Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 41

When Calliope heard that a letter had arrived, she rushed downstairs, nearly tripping in her hurry, and snatched it from the mail servant’s hands.
Since she had sent a letter to Isaac before evening yesterday, she naturally assumed this was his reply.

But the name on the envelope was completely unexpected.

“What? Otis Glayderth?”

Her brow furrowed sharply, unable to hide her irritation.
After running away from her in such a panic that day, why would he send a letter now?
Feeling uneasy, Calliope tore opens the envelope right there and began to read.

“He wants to… be friends?”

The letter was unnecessarily long and overly formal, but the main point was clear:
“I know you like me, but I have no intention of getting engaged. However, I think we can be friends.
Again, just to be clear—there’s no chance of engagement. Please don’t get the wrong idea.”

“Did he eat something bad or what?” Calliope muttered.

She gave the letter a bored look, ready to toss it aside— but then she paused, a thought crossing her mind.
Maybe, just maybe, Otis Glayderth could be useful for pressing down Erben Esteban’s pride.

Smiling faintly, she carefully folded the letter back up.

“Well, friends aren’t so bad.”

She didn’t know what had prompted Otis to send her such a ridiculous letter,
but she was already planning to make good use of it.
Don’t worry, friend, she thought. I’m not cruel enough to use you without offering something in return.
I’ll make sure you never realize you’re being used— and I’ll even give you a fair reward. That’s what friends are for, right?

In Calliope’s mind, Otis had already become her “dearest friend.”

After sending her reply to Otis, Calliope naturally made her way to the annex.
It had been a while since she visited Ditron Anastas.

After steadily consuming Ronz and Widdy, Ditron was now so weak he couldn’t even leave his bed.
At this point, all he could do was breathe and blink.
His body was almost completely paralyzed.

Deyloren, who hated Ditron with a deep, quiet rage, showed no pity.
She followed Calliope’s instructions perfectly, without hesitation.

“Great-grandfather, I’m here,” Calliope said softly.

She quietly approached and sat down in the chair that was always placed by his bedside.
It had been prepared for her—because she was the only one who ever visited him.
How pathetic his life turned out, she thought.

Calliope gently took his stiff, cold hand.
Ditron moved his eyes slightly, managing to look at her and blink.

Massaging his hardened hand, Calliope spoke kindly,
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
I’ve been so busy with all sorts of things.”

As if on cue, Deyloren entered with a small bowl of herbal medicine—a special plant powder mixed with water.
Calliope accepted it, scooped a spoonful with a silver spoon, and brought it carefully to Ditron’s lips.

“This is a very rare regenerative herb.
I thought it might help your broken body, so I worked hard to get it,” she said sweetly.

A faint twitch appeared in Ditron’s dry, lifeless eyes.
Calliope gently placed the spoon at his slightly parted lips and helped him drink.
She repeated the careful feeding several times, watching his throat move weakly.

Her movements were slow and reverent,
so gentle that anyone watching would think she truly loved and cared for him.

After emptying the bowl, Calliope handed it back to Deyloren.

“You can leave us,” she said.

Deyloren bowed silently and left, but her sharp eyes lingered on Calliope a moment longer before disappearing.

Now alone with the old man who could no longer speak, Calliope finally began saying all the things she had been holding inside for so long. Her voice was slow, steady, almost like she was reading from a holy book.

Ditron’s frail body began to tremble. “Honestly, I thought about dragging this out a bit longer.
But after meeting Isaac yesterday, my mood got so much better that I decided to speed things up,” she said cheerfully.

Smiling—a cold, moonlight-like smile— Calliope squeezed his trembling hand a little harder.

“Considering what you did to my mother—and to me— I should have left you here to rot for much longer.
But either way, you were always going to suffer.”

Ditron’s whole body was shaking now, so much that even the bed began to tremble.
Calliope gazed down at him with not a hint of warmth in her eyes.

His bloodshot eyes, full of swirling emotions—fear, rage, regret—were impossible for her to read.
All she could see was the red veins bursting across the whites of his eyes.

“Tulan,” she said, her voice lowering to a whisper, “is an amazing regenerative herb. When dried thoroughly before use, its healing effects become even stronger. But usually, people don’t use it that way. Do you know why?”

She leaned in close and sang the next words into his ear like a lullaby from hell.

“Because it causes unbearable pain— the kind that makes it feel like your blood vessels are burning from the inside out.”

Strictly speaking, it was the combination of Tulan with the lingering effects of Ronz and Widdy that triggered this agony.
But Calliope didn’t bother explaining that part. To be honest, even she wasn’t completely sure which one was responsible.

She had learned about Tulan from the old memoirs of a saintess.
They had suffered countless trials to defeat the Demon King— some of which they had inflicted upon themselves to grow stronger.
Ronz, Widdy, and Tulan were part of those cruel self-inflicted trials.

Poor Isaac, she thought bitterly. He had been forced to endure so much because of those very herbs.

“You always wished for a long life, didn’t you, Great-grandfather?”
Calliope said sweetly.
“Well, don’t worry. Even if it hurts terribly… you’ll live for a long, long time.”

The effects of the medicines clashed inside him, causing only unbearable pain.
Still, there was no doubt the regenerative herb would keep him alive.

“It will hurt terribly,” Calliope said sweetly, “but you won’t die.”

His paralyzed body, unable even to scream properly, twisted in agonizing, burning pain.
A rough sound—halfway between a gasp for air and a choked-off cry—escaped him before it too was silenced.
Calliope’s smile deepened. Her pretty face wore an angelic, gentle expression.

“Great-grandfather,” she called softly.

Her silver hair fell over him like a web of spider silk.
In the middle of that web, her pale face and burning red eyes gleamed like a faraway light guiding him to another world.
As Ditron’s eyes bulged halfway out of their sockets from the agony, Calliope spoke to him in the most tender voice anyone could imagine.

“You must live a very, very long time.”

In this endless suffering.

Her sorrowful voice sounded so genuinely concerned— so much like a loving granddaughter speaking to her dear grandfather— that even as Ditron slipped into unconsciousness, he felt nothing but terror.

He wished that when he opened his eyes, this nightmare would be over. But cruelly, the only future awaiting him was the bottomless pit she had dug. A place with no path forward, no way out— a living hell.

Calliope watched his unconscious, pitiful old face for a moment, smiling quietly.
Then she turned and walked silently out of the room.

Deyloren was standing right outside the door, waiting for her.
Calliope approached her with the same sweet, gentle face she had shown Ditron.

“From now on,” she instructed, “feed him Ronz and Widdy tea once a day at a set time, to make sure the paralysis never wears off.
Exactly thirty minutes after that, when the next wave of paralysis hits, give him dried Tulan.”

“Understood,” Deyloren replied.

Calliope intended to keep him alive for a very long time.
She would paralyze his body, feed him the searing regenerative herb, and trap him in a cycle of endless suffering— never allowing him the mercy of death.

A curious smile touched her lips.

“I wonder,” she murmured lightly,
“which will happen first: will he die… or will he go insane?”

Back in her room, Calliope felt strangely melancholic.
It had been satisfying to destroy Ditron like that— but seeing him writhe in agony made memories of Isaac resurface.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how much he must have suffered back then.

How much pain did he endure?
How much despair did he feel?
The thought clung to her.

She was lost in those memories when a sudden summons from the Marchioness snapped her out of it.

“You called for me?”

Entering the office, Calliope found herself under the sharp gaze of Circe.
The Marchioness gestured for her to sit on the sofa.

“How long do you intend to continue?” Circe asked.

Calliope blinked a few times before realizing Circe was talking about Ditron.
She simply smiled—a radiant, innocent smile, as if incapable of sending someone to hell.

“Hmm, maybe until I get bored?”

As expected, she’s terrifyingly sharp, Calliope thought.
She quickly masked her true feelings and sat gracefully.

“I won’t drag it out forever,” she added lightly.

Circe gave a small nod, as if saying she wouldn’t pry further, even though she clearly wanted to.

“I’ll personally oversee your debutante ball,” Circe said.

“Is that my reward for a job well done?”

“Exactly.”

“Then I’ll gladly accept.
Ah, and I’ll be quite busy for a while,” Calliope added with a shy, downcast gaze, even blushing a little.

Circe frowned slightly.

“Busy plotting something else?”

“No,” Calliope said, lowering her voice bashfully.
“Now that I’m engaged, I’m planning to have a public love affair for the whole world to see.”

Circe looked completely at a loss for words.

“…You must really like him,” she finally said.

“Well, he’s handsome,” Calliope replied without hesitation.

“……”

“And cute.”

“……”

“And he has a great body.”

“……”

“And he’s thrilling.”

“…If you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” Circe said at last, her tone resigned.

After sending Calliope off, Circe returned to her paperwork, though her face remained troubled.
The maid standing nearby smiled warmly as she poured new tea and asked,

“Are you worried, my lady?”

“It’s ridiculous, honestly,” Circe said, annoyed.
“To think she would pass up a Glayderth for something like this.”

“It’s only natural to feel bittersweet when your daughter is about to marry,” the maid said gently.

“We’re not really mother and daughter,” Circe replied firmly.

“True enough.”

Circe quickly brushed aside her feelings, focusing back on the documents.
The maid stood properly by her side in silence.

The soft scratching of the pen against the paper repeated again and again, twenty times or more, then suddenly stopped.

The maid, who had been waiting for that moment, turned and looked at Circe with a serene smile.

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