A Mastermind? No, I'm just the Live-In Son-in-Law-Chapter 163: The Promise

“Haa...”

Hestia looked down at the Paladin Commander collapsed on the floor and let out a deep sigh, shaking her head.

“...I really didn’t want to resort to such a brute-force method.”

The man lying unconscious was none other than the Commander of the Paladins—the very shield of the Holy Theocracy, whose body was resistant not only to physical force, but also to most magic and curses.

But Paladins did have one ironic weakness: divine power.

Their immense defensive and regenerative capabilities stemmed from being constantly saturated in massive quantities of sacred energy. Against the usual enemies they faced, that wasn’t an issue.

However, if someone like Hestia, capable of wielding overwhelming divine force—enough to be called a “Saintess”—were to forcibly inject such power into a Paladin, the results would be catastrophic. Overload would set in almost immediately.

“He’s unconscious now, but... won’t this complicate things further?”

“...Ah, don’t worry about that.”

Whitney looked down in concern, but Hestia responded coolly.

“If you inject a Paladin with too much divine power, they experience memory loss.”

“...What?”

“It’s like a hangover. You said it yourself before, remember? Like when your memory ‘cuts out.’”

She muttered casually, pressing two fingers to the Commander’s temple. Whitney stared at her in bewilderment before speaking, uneasy.

“...How exactly do you know that?”

“...Let’s just say I’ve experimented here and there.”

“...What exactly are you doing over in the Theocracy?”

Hestia chuckled and quipped,

“Want to find out? We can share a drink sometime.”

“......”

“Ah, but come to think of it, not during Audit Days. In the Theocracy, alcohol is considered impure unless it’s during a festival or ceremony.”

The Commander, now receiving divine power through his temple, had begun to twitch, eyes rolled back and mouth slightly agape—groaning faintly.

The contrast between that grotesque image and Hestia’s serene smile made the scene all the more surreal.

“He definitely wasn’t like this back in the day.”

“Right? He really wasn’t. How’d we end up here?”

“...Haha.”

“In any case, if you’re not going to help, please step back. If I miscalculate the divine infusion, this could become even more troublesome.”

Startled by her calm warning, Whitney took a step back.

“...Wasn’t I supposed to be the one doing this sort of thing?”

“...What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Muttering with a bitter expression, Whitney trailed off—

“...Hey.”

—and froze when a dazed voice rang out behind him.

“What... is this?”

“......”

“Tell me the truth.”

It was Meredia, standing at the doorway, her face pale and her voice trembling as she stared into the room, unable to believe her eyes.

“What... am I looking at right now?”

“......”

“This is a mistake, right? Just a misunderstanding, right?”

She stared at the very obviously lifeless corpse of the Duke of Embergreen, her voice quivering as she spoke to Whitney.

“...Lady Meredia.”

“I’m listening. Speak.”

She tried to keep calm, but the fear in her voice was unmistakable.

“I was talking with the Duke when... he suddenly checked something, then pulled a gun and shot himself in the head. If I said that, would you beli—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!”

Whitney had barely started before she cut him off with a furious shout.

“That bastard would never do something like suicide. I know him better than anyone!”

“But...”

“Sure, someone who has nothing left to lose might do something reckless—but him? Do you have any idea how much he valued his life!?”

Her eyes burned with rage.

“He was the kind of scum who’d sacrifice the entire Empire just for the chance at immortality!”

Having spent years suffering under him, Meredia knew better than anyone—there /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ was no way he would’ve taken his own life.

“If you don’t tell me the truth, how am I supposed to decide whether to step in or not!?”

“......”

“Tell me the truth. At least to me, okay?”

She clutched at Whitney now, her voice desperate. After watching her in silence, Whitney let out a long sigh and finally spoke.

“...You’re right.”

In that instant, Meredia’s rage turned to a cold, sinking clarity.

“I shot the Duke.”

He confessed it as casually as one might mention swatting a fly—expressionless, calm, but more terrifying than ever.

“...H-Hiiik.”

“Oh god...”

“Dear heavens...”

The servants who had gathered after hearing the commotion turned deathly pale. But Meredia no longer saw them. Her focus was entirely on Whitney.

“He said he’d do everything in his power to stop our engagement. That if we went through with it, he wouldn’t even deliver the letter.”

