Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess-Chapter 336 - Count on the count

“—I received a report that monsters were sighted near Stillshire as well, but the mercenaries we hired to guard the keep and surrounding villages managed to deal with them,” Evelyne said, flipping through a thick stack of papers in front of Scarlett. “The incursions still seem concentrated on larger settlements. I suppose that’s a silver lining — if barely.”

Scarlett nodded absently, her gaze skimming a document spread across the desk. “The Tribe may have assembled an impressive horde for these attacks, but their numbers are not inexhaustible. It stands to reason they would focus on key settlements. Centres of infrastructure and supply.”

“Reasonable doesn’t mean reassuring,” Evelyne half-muttered, setting one set of papers aside and pulling another towards her, rifling through the pages with practised ease. Her reading speed had always been impressive.

“What’s this?” A faint frown formed on her brow. “…Baron Gresham has apparently refused outright to provide any aid for the relief efforts or military operations. He’s denying support to all afflicted regions. What in the world is he thinking?”

“None of his holdings have yet to suffer directly from the attacks, so he does not see himself as obligated to act,” Scarlett said. “That was, at least, the reasoning he offered during the gathering I attended.”

“And the others accepted that?”

“Count Knottley was not particularly pleased, no.”

Evelyne scoffed. “Of course not. Baron Gresham’s fiefs hold some of the largest grain reserves south of Stepmond. It’s a miracle they haven’t already been seized. With the stores lost in the latest attacks, the city is going to need those supplies to get through the season.”

“Then I imagine the Count will act against him before long,” Scarlett replied, idly tapping a finger against the desk. “He will hardly be the only noble attempting to sidestep his obligations in the coming weeks.”

Evelyne shook her head. “This is all such a mess. How are we supposed to get through this if these attacks continue at this rate? I truly hope the Empyreal Barrier actually makes a difference.”

“It may,” Scarlett said. “Even so, I expect the situation will continue to deteriorate.”

Evelyne looked up, brow furrowing further. “…Is that part of the future you’ve seen?”

“Indeed it is.”

Worry flickered across Evelyne’s expression. “What exactly will happen?”

Scarlett paused, lifting her eyes from her reading to meet Evelyne’s gaze. For a moment, she was silent, noting the slight inflammation around the covered patch of skin along the younger woman’s face.

“…What was once predetermined has changed, so I cannot say with certainty. However, even if we restrict the Tribe and the Cabal, they will not yield easily. And, as you may have already heard whispers of, the Undead Council will not remain idle much longer. The empire is beset by threats on all sides. That is to say nothing of the other disasters yet to come.”

“Such as?”

“The Resting Eye erupting in the near future, to name one.”

Evelyne's eyes widened. “Is there anything we can do about it?”

“There is not.”

“…When will it happen?”

“I do not know,” Scarlett said. “The cause is the stirring of the ancient dragon that sleeps beneath the Resting Eye. The exact timing will depend on its actions, and those have proven to be…unpredictable.”

Evelyne simply stared at her, then slowly lowered her gaze. “There’s an ancient dragon beneath the Resting Eye…?” she mumbled, as if struggling to process the revelation. Scarlett briefly wondered whether she should maybe have withheld that particular detail.

A silence followed until Evelyne eventