Arc-4 Ch-10

The interior of the cramped ship's cabin is filled with a different smell than the corridor. Spices, alcohol, dried meat, hardtack, garlic, and so on. The bottom of an empty crate left on the floor contains only a few crushed potatoes.

This cabin seems to be a pantry, so for the time being, it looks like we won't starve. I manage to arrange wooden crates of the same size, cover them with musty cloth, and make a makeshift bed for Jenna.

The room is chilly, likely for food preservation, and there are no windows to peek outside. A quick glance around reveals no running water or anything resembling a bathroom—hardly surprising. I grip the handle of the closed metal door and pull, but it barely budges, only producing the sound of clanging metal.

Breaking an old-fashioned barred door would be difficult with a woman’s strength. The room contains only food—no knives, not even cleaning tools. Empty bottles, bits of dried meat, and vegetable peels are scattered about.

I’m worried about Jenna’s condition. The bleeding from her face has stopped, but an attack to the head, where sensory organs are concentrated, could leave lasting damage.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

I knock on the door several times in quick succession, and it opens as a man peers inside.

“I want to treat my sister-in-law. Can we have some water?”

The man clicks his tongue and closes the door. I don’t know how much water he’ll bring, but it seems they won’t completely neglect their hostages. As for Finley, Dorothea is looking after her, so I’ll left her in her care for now.

I search the room again, looking for anything useful. I find a bottle of high-proof alcohol haphazardly placed among the supplies—strong enough to use as a disinfectant. The door opens again, and the man places a basin of water on the floor before leaving.

It seems they have no intention of constantly monitoring us despite keeping us confined. I feel a slight relief at this potential opening, but treatment comes first. I pour the high-proof alcohol into an empty bottle, add water, and shake it lightly. The ratio of alcohol to water is roughly four to one—a crude method based on estimation, but it should work as a disinfectant.

I wet a handkerchief with water and gently wipe Jenna’s face.

“Ow…”

“Sorry, does it hurt?”

“…It’s fine.”

I apologize to Jenna, who groans in pain, and continue washing the handkerchief and wiping her face repeatedly. It seems the bleeding is from her nose and mouth, with almost no visible wounds on her face. The swelling is severe, though, and I’m concerned about possible broken bones. After cleaning her face, I use another handkerchief soaked in the makeshift disinfectant to wipe her down.

“It stings a bit.”

“Fortunately, despite the bleeding, there are hardly any scratches on your face. How’s your head?”

“Yeah, I was a bit dizzy, but it’s much better now.”

“Let’s keep it cool for a while. We don’t want the swelling to linger.”

“That damn Merce woman—if she left a scar on my face, I won’t be able to get married!”

Even in a situation like this, Jenna’s worrying about her marriage prospects. I’m exasperated but relieved by her resilient spirit. Meanwhile, Finley, struck with the scabbard of a sword, has some bruising but no broken bones. As I watch my injured sisters-in-law enduring their pain, and Dorothea, who seems somewhat distracted, I offer them some hardtack I found earlier.

Without a window to gauge the outside, it’s impossible to tell how much time has passed in this cabin. Still, we need to conserve our strength for whatever might come. The dry, crumbly hardtack absorbs all the moisture in our mouths as we chew. I take a sip of cheap, low-proof wine I found earlier to moisten my throat.

Drinking heavily during pregnancy could harm the fetus, but I have little choice. Everyone eats in silence, with Jenna groaning each time she moves her mouth, likely due to cuts inside. Finally, a sense of calm settles in, and a sigh of relief escapes me.

The mental and physical strain of teetering between life and death since the attack at noon has taken a greater toll than I realized.

“So, who are those people?” I ask Finley, partly to gather information and partly to stave off sleepiness.

It would be too taxing to make Jenna talk for long in her condition.

“They’re Father’s ex-wife. We’re not related by blood, and Merce and Rutart aren’t Father’s children either.”

“So that’s the woman Father-in-law mentioned. I didn’t know the details, but I never imagined they’d be like that.”

I’d heard about the Bartfort family’s affairs from Leon and Father-in-law, but I never expected such people. True, the daughter and son are attractive, but their irritability and arrogance make their true nature uglier. As for Zola, she tries to mask her gaunt frame with excessive clothing and room decorations.

She’s oblivious to how others perceive her behavior and doesn’t even realize she’s being manipulated by the sky pirates. It’s baffling why such people are in a position to command sky pirates.

“I heard she fled before the war in the Fanoss Duchy and had her noble status revoked. Since we hadn’t heard anything about her, we assumed she was dead or abroad, but she seems to be doing quite well.”