“...So you killed him for that?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

It was a blatant lie.

But shockingly, even Meredia—who could usually see right through Whitney’s lies—was fooled this time. Maybe it was his ever-slitted eyes, or maybe it was the perfect poker face.

Whatever it was, even Meredia couldn’t detect the falsehood.

“Why... Why would you make such a rookie mistake...”

“......”

“Was it really because you thought you wouldn’t be able to marry me? Are you that much of an idiot?”

Her hands trembled as she spoke, spiraling rapidly.

“N-No, never mind. What’s done is done. First, we need to cover this up—hide the body, fake an alibi, and then...”

Her gaze drifted—right to Hestia, still calmly working beside the corpse.

“...We’ll have to silence everyone who knows about this.”

And just as her eyes began to glow red—

“There’s no need for that.”

“...!?”

“Actually, it would be better not to.”

Whitney stepped in just in time, placing a hand over her eyes and gently lowering her head.

“I’ve already come to an agreement with the Saintess.”

“...What?”

“She’s currently tampering with the Paladin Commander’s memory. Soon, he won’t even remember seeing the corpse.”

As the words registered, Meredia slowly began to breathe again.

“...Then.”

Now collected, she swept a frigid gaze across the remaining servants.

“L-Lady Meredia!”

“P-Please, you’re not thinking of—”

Panicked, they began to inch backward from her palpable bloodlust.

“Lady Meredia, I said it’s not necessary.”

“...But still.”

“Please. Put your eyes back to normal.”

Whitney’s voice steadied the tension, and she finally calmed herself.

“...We won’t be able to hide this forever.”

“I could create a long-term illusion of the Duke if I stepped in, but that won’t hold up forever.”

Her voice softened—tinged with worry now, rather than wrath.

“So let me handle everything—”

“I’ll take the fall.”

Whitney cut her off.

“...What did you just say?”

“I started this. I’ll take responsibility.”

“That’s not happening!!!”

The scream that tore through the room was so filled with desperation, it didn’t even sound like it came from Meredia.

“Then I’ll take the blame. I might not avoid punishment, but if we argue it was self-defense, maybe we can work something out—”

“......”

“You can’t. Whitney, you can’t. You won’t survive this.”

Her voice was trembling now. Whitney met her gaze, face sharp.

“I have a plan.”

She stopped speaking.

“I’ll settle everything within a week. By then, the Duke’s death won’t even matter.”

“...What exactly are you planning to end?”

She looked at him now with a pale, frightened face.

Whitney exhaled softly and replied,

“Forget I said that. A slip of the tongue.”

“...What are you ending?”

“I meant... your curse. That’s what I meant.”

It was a flimsy, nonsensical answer—completely uncharacteristic of Whitney’s usual composure.

“...I see.”

But Meredia could only nod.

“Fine. Then promise me something.”

No matter how frightening Whitney’s expressions had been in the past, Meredia had never truly feared him.

But right now—more than anyone else in the room—he terrified her.

“When this is over, let’s get married. Okay?”

“......”

“If you even think about turning yourself in and taking the blame alone, I’ll never forgive you. Got it?”

Was it a woman’s intuition—or simply that, with her panic fading, her instincts for detecting lies had returned?

“Hey, your answer...?”

Somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Whitney—though standing right in front of her—was already moving far, far away. As if he was disappearing, just as suddenly as he had once appeared before her.

“...I was the one who suggested it, wasn’t I?”

“......”

“Of course I’ll keep that promise.”

With a soft smile, Whitney hooked his pinky around hers.

“This is...?”

“It’s a custom from the Eastern Continent. A gesture that signifies an unbreakable promise.”

Hearing that, Meredia gave a small nod and whispered:

“Cleanup squad. Move in.”

Masked individuals wearing gloves pushed past the trembling servants and began entering the room.

“Just know one thing.”

Turning back, Meredia glared at Whitney and left a final warning.

“If you break that promise, I will kill you.”

“...Ahaha.”

“Even if the world ends, I’ll survive somehow and chase you to the ends of existence—just to kill you.”

Whitney chuckled awkwardly—but had he remembered where he’d heard those exact words before, he might not have looked so calm.

After all... he’d already heard them once.