Melancholy Memories of a Lady-in-Waiting

Chapter 22

People who claim that being born a noble or having parents automatically equates to happiness lack imagination entirely.

Many nobles endure the grip of poverty despite their seemingly extravagant status, and countless children suffer from neglect or lack of love from their biological parents.

There is no clear boundary separating this world from hell.

In fact, this world—teeming with vile scoundrels—might be far worse than hell, where sinners are, at least in theory, judged.

To make matters worse, there is no promise of salvation, even in the afterlife.

I know this because I’ve brushed shoulders with death countless times since childhood.

When hunger overwhelmed me to the point of collapse, I found myself chewing on grass plucked from the ground.

When I failed to hunt a beast and nearly became its prey.

When I froze beneath a filthy blanket in a shed without a fireplace, enduring the piercing chill of winter.

No angel from heaven, like those sung about in fairy tales, descended to save me.

All I faced was an abyss of despair, devouring every glimmer of light, and the maddening terror of dying.

Only those who’ve been consumed by such suffering can truly comprehend the brutality of this world.

Yet even so, I was saved—by that person.

I do not believe in gods.

I do not trust in a god who turns a blind eye to innocent children praying as they are beaten, starved, and left to freeze.

If this world is meant for people to live in, then it is clear: it is people—not gods—who bring salvation and joy to others.

That is why I reject the notion of gods.

Instead, I place my faith in the one who saved me.

The person who extended their hand and rescued me when I teetered on the brink of death.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The first thing I realized as I grew older was that the couple I thought were my masters were, in fact, my parents—and this impoverished house was, unbelievably, a noble’s mansion.

No matter how much I reflect on the past, I cannot recall my parents ever doing anything that resembled parental affection.

They never patted my head, and they called me by my name so rarely that I could count the instances on one hand.

I was never given sweets, toys, or even the bare minimum of food and clothing.

It was always me who prepared meals for my parents, but I was left to eat scraps from cooking or whatever they didn’t finish.

With no other choice, I resorted to eating grass and flowers growing nearby, sometimes catching insects, small animals, birds, or fish to stave off my hunger.

But, as bleak as it sounds, things were still better when I was small.

Once I grew a little older, my parents began pestering me to earn money.

I scraped together small sums by babysitting or doing odd jobs, like accompanying hunters, helping them track and butcher animals, or working for adventurers as a porter.

A child who cannot read, write, or do basic arithmetic is easy prey for those looking to exploit them.

So, I took it upon myself to study—learning from books when I could find them and from kind hunters or adventurers willing to teach me.

Why, you might ask, didn’t my parents provide me with even the most basic education?

Because they didn’t want a daughter with her own thoughts or ambitions. What they wanted was a tool—a slave to use as they pleased.

They brought me into this world because raising me was cheaper than hiring a servant.

That, and nothing more, was the reason I was born.

My parents were never truly my parents; they were my masters.

And I was never their daughter—I was their slave.

When I was nearing my tenth birthday, I learned about the royal academy.

Almost every noble child enrolls in the academy upon turning fifteen. It is practically mandatory, barring exceptional circumstances.

When I discovered this, a faint glimmer of hope ignited in my heart.

I didn’t want to spend my life being treated like a slave, working from dawn till dusk.

I wasn’t asking for a life of luxury.

All I wanted was to live an ordinary life.

To achieve that, I needed to prepare for admission into the academy.

Even if it was just for a few years, I wanted to escape my parents and receive a proper education.

If I could build a good relationship with a noble son, perhaps even marriage wouldn’t be out of reach.

I knew that my parents, with their misplaced noble pride, would prefer seeing me marry into another noble family and send money home rather than continue enduring their current poverty.

With that thought in mind, I resolved to work even harder, diligently taking on my tasks.

I knew my miserly parents would only provide the bare minimum needed for my admission.

But I also understood, from bitter experience, that getting a quality education required far more than the bare minimum.

I couldn’t rely on them.

So, I began secretly saving a portion of the money I earned from my relentless workdays. At night, I read books in secret, trying to educate myself.

Over the years, through sheer determination, I managed to acquire the basics of education and proper manners through self-study.

I believed I could blend in with the other noble sons and daughters at the academy.

By the time I turned fourteen, I was optimistic about my future.

How foolish I was.

If I had considered, even briefly, how irresponsible and selfish my parents were, I might have anticipated what was to come.

A few months before I was supposed to enroll in the academy, a letter arrived at the mansion.

"Considering the reported health condition of the young lady and the financial situation of the noble house, her admission is declined."

My admission had been canceled without my knowledge.

Stunned and disoriented, I demanded an explanation from my parents.

“What will we do for money if you leave?”

“You seem to have been earning quite a bit without telling us.”

It turned out my parents had requested a refund for the admission fees and other expenses I had painstakingly saved and paid.

The money had been refunded—but my parents had already squandered it long ago.

The thought of me preparing for months to attend the academy, blissfully unaware of this betrayal, was nothing short of pathetic.

I had no connections with other nobles.

To them, I was nothing more than a name on a registry—a faceless, insignificant existence.

Erasing me from their world must have been all too easy.

Feeling as though the ground beneath me was collapsing, I retreated to my room.

I lay down on the tattered futon that rested on my nearly broken bed, the weight of reality pressing down on me.

In my feverish state, I realized a grim truth: my parents intended to work me to death.

I no longer cared.

I wanted to vanish from this world, leaving no trace of my existence.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

After my admission to the academy was canceled, I continued working without any sense of purpose.

I resigned myself to the idea that this life—monotonous and suffocating—would go on indefinitely.

But that changed about six months later.

A war suddenly broke out between the kingdom and the principality.

Some said it began because of a dispute between the royal family and the duke’s family, instigated by the prince. Others claimed the principality launched an attack using monsters. The details were unclear to me.

The academy closed due to the war, a development that pleased my parents since it meant they didn’t have to spend any money.

It didn’t matter to me either way.

My days remained the same—working from dawn to dusk to earn money, caring for my parents, and collapsing into bed to recover my exhausted body.

With no need to study for the academy anymore, I found myself with more time to rest, a bitter irony.

Six months into the war, the once-chaotic town began to settle down.

I came across a discarded newspaper and learned that the war had ended.

For many, the war had been a time of prosperity due to the surge in labor demand and job opportunities.

But for me, the thought of having to find another way to earn money made me sigh in resignation.

While the rest of the world celebrated the war’s end, my parents seemed strangely uneasy.

Nobles who avoided conscription were often ridiculed as cowards. I assumed my father’s reputation had worsened because he had paid a bribe—using the money I earned—to avoid being drafted.

Little did I know, my parents had committed far more heinous acts behind the scenes.

Waking before dawn to prepare meals was part of my daily routine.

One morning, when I went to wake my parents in their bedroom, I found their bed empty.

It wasn’t unusual for them to leave for a few days, but it was rare for them to go without informing me.

I set the table and went to work as usual.

When I returned that evening, the dishes remained untouched.

The same happened the next day and the day after that.

On the fourth day, just before dawn, a loud pounding on the mansion door shattered the silence.

Expecting my parents’ return, I rushed to open the door, only to find several burly men standing there.

They were guards, not thieves.

“Where are your masters?” one of them demanded.

“I don’t know. They’ve been gone for four days,” I replied.

“Search the mansion thoroughly. And detain her. She might know something.”

“Understood.”

“Wait! What’s going on?!”

Before I could make sense of the situation, they bound me tightly with rope.

The guards searched every corner of the mansion but found no trace of my parents. They then hauled me to the town’s magistrate’s office.

It was there that I learned the truth about my parents’ crimes.

During the war with the principality, the kingdom had been repeatedly outmaneuvered and suffered constant defeats.

The reason was painfully simple: court nobles had been leaking critical information to the principality.

A noble who supported the prince and the saint was discovered to be the ringleader behind a conspiracy.

When the royal family learned of this, their outrage was swift, and they launched a meticulous investigation as the war neared its conclusion. The inquiry revealed a staggering betrayal: not only were high-ranking nobles orchestrating the treachery, but kingdom infiltrators had also been purchasing classified information from low-ranking nobles and merchants at exorbitant prices.