“We thought she was long dead too. I never imagined she’d have the guts to pull off something this bold.”

If that’s the case, what’s their goal?

Five years have passed since the war, and it’s been over six months since the Fanoss Duchy was annexed by the Holfort Kingdom. Could they have been hiding for that long, targeting the Bartfort family?

No, that seems unlikely.

Rutart didn’t even know my face or background. The fact that I, a duke’s daughter, married Leon, a parvenu, is a well-known rumor in social circles. Father didn’t suppress information about my marriage to Leon.

Yet, there was no effort to quash the rumors either. High-ranking nobles are adept at covering up scandals or manipulating information, but in this case, the ducal house has done nothing, which feels oddly unsettling. Would someone unaware of even that information meticulously target the Bartfort family?

There were plenty of opportunities to strike when defenses were low, like during the time Leon and my brother-in-law were serving in the military. It’s hard to imagine why people who missed those chances and lacked such basic information would suddenly act now. All I know is that they view the Bartfort family as enemies and are holding us hostage for some scheme.

“Damn it, I’m too tired to think straight.”

“Isn’t there some way to let someone know where we are?”

“No way. This airship has been flying nonstop.”

Without any landmarks, finding a single airship in the sky is nearly impossible. Unlike on the ground, you can’t leave markers or follow scents. Clouds constantly shift and move, and any traces are swept away by the wind. If they’re demanding ransom, they’d likely stay near Bartfort territory, but knowing I’m a Redgrave duke’s daughter, they might flee, making it nearly impossible for Leon to track us.

“No problem. Lord Nicks will find my location in no time,” Dorothea says confidently.

“It’s great that you trust Brother-in-law, but it won’t be that simple.”

“Oh? Do you think I got captured without a plan?”

Dorothea unbuttons her blouse, pulling something from her ample bosom. She places an intricately crafted pendant, devoid of flashy decorations, before us. When she manipulates the back, a part of the pendant begins to blink.

“I had this pendant custom-made by skilled craftsmen and engineers with a built-in transmitter. I gave an identical one to Lord Nicks.”

“So that’s why you came with us?”

“The kind Lord Nicks wouldn’t choose a woman who’d abandon his sisters. I simply took the best course of action for him.”

Indeed, like Leon, Brother-in-law is deeply devoted to his family. It might even be a trait unique to Bartfort men. If he learned his fiancée abandoned his sisters, he’d likely call off the engagement without hesitation. 

Conversely, this works in Dorothea’s favor. She might have left us to our fate if it didn’t benefit her. She’s reliable in this situation but also a troublesome woman.

“What’s the range of the signal?”

“Roughly half the kingdom’s airspace. It uses a special frequency they can’t detect. The issue is how long we can stall until Lord Nicks and the others arrive.”

“You should’ve told us about this sooner!”

“If they found out, it’d be over. If they took and destroyed it, we couldn’t be tracked.”

“Couldn’t you have secretly given it to us?”

“If only we sisters escaped, Lord Nicks would hate me!”

Dorothea raises her voice, wrapping her arms around herself as if embracing her body, writhing. I can’t fathom what fantasies are playing out in her head. Her flushed cheeks and wriggling form are a striking sight.

“Lord Nicks and I are bound by an unbreakable bond of love, no matter the distance!”

“It’s clearly just technology.”

“Faster than the wind! More passionate than the sun! I can see Lord Nicks rushing to save me!”

“I don’t think Big Brother is that type…”

“Oh, Lord Nicks, you mustn’t do such improper things!”

“What are you even imagining…?”

“But if Lord Nicks desires it… I wanted to remain pure until marriage, but…”

“Stop it. I don’t want to imagine my family like that, even in your fantasies.”

Her stunning beauty only amplifies her bizarre behavior. She’s a frustrating mix of cold calculation and intense devotion.

“For now, let’s take turns resting. The others should keep searching the room for anything useful.”

“Got it.”

“Sorry, let me rest first. My injuries still hurt.”

“Then Angelica and Sister go first.”

I wrap myself in the cloth like a blanket and lean against the wall. The ship’s vibrations, combined with the exhaustion and alcohol, make sleepiness overtake me rapidly. Even with the transmitter, I can’t be optimistic. No matter how quickly Leon and the others come, fighting head-on while we’re hostages will be tough. I need to find something to help.

My thoughts continue, but my senses fade rapidly. Before I know it, I fall into a deep sleep. 

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I don’t know how long I slept.

