

As Bella spoke, she carefully studied Blanche’s expression, searching for even the slightest hint of unease. Feeling Bella’s gaze, Blanche closed her mouth. To conceal her anxiety, she offered a faint smile.

“I’m fine. At most, I just have a few scrapes. I’m sorry to have worried you, my lady.”

“…If that’s the case, I’m relieved. Ahem. We owe the Count, it seems.”

Bella nodded slightly and, with a professional air, turned toward Tristan, who was nearby. Her demeanor did not reflect personal feelings; it was purely out of courtesy.

“Thank you for protecting my knight—”

“No need for thanks,” Tristan interrupted her curtly.

“…Excuse me, Count, please allow me at least to express my gratitude for saving Blanche.”

“Wendy. Call for the carriage. We’re leaving.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

With that, Tristan turned and walked away. Wendy hesitated for a moment, then bowed politely to Bella before hurrying after him.

Bella watched the scene with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

“Unbelievable… What kind of man—! Blanche, let’s leave as well. Staying here any longer might make me rude too.”

“Yes, my lady. By the way, I noticed something unfamiliar.”

As Blanche picked up Bella’s shopping bags, she pointed at one in particular, specifically, a bag bearing the Luelcia brand logo.

Bella’s eyes lit up when she saw it.

“That? Oh, Blanche, listen to this—you won’t believe what happened today…”

———–

“Count, the carriage will be here shortly…”

When Wendy arrived, she found Tristan sitting on a bench. The air was cool, and his head was slightly bowed. His expression looked somber, though perhaps it was just the fading evening light that made him seem that way. Cautiously, Wendy gauged his mood before speaking hesitantly.

“Um, Count?”

“…What is it?”

“Ah, well… About that woman accompanying Lady Bella… You know, the tall and beautiful one…”

Tristan raised his head.

“You mean Blanche?”

“Y-Yes. Um, are you close to her…?”

“…”

Seeing his reaction, Wendy hurriedly waved her hands in denial.

“N-No! I mean, um… It’s just… While shopping, I happened to see you, Count. Oh! Lady Bella didn’t notice—I’m sure of it! It was a complete coincidence. I saw you and her going somewhere together…”

“I see.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to spy or anything…”

Tristan responded calmly to the flustered Wendy.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s an old acquaintance of mine.”

“An old acquaintance…?”

“Yes. And an old nemesis, as well.”

“A nemesis? So you don’t get along?”

“You could say that.”

Wendy nodded slowly, as if she understood, and felt an odd sense of relief. Tristan leaned back on the bench in silence. After everything that had happened today, his face was pale.

“Count? Are you feeling unwell?”

With his eyes closed, Tristan responded, “…I’m just a little tired.”

“In that case… Since there’s still some time before the carriage arrives, why not rest for a while? I’ll wake you when it gets here.”

“Hmm.”

Tristan nodded slowly in approval. Shortly after, his breathing became soft and steady. At the same time, Wendy carefully sat down beside him.

Looking at his face, she thought of the infamous tyrant of the mansion and the feared noble of the empire, Tristan Ruelberta. While he slept, none of those descriptions seemed to fit him.

At first, Wendy had been afraid of him. She constantly worried: Would he throw her out of the mansion? Would he yell at her? Throw things at her? She had always been on edge.

But now…

Wendy realized that a new emotion was growing within her.

She wanted to do good for him.

She wanted to be useful to him.

She wanted him to recognize her.

She wanted him to praise her.

And…

She wanted to live for him.

Wendy gazed at her master.

“Count…”

There was no response. He must have been very tired. Tristan seemed to have fallen asleep on the bench. Not long after, he tilted his head toward her.

“Eek!?”

Tristan’s head ended up resting on her lap.

“C-Count…”

She tried calling him again, but there was no response. Wendy froze. To her, it was a troubling situation. Staying like this felt strange, but moving him and waking him seemed even more problematic. Above all, she was worried about what others might think if they saw them.

“Haaa…”

Wendy, nervous, looked around. It was night, and no one was there to watch them. Everything was silent. It was as if the world had left the two of them behind. Though the moment wasn’t long by the clock, to Wendy, it felt like an eternity.

Creak.

The carriage stopped. Wendy experienced a slight pang of regret. Reluctantly, it was time to wake him.

“C-Count… It seems the carriage has arrived…”

But even as she tried, there was no response. He seemed to be in a deep sleep.

“Count…”

Having no choice, Wendy reached out to touch him. Something… warm. Damp… Wait?

Wendy felt something in her hand. Under the moonlight, her hand glowed with a crimson hue. It was blood.

“C-Count?! Blood, there’s blood!”

Wendy let out a sharp scream. Beneath the bench was already soaked in blood. The source was none other than Tristan’s lower abdomen, from where the blood was flowing. It was an injury far too severe to be ignored.

Since when had this been happening?!

Panicked, Wendy shook Tristan’s body, but he did not wake. When she saw his pale face, terror struck her.

“No…! No, this can’t be happening! Count!”

Not even realizing her hands were now stained, Wendy cried out desperately.

“P-Please wake up! Count! Please…”

———————-

“What an unusual turn of events.”

Lucy Mekhael was in the audience chamber, exuding the supreme authority of an empress, her demeanor unbearably proud and arrogant.

Below her throne, a tall man knelt on one knee.

“Were you gravely injured, Marco?”

“No, Your Majesty. I’m unharmed,” Marco responded in a firm voice.

Lucy nodded.

“Good. If it’s you, I’d expect as much. However…” she lowered her voice slightly. “You returned empty-handed. That suggests something significant happened, correct?”

“…”

Marco closed his eyes briefly, searching for the right words. Finally, he spoke.

“The Count knew. He was aware that there are ‘two’ of them, Your Majesty.”

Lucy’s eyes widened.

“Incredible. The number of people privy to that information is minuscule.” She sighed, the weight of doubt settling on her. The loyalty of the subordinates she once trusted was now in question.

And more than anything, the fact that one man’s words could shake the imperial court to this extent.

“Is there a traitor…? It seems the Imperial palace is no longer secure.”

“Do not worry, Your Majesty,” Marco said, lifting his head. “I will protect you.”

“You saying that reassures me. You’re not one to make promises you can’t keep.”

With that, Lucy leaned back against her throne, exhaling deeply, as if burdened by centuries of life.

“I’ll keep watching him.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Stop monitoring him for now.”

Lucy donned a mask, the silver antlers of a deer gleaming in the moonlight.

“Soon… I’ll meet him in person.”