Amidst these revelations, it came to light that my parents had been complicit, selling intelligence to these infiltrators. As nobles, they were protected from immediate arrest without irrefutable evidence. However, once sufficient evidence was gathered, the royal decree for their arrest was issued just a few days ago.

Upon hearing of their impending capture, my parents fled, consumed by fear. I had always considered them foolish, but I never imagined they could act with such reckless cowardice.

When I was finally released and returned to our family mansion, I was greeted by utter devastation. The place had been thoroughly ransacked; anything remotely valuable had been stolen. Even the spoils of my hard work—the monster parts I had hunted and the herbs I had painstakingly gathered to sell—were gone.

The betrayal of material possessions, however, paled in comparison to the cold indifference of the people I once knew. My parents were already despised in the community, but their branding as traitors who had betrayed the kingdom during the war solidified our ostracization. No one saw any value in maintaining ties with someone stripped of their noble status.

Living there had become impossible.

Over the next few days, I worked to gather food and any remaining items that could be sold for money. I hid my paper currency and gold coins in a secret compartment, ensuring they wouldn’t be stolen again, and packed my belongings into a wallet and a single bag. Though my luggage was considerable, it was manageable—I had been accustomed to physical labor since childhood.

And so, burdened with a lifetime of memories, I left my hometown behind, fleeing the ruins of my old life.

***　***　***　***　***

Several months after leaving my hometown, I found myself in the royal capital.

There was no guarantee that I would fare better in another country, and the countryside, with its abundance of laborers, offered no opportunities for newcomers like me. But the royal capital was different—teeming with people, it promised work for those willing to seek it, and, more importantly, no one would know my face.

Above all, I had longed to see the capital's grandeur, to stand amidst its bustling streets and imagine myself as a noble attending a prestigious academy.

Yet those faint, wistful hopes were quickly crushed by the weight of reality.

After the war ended, the kingdom’s public order had deteriorated rapidly. Disbanded soldiers had turned to banditry, spreading chaos across the land. The streets were plagued by unrest, with titles stripped from treasonous nobles and their families adding to the disarray.

In such tumultuous times, survival for someone like me—a frail, uneducated girl with no connections—proved nearly impossible.

People from all over the kingdom flocked to the royal capital in search of work, just as I had. But with no relatives to rely on and no network to tap into, I couldn’t find a single opportunity.

Should I become an adventurer and aim for fortune? The Adventurers' Guild, managed by the state, required registration, which in turn demanded a family registry. As the daughter of fallen nobles branded as traitors, even attempting to register risked my expulsion from the kingdom—or worse. Besides, I wasn’t even sure my family registry still existed.

Eventually, I was forced to consider selling my body.

The red-light district, however, was already overcrowded with fallen noble daughters like me. Lacking the beauty to stand out and malnourished from childhood, I was too thin and too small to attract much interest. Even so, the risks—contracting a disease or becoming pregnant—were too terrifying to bear. Either fate would doom me and any child to certain death.

Crime became my final option.

I resorted to theft: dine-and-dash schemes, shoplifting, and breaking into poorly secured homes. A human body weakens frighteningly fast without food, and hunger spurred me into action. At food stalls, I would wait for the clerk’s momentary distraction to escape without paying. At markets, I hid food in my clothes when merchants weren’t looking. In deserted alleys, I crept into homes and stole whatever money I could find.

For the first time, my small stature and the agility I had developed through hunting worked in my favor. But the shame weighed heavily on me. Each crime reminded me of my parents’ treachery.

“A frog’s child is a frog. A criminal’s child is a criminal,” I thought bitterly. No matter how much I tried to justify my actions, I was nothing more than a villain. My only solace was avoiding violence and refraining from targeting the truly valuable—small concessions to a dwindling conscience.

However, it wasn’t long before my actions attracted attention.

The guards tasked with maintaining order, the merchants overseeing the bustling markets, even the shadowy figures controlling the red-light district—they all began to take notice of me. My range of movement steadily shrank, and the days grew harder. I struggled to secure enough food and spent every moment feeling hunted, my spirit eroding under the relentless pressure.

One day, weakened from hunger and exhaustion, I failed to evade an attack from those pursuing me. Injured, I barely managed to crawl into a filthy, narrow alley, collapsing against the cold stone walls.

I had reached my limit.

Why was I still alive when it was this unbearable?

Unable to find an answer, I writhed in pain, dragging myself out of the alley. If I was going to die, I wanted to do so somewhere better than this squalid corner.

Summoning what little strength remained, I stumbled into an open square. It was filled with people—far too many to count. Straining to listen, I realized a soup kitchen was being held 

for the poor.

But the world, as always, remained unkind to me.

Surrounded by the smell of food and the sight of others eating, I lacked even the strength to beg. All I could do was watch, tormented by hunger, as the hope of relief slipped further away.

I moved to a corner, desperate to escape the suffocating crowd.

Exhaustion consumed me, and I felt my consciousness slipping away. A chilling realization settled in—I was nearing the end of my life.

In that moment, overwhelming fear and despair surged through me.

Why!? Why do I have to die!? This is too cruel!

Since the day I was born, I was never loved by my parents, never given enough food! What did I do to deserve this!?

If this is punishment, then tell me—what sin did I commit!?

I tried to live righteously! I wanted to climb higher, but I was never even given the chance!

What else could I have done!? I couldn’t survive without turning to crime!

If my fate was to die miserably, then why was I even born!? Answer me!!

Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I didn’t notice someone standing before me until they were already there.

Through my blurred vision, I could see that the figure was strikingly beautiful. Was this an angel come to guide me in my final moments, or a reaper here to claim my soul?

It didn’t matter anymore.

I had already decided to unleash all my anger, my bitterness, and my grievances before my death.

I began to pour out my resentment to the figure before me, not even aware of what I was saying. My voice was hoarse, my breath labored, and I could only speak in slow, broken sentences.

When I finally released everything I had been holding inside, I felt something touch my cheek.

It seemed my body had collapsed onto the ground.

Yet, strangely, a quiet sense of fulfillment washed over me, as if some part of my anguish had lifted.

A warm, gentle light shone before me, soft and inviting.

It was clear to me now—my time had come.

If I could be reborn, I thought faintly, I’d wish for a slightly better life next time.

With that final wish in my heart, I surrendered to the encroaching darkness and lost consciousness.

※　※　※　※　※

When I awoke, I found myself lying in a bed—a proper bed.

How long had it been since I’d last experienced such comfort?

As I slowly sat up, I noticed bandages wrapped around various parts of my body. My movements felt stiff and unfamiliar, a reminder of how close I had come to death.

Looking around the room, I saw others lying in beds as well, their faces marked by exhaustion and hardship. A woman approached me and explained that I had collapsed near the soup kitchen run by the temple. I had been saved by none other than the Saintess herself. After being healed with magic, I was brought to this poorhouse to recover.

I learned I had narrowly escaped death and slept for several days. My heart wrestled with conflicting emotions—part of me was relieved to be alive, while another part dreaded the thought of returning to a life filled with suffering and struggle.

A staff member brought me a simple meal, and as I took my first sip of the slightly salty soup, a wave of emotions hit me. The warm broth reminded me of the undeniable truth: I was alive. Tears streamed down my face as I continued sipping, the salty taste mingling with the bitterness of my thoughts.

Over the next month, as my body gradually recovered, I began helping around the poorhouse. Many of the residents, like me, had lost everything—jobs, homes, families—due to the war. The kingdom was making efforts to assist these people, but resources and manpower were stretched thin.

To repay the kindness I had received, I started doing chores, helping with whatever tasks were needed. Eventually, I was offered a position to work there officially. Having been given a second chance at life, I accepted with a renewed sense of purpose.

Though the work kept me busy, it was far easier than the grueling days I had spent laboring under my parents’ demands back in my hometown. Here, I had guaranteed food, clothing, and shelter, along with a modest income.

With the money I earned, I made it a point to visit the shops and homes I had stolen from, returning what I had taken. I spoke honestly to the people I had wronged, apologizing for my actions.

Some forgave me, understanding my desperation and the small scale of what I had stolen. Others, however, scolded me harshly or even threw water in my face. Their anger was justified—I had wronged them, and I bore the consequences without complaint.

Facing the consequences of my actions was a necessary step if I truly wanted to live as a better person. At one point, I even considered turning myself in and confessing my crimes. However, the poorhouse vouched for me, citing my circumstances and genuine desire to reform. With their support, I resolved to dedicate myself to the people who had saved me.

A while after settling into my new role at the poorhouse, something strange began to happen. I discovered a peculiar power—a power unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

While tending to an injured person one day, I noticed a faint light emanating from my palm. To my surprise, a small wound began to heal before my eyes.

Upon further investigation, I discovered that I had a latent talent for healing magic. Of course, my ability was nowhere near as powerful as the Saintess’s, but I was nonetheless grateful. For someone like me, it felt like a rare gift—an opportunity to be of use to others.

By day, I worked at the poorhouse; by night, I dedicated myself to studying magic. It reminded me of the days when I had dreamed of attending an academy.

As the seasons passed, I began to feel that life at the poorhouse wasn’t so bad. Yet, soon after, word of my abilities spread, and visitors came—priests from the temple.

They explained that they were in need of a lady-in-waiting for the Saintess but had difficulty finding a suitable candidate. Many noblewomen looked down on the Saintess because of her common birth, and commoners often lacked the necessary skills.

The temple sought a young woman who could match the Saintess in both ability and temperament. After some hesitation, I decided to visit the temple.

When I consulted the people at the poorhouse, their reaction surprised me. Instead of anger or disappointment, they were genuinely happy for me, even holding a farewell party in my honor.

For the first time, I understood the meaning of tears of happiness.

Once at the temple, my duties were not so different from those at the poorhouse. During the day, I either did chores or received training as a lady-in-waiting. Nights were quiet, with little to occupy my time other than sleep, which I often sacrificed in favor of reading and further study.

After a few months of probation, I was officially chosen as a lady-in-waiting to the Saintess.

At that time, the temple’s leaders explained why I had been selected. I shared the same hair color as the Saintess, possessed healing magic, and was skilled in handling both guns and knives. In essence, I was to serve not only as the Saintess's attendant but also as her protector—her guard and, if necessary, her substitute.

It was clear why they had struggled to find a suitable candidate. I also understood why someone like me, the daughter of a sinner, could enter the temple without much resistance.

If the daughter of a criminal could protect the Saintess’s life, it was a bargain in the eyes of the temple.

Having been saved by the Saintess, I saw no harm in offering my life in her service.

And so, I was appointed as a lady-in-waiting, directly serving the Saintess.

※　※　※　※　※

"Sigh..."

"Olivia-sama, you'll lose your luck if you keep sighing."

This exchange had occurred so many times. Since meeting with Viscount Barfort's wife, Olivia-sama had been in this state.

"What could I have done better?"

"I think you did everything you could. Normally, no woman would meet with someone who broke off her engagement."

As I answered, I helped Olivia-sama change clothes. If the symbol of the temple, the Saintess, were seen wearing a simple maid's outfit, it could raise suspicion. Given my skill at sneaking in and out, it was my responsibility to help Olivia-sama leave discreetly. It's unfortunate how the skills I honed in difficult times have come in handy now.

If it were discovered that she had gone out, her guards would be tightened. Due to the unstable situation in the capital, Olivia-sama was under heightened surveillance.

Since becoming the maid serving the Saintess directly, I had always been by Olivia-sama's side. Despite being born into a noble family, I, like Olivia-sama, had not received a proper education. We were the same age and had both faced hardships, so we became close quickly and spoke casually when alone. Olivia-sama taught me healing magic and studies, while I supported her actions. To anyone who didn’t know us well, we might have appeared as close sisters. Considering I’m smaller than Olivia-sama, it would be difficult for anyone to tell who was older.

"I suggest not relying on the Queen. She acts for the royal family. If she sees no use in you, she'll discard you easily."

The Queen prioritizes the royal family's stability above all else. Who knows what she’s really thinking behind her elegant facade?

"Teaming up with Angelica-sama is far better. She’s blunt, but she’s open to negotiation. Honestly, I believe you'd be happier joining the Duke’s family rather than marrying any of those five."

"That's a terrible thing to say. Poor five of them."

"We’re in this mess because of those five fools. Saying bad things about them is no sin."