When I wake, Finley and Dorothea are resting. Jenna offered to help, but her face is still swollen, so I let her rest.

I survey the room and check every corner. The walls are metal, impossible to break by hand. The ceiling has exposed pipes, likely for air conditioning. Stacking two large crates, I manage to touch the pipes, but they’re too sturdy for a woman’s strength to break.

However, some sections have covers. When I touch them, they move slightly. I keep working at one until it loosens and comes off, leaving my hands black with dust. Peering inside, the pipe is too narrow for an adult woman to crawl through.

I pause inspecting the pipes and start checking the crates one by one. Most contain food—dried goods, cans, and bottled liquids. Finding cooking oil is a small victory; it could be useful for some kind of counterattack.

After finishing, I wash my hands lightly. I can’t risk suspicion if they notice my blackened hands. My eyes catch the amulet Leon gave me. It’s meant for a safe delivery, so using it to pray for protection might be a bit off.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound of knocking from outside the door prompts me to hurriedly return the items I moved to their original places. At Jenna’s urging, Finley and Dorothea wake up, and tension fills the room.

Two sky pirates and a former knight, one of the men who was with us earlier, peer inside.

“You two women, come out,” one of the pirates says, pointing at me and Dorothea.

Jenna and Finley try to follow, but they’re stopped.

“You sisters stay here. The young master called for these two.”

“Young master? You mean Rutart?” Jenna asks.

“That’s right.”

“They’re in danger!” Finley protests.

“Shut up! Stay quiet!” the pirate snaps.

Their objections are drowned out by the rough men’s shouts. I give them a gentle look, and they reluctantly back down. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. From what I’ve seen, Rutart is both arrogant and cowardly. People like him tend to act recklessly when cornered, so I need to stay cautious.

Urged by the pirates, we walk through the ship and are led to a door different from the room we were taken to right after our capture. When the door opens, we find a small, sparsely furnished room, a stark contrast to the previous one. Rutart sits in the center on a gaudy chair.

A crude table and two chairs are placed in front of him. I sit without bowing, and Dorothea does the same, ignoring formalities. Rutart clicks his tongue, but we owe no courtesy to thieves. A man in the room brings tea, but we’re not foolish enough to drink anything offered by pirates. My attitude clearly irritates him. Rutart glares at us, his eyes bloodshot, brows furrowed.

“What are your names?” he demands.

I deliberately ignore him, and so does Dorothea. I already introduced myself when we were attacked; it’s his fault for not remembering.

“I asked for your names! Answer me!” he shouts.

“…Angelica Fou Bartfort. Formerly Angelica Rapha Redgrave,” I reply reluctantly.

“Dorothea Fou Roseblade,” Dorothea adds, maintaining her defiant attitude.

Her tone remains unyielding. She’s typically harsh with anyone outside her family or Brother-in-law. I know I can be arrogant myself, but not to her extent. Still, provoking the other party to seize control of the conversation is a basic tactic in negotiations or deals. I need to understand exactly what Rutart and Zola are plotting and what they intend to do with us.

“A duke’s daughter marrying a filthy commoner like him? What did Leon threaten you with?” Rutart sneers.

“Nothing. It was Father’s arrangement, but I chose to marry him of my own will.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A duke’s daughter marrying a commoner? There must’ve been some deal behind it.”

“That’s true of most noble marriages. It’s hardly unusual.”

Indeed, Father arranged my marriage to Leon to strengthen and unify his faction. If the ducal house ever moved against the royal family, it’s almost certain they’d seek the Bartfort family’s support as allies. Leon and I have been working tirelessly to prevent such conflicts, but there’s no way Rutart would know these intricacies.

“That guy’s a vile, cowardly monkey. Him, a noble? What are the royals and nobles even thinking?”

“He fought on the battlefield in his mid-teens, defeated enemy generals, and forced their army to retreat. His achievements were rightfully recognized with a title and land.”

“He’s got filthy commoner blood! Letting someone like that become a lord degrades the dignity of nobility!”

“He’s infinitely more noble than a coward who abandons their land and people.”

My words must have struck a nerve. Rutart’s expression shifts, his gaze filled with murderous intent. But it has no effect on me. Once, during our engagement, a wounded Leon attacked me in a moment of vulnerability. Back then, I prepared for death. Compared to that, Rutart’s glare doesn’t even make me flinch. His reaction to my light provocation only highlights his pettiness.

As a wife, I may be biased, but as a person, Rutart is no match for Leon in any way.

“Nicks is the same. He’s a usurper who stole what was rightfully mine. You think a man like that deserves to be a noble? There’s someone far more suited to rule that land.”

