I Possessed the Body of a Sickly Princess

Chapter 5: Rumors and Truth (4)

When someone wants to torment another but cannot do so directly, they often target what’s around them.

Mana, the personal maid, was fair game.

It was fine—she was pitiable enough.

Her ever-present smile was a bit irksome, but perhaps she was just forcing it.

The cat, however, was another story.

A small creature with pure white fur, resembling its master.

"Myaang."

"You came back injured again."

Wounds covered its tiny body.

They could be seen everywhere—the training grounds, the dining hall, the laundry area.

At first, they only smacked it lightly.

Then they escalated—plucking its fur, throwing stones, kicking it.

Humans could be endlessly cruel to creatures weaker than themselves.

Especially when those creatures belonged to someone they feared or despised.

"Come here."

I reached out and gently lifted the tiny cat.

It was thinner than before—a clear sign of the relentless torment it had endured.

Holding it close, I gazed down at its trembling form, carefully stroking its roughened fur.

Patches of missing fur.

A face twisted in fear.

"So pitiful. Truly pitiful."

To have such a wretched owner must be a cruel fate.

I set the cat down beside me, deep in thought.

Affection—true affection—was heavier and more valuable than anything.

Even more so when it came from me.

In the short time it had been with me, I had given it quite a bit of affection.

Perhaps even a piece of my heart.

"Your name will be Nero."

A white cat named Nero—wasn't that amusing?

Affection only becomes complete when one is given a name.

That was why I named it.

To give a name was to give away a fragment of one's heart.

Tch. Tch. I flicked my fingers.

Beating, plucking, stoning, burning.

The damage they had inflicted on something I cared for was unacceptable.

Useless creatures harming something of value—that was something that deserved punishment.

And I would make sure they paid for it.

Without fail.

***

At some point, people began collapsing.

While working, while bathing, while sleeping.

One moment they were fine, and the next, they never got back up.

It took only a moment for fear to grip the servants.

And another moment for the estate to be thrown into chaos.

The kitchens lost their cooks.

The laborers dwindled in number.

"It must be the demon’s doing."

"But there’s no proof."

Some doubted.

But while suspicion ran high, no tangible evidence existed.

Then again, did evidence truly exist for such unholy sorcery?

Perhaps it was black magic, the kind only demons could wield as easily as breathing.

"We must summon a priest."

"We must exorcise the demon."

The servants spoke in unison.

One of them claimed to know a priest, and with unanimous agreement, they decided to bring him as soon as possible.

Of course, Duke Leonhardt was not consulted.

For the terrified servants, erasing their own fear was far more important.

How could they focus on their tasks when they lived in constant dread of suddenly collapsing?

To restore order to the household, there was only one solution—

The demon had to be expelled.

Mana struggled to adjust to the growing unrest within the estate.

People were collapsing.

Even during working hours, they would huddle together, whispering anxiously, glancing around with wary eyes.

She wondered if some unknown plague was spreading, but all she heard were baseless claims about demons and black magic.

"Mana, are you alright?"

"Yes, I’m fine."

She nodded at the worried gaze.

There was nothing wrong with her.

Despite serving the one they called a demon—bringing her meals, tending to her, running errands—nothing had happened to her.

Her lady couldn’t possibly be a demon.

If she were, how could Mana remain unscathed while being so close to her?

"Still, be careful just in case."

"Yes..."

Even answering such concerns felt absurd.

Why did everyone insist on calling her lady a demon?

That simple question had taken root in her mind.

It had grown, deepened—

Until it had become an unshakable tree.

And when the tree bore fruit, what would it be?

Certainty? Or doubt?

Mana sighed, feeling the fabric of the laundry in her hands.

Her lady hardly ever left her room.

Aside from bathing, she spent most of her time in bed.

The cat she had brought home rarely appeared anymore.

Most of the time, it was just the two of them.

A woman shrouded in mystery.

And someone who slept a lot.

She fell asleep early in the evening, only to wake late in the morning.

Every time Mana visited at dawn, she would always find her lady fast asleep.

Knock, knock.

"My lady, may I enter?"

"Come in."

When she stepped inside, her lady was sprawled across the bed—just like yesterday.

Pale skin, hazy eyes.

She hesitated, a question rising in her throat.

Was she unwell?

It was a simple question.

And yet, Mana couldn't bring herself to ask it.

"Mana."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Are the collapsed servants alright?"

"...I'm not sure."

There.

Proof that the others were mistaken.

Would a demon be concerned about the well-being of others?

If she had truly done something, Mana would have noticed.

Her lady’s gentle smile made her heart ache.

Looking away, she silently poured tea into a cup.

Her lady always drank warm tea after waking up, perhaps because of how cold her body always felt.

It had become a daily routine.

It made sense—she had only recently awoken from a long unconscious state.

"Kuhh... khhk... kkh."

"My lady?!"

"Cough. Haa... huh."

Yes, how could someone like her possibly be capable of harming others?

Mana rushed to her side, patting her back as she coughed violently.

Drops of blood seeped from the corners of her lips, and Mana’s face paled.

She really was sick.

She had been a fool to think otherwise.

She had assumed that just because her lady had woken up, she had fully recovered.

"Y-You need a doctor! I’ll fetch one immediately!"

"......"

Even as the coughing subsided, her lady’s complexion remained deathly pale.

She looked so frail, so fragile—

Mana couldn’t even bear to imagine what would happen if she collapsed again.

She can’t die now. Not yet.

She still has to clear up these misunderstandings!

Biting her lip, Mana sprinted out of the room.

She couldn’t—she wouldn’t let this go on.

"My lady, please hold on..."

***

Ariel von Leonhardt had always been frail.

She had been so weak at birth that she hadn’t even cried.

Her mother, chilled by the lifeless warmth of her body, had wept, believing her child had been stillborn.

Even as she grew older, death never left her shadow.

Daily fevers and relentless pain tormented her feeble body.

She twisted in agony, swallowing her cries, only to be roused by blinding headaches whenever she finally managed to sleep.

Unconsciousness was the only true rest she had ever known.

But the hardest part was her family’s indifference.

She had never been physically abused.

But their lack of care was its own form of violence, eroding her spirit piece by piece.

Neglect was the cruelest abuse of all.

She could no longer bear it.

She wished to die.

But as her condition stabilized, a different thought emerged.

Wasn’t it their fault?

The people who brought me into this world—weren’t they to blame?

A father who ignored her.

Brothers who sneered at her.

A mother who left her behind in death.

Servants who looked down on her.

Everything led back to one thing—her birth.

And so, naturally, her resentment settled on Duke Leonhardt.

Her poor mother was no longer in this world.

Ariel remembered everything.

This was repayment.

A debt owed, doubled in return.

Kindness repaid fourfold.

It was a belief she had always held.

A frail, pitiful body had once belonged to a girl who sought revenge.

And I—

I was merely carrying out her will.

Ariel von Leonhardt’s offering was effective.

So, in return, her wish would be granted.

It was a simple matter of balance.

"...Things are about to get interesting."