There are two kinds of fools in this world: those who don’t know better and those who do things they shouldn’t. The former can be educated, but the latter only causes trouble by doing the unthinkable. I’ve thought this way since my time as a babysitter in my hometown, working at the poorhouse, and even during my education at the temple. Those who do things they shouldn’t often come from good families, raised selfishly without discipline. The five men give off the same vibe. They’re capable individually, and Olivia-sama could manage them if there was only one of them. But when the five are together, their synergy only makes things worse.

"That could lead to a civil war."

"A civil war?"

"The Queen will resist desperately, and the Duke won’t hold back."

"Why are nobles always so hot-headed?"

"You’re a noble lady too."

"I’m an ex-noble lady, now a commoner. I had a poor upbringing."

I tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but it fell flat. The topic was too serious—it could lead to a divided kingdom and many lives lost.

"Olivia-sama, could you choose a path where only you survive? It would make things easier."

"No. If I run away, no one will listen, and many will suffer."

"It’s impossible to save everyone."

"Still, I want to save as many as I can."

Olivia-sama’s eyes were firm and unwavering. She truly was a saint, not just pursuing ideals but striving to make them a reality. And for that, she needed assistance. I lacked political power, the five fools were too swayed by her, and the Queen might abandon her. This made Angelica-sama the most reliable ally. She was educated, realistic, and gave Olivia-sama honest advice. She was the partner Olivia-sama needed. Unfortunately, we knew almost nothing about her, so we didn’t know how to approach her for cooperation.

I mentally organized Olivia-sama’s schedule. We would stay here tonight, return to the capital tomorrow, and have no plans for the immediate future. My absence shouldn’t cause any trouble.

"Olivia-sama, I have a suggestion."

"What is it?"

I made my request to Olivia-sama.

---

The Barfort territory was more rural than I had expected. The areas around the airport and hot springs were developed, but everywhere else seemed to be mostly farmland. As we traveled toward the lord’s mansion, I saw people cutting trees and tilling fields. Staying here seemed to benefit the territory more than getting involved in the capital's politics.

"Did I make a mistake?" I muttered to myself. My proposal had been to go alone to persuade Angelica-sama. Olivia-sama and the Queen had difficulty getting along with her due to past conflicts, so I thought it would be better for me to approach her alone and have a calm discussion. We hadn’t spent much time together, but Angelica-sama struck me as someone who would respond well to reason. Negotiations can’t start without understanding the other party, and though it was a bold move, it was the only option I could think of. Bowing my head wouldn’t be a problem, and if I failed, I would simply leave the temple. Having faced death once before, my life now felt lighter.

As I walked, I eventually arrived at Viscount Barfort’s mansion. I had prepared myself for days of being turned away, but I was easily admitted, which felt anticlimactic. A middle-aged woman guided me to a guest room, where tea and snacks were served. It was all going too smoothly, making me uneasy.

"Is there a truth serum in this?" I wondered, sipping the tea. I noticed four small eyes peering at me from the door. They belonged to the children of the household. When I waved, they scampered off.

A few moments later, I heard a commotion and saw a boy who had fallen, with a girl standing by and watching him. He must have tripped. He was about to cry, so I approached to check on him. There were no external injuries, just pain from the fall. I concentrated healing magic into my hand, which began to glow faintly. I placed my palm on the painful spot for several seconds. The pain might remain, but it wouldn’t worsen. The children watched in surprise. My small size often made me seem approachable to kids.

"What are you doing?"

I had been so focused on healing that I hadn’t noticed my surroundings. Turning slowly, I saw the person I had come to meet, glaring at me.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳⁠

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

A maid directly serving Saint Olivia—who exactly is she? (Sarcastically.)

Now, let’s take a look at the backstory and meeting scene between Mob Marie and Angelica. But don’t get this confused with a service appearance—it’s not from the Marie Route’s comic adaptation. (Seriously.)

The question is, what if non-reincarnated Marie never attended the academy? Writing this has made me realize just how severe her circumstances would have been. And no, I’m not sadistic. (Tears.)

What struck me as I wrote is Marie’s high potential. Without the protagonist perks, she could very well have taken Olivia’s position. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback to keep my motivation going for future chapters.