“And you think that’s you?” I retort.

“Exactly.”

“Hold your tongue, you lowlife,” Dorothea cuts in the moment Rutart insults Brother-in-law.

Her eyes burn with quiet rage, far more terrifying than Rutart’s feeble killing intent.

“Anyone who insults Lord Nicks will face no mercy, whether they’re a lord, a minister, a parent, or a commoner. I’ll hunt them down, carve them up, and feed them to the birds.”

There’s not a trace of deceit in Dorothea’s words. Only someone with the resolve and ability to follow through could exude such genuine killing intent. Even if she’s never killed before, her cold ruthlessness makes it clear she’d do it without hesitation. Intimidated by her aura, Rutart and the pirates lean back slightly.

“Is that all? I’d like to return to our room. I’m worried about Jenna’s injuries,” I say.

“Wait! We’re not done!” Rutart stops us as we move to stand, clearly desperate.

What does he want, clinging to us so recklessly? If he wants to be free from his mother and sister, he should start by letting us go. I don’t know the sky pirates’ strength, but if the Bartfort and Roseblade families work together, we’d have a good chance of winning. Or they could ask Father and Brother for help; the ducal house would gladly lend their strength.

Without us as hostages, they’re not a formidable enemy. But Rutart’s demand far exceeds our expectations.

“Help me reclaim my place as a noble. Take back my honor and status from those vile usurpers and restore the prestige of the kingdom’s nobility.”

“…I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

“Let’s go. We don’t have time for fools,” Dorothea adds.

“The kingdom doesn’t need filthy commoner-blood like Nicks and Leon. Those with noble blood should lead the next era.”

“You think you’re the one to lead the kingdom’s future?” I ask.

“It’s blasphemy for a commoner to be a saintess. The truly exceptional should govern, but everyone’s been deceived!”

“This is pointless. The saintess title is just a decoration. The most capable person simply earned it,” Dorothea counters.

“Wake up! Why do you fawn over them? They’re villains after noble status and wealth!”

His delusions are so absurd they go beyond infuriating to comical. I’m confident in my abilities, but even if I became saintess, I couldn’t have protected the Holfort Kingdom from the Fanoss Duchy’s invasion. Olivia, a commoner who became saintess, and Leon, who rose from near-commoner origins to viscount—they succeeded through their own merits. The kingdom is in a transformative period where ability, not lineage, determines worth.

No matter how great one’s ancestors were, those who can’t protect their inherited titles and wealth don’t deserve to be nobles. Only fools who can’t accept this reality drag down the capable and hinder the kingdom’s recovery.

“The Bartfort family’s inheritance was supposed to be mine. They stole it through treachery. You two were supposed to be my wives, not Leon’s or Nicks’!”

“You’ve got it backward. You and your family fled during the war with the duchy, so Brother-in-law inherited the Bartfort estate. Leon earned his viscount title through military achievements. You’re not even Father-in-law’s blood relative—you’re the usurper.”

“Everything they have is mine! Why do you protect those treacherous bastards?”

“I’m not protecting them. You refused to serve, fled before the enemy, and lied about your lineage. You’re the one unfit to be a noble.”

Rutart’s leering gaze, dripping with unhidden lust, is utterly repulsive.

It’s absurd—why would I ever be his wife?

Yes, my engagement to Leon was arranged for the ducal house’s benefit, and I initially went along with it. But agreeing to marry Leon was my choice. Loving him was my decision. Even if you had inherited the Bartfort estate, I wouldn’t have fallen for you in the slightest.

“Fighting in that situation is for barbarians! Plenty of nobles fled too!”

“And they abandoned their lands and people. There’s no reason to serve such cowards. Those who won’t protect their country have no right to lead.”

“He couldn’t even enroll in the academy! How could someone like that manage a territory?”

“Leon couldn’t attend due to financial constraints and your mother forcing him into a marriage with a court noblewoman. There’s nothing wrong with his intellect—he’s smarter than most noble heirs his age.”

“He only gets away with failure because of the ducal house’s backing! He’s just lucky!”

“Could luck alone sustain an undeveloped floating island for five years? He constantly worried, learned, and fought at the forefront. I, standing by his side, know this best.”

“A noble’s duty is to protect inherited status and wealth! Living in the frontier proves his incompetence!”

“Unearned income as a noble’s virtue is an outdated fantasy. The kingdom needs diligent workers, not those resting on lineage and wealth.”

“I could do better! You should see who’s truly superior!”

“It’s clear. You don’t even come close to Leon’s feet.”

The more I talk to Rutart, the more my irritation grows. If Zola hadn’t married Father-in-law…

If Merce and Lutoart hadn’t been treated as Leon’s half-siblings…

If he hadn’t been forced into a marriage with a court noblewoman…

The Bartfort family could have lived peacefully. Leon wouldn’t have been treated as a noble’s illegitimate child. He could have attended the academy and been recognized for his brilliance. Above all, he wouldn’t have had to join the military, suffer wounds, or be tormented by nightmares.

Because of you, Leon endured years of hardship.

Because of you, his brilliance went unrecognized.

If you had been decent, Leon wouldn’t have been scarred on the battlefield.

They’re the enemy.

Leon’s enemy. The Bartfort family’s enemy. My enemy.

The anger boiling in my gut turns to killing intent as I glare at Rutart without flinching.

Intimidated, he averts his eyes.

“What about Nicks, then? He’s mediocre, talentless! I’m far superior!”

“Ha! Do you want to die?” Dorothea snaps.

He’s clearly touched a nerve. Dorothea, who had been calmly assessing the situation, now glares with fiery eyes.

“Unlike you, Lord Nicks didn’t run. He protected the old Bartfort territory with Father-in-law during the war. He’s not some fake noble who fled with his tail between his legs.”

“You’re calling me a coward?!”

“What else are you? Lord Nicks worked tirelessly with the Bartfort family on reclamation efforts. In this war, he fought alongside Viscount Bartfort and was officially named heir. Don’t lump him with fools sipping tea in the capital.”

Dorothea’s concise, scathing rebuke cuts through Rutart. I feel the same urge to strangle anyone who insults the man I love. If I had a gun in my hand right now, I could silence this vile man’s mouth forever.

“Look at your actions. You have neither the qualifications nor the talent to be a noble. You’re just a talentless fool clinging to your ancestors’ glory.”

“…Shut up,” Rutart mutters, madness in his eyes. Has his anger driven him to lose control?

I won’t yield to that.

I am Angelica Fou Bartfalt.

Viscountess Leon Fou Bartfort's wife.

“SHUT UP!” Rutart roars, raising his fist.

I instinctively move to dodge but reconsider and shield my stomach. The next moment, a blow lands on my right cheek, staggering me back a few steps.

“Everyone! Mother, sister, all of you refuse to acknowledge me!” he screams.

In a bizarre twist, the sky pirates in the room, eyes bloodshot, rush to protect me from Rutart’s next attack. Two pirates grab his arms and torso, while another calls out to others nearby.

Several men quickly gather, assessing the situation and restraining the unhinged Rutart. Drooling and trying to lunge at me, he’s completely lost his sanity.

“Let me go! I’ll kill her!”

“Stop, you idiot! Do you even know what you’re doing?!”

“That bitch insulted me, a noble!”

“Kill the hostages, and the money and plan are ruined! Think, you damn noble!”

“Get the women out! Calm the young master down!”

Several pirates surround us, shielding us from Rutart as they hustle us out of the room. Until the door closes, Rutart hurls vile curses at me and Dorothea.

I sigh and touch my cheek. My lip is slightly cut, with a bit of blood. The injury isn’t deep for the impact—his lack of training compared to Leon or Brother-in-law is evident.

Ironically, that weakness saved my unborn child. That man is beyond saving. His warped values are too entrenched for correction. The Holfort Kingdom was once a den of such people—corrupt nobles who believed in their superiority, felt nothing for harming the people, and embraced decadence. This rot, born from the class system and peace, must be excised immediately. I pray Dorothea’s signal reaches Leon and the others.

To resolve this, I must act. I am no longer just a Redgrave duke’s daughter, but Viscountess Bartfort.

For my husband, my child, my family, and my clan, I must eliminate this looming threat.

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Authors Note

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It’s been exactly one year since I started writing this series. I’m astonished to have kept writing for so long. And yet, here I am, writing a chapter where the heroine faces such hardship… (sweat). Yomu Mishima-sensei’s works feature many utterly despicable villains, but crafting such an extreme scoundrel is truly challenging. I’m once again in awe of the original author’s skill in portraying such characters. (This is a compliment!) The next chapter will be from Julius and the enemy’s perspective.

Addendum: At the client’s request, illustrations were commissioned from m.a.o-sama and donat-sama. Thank you very much!

- m.a.o-sama: Pixiv (Adult content warning)

- donat-sama: Pixiv

I’d greatly appreciate any feedback or impressions to motivate me moving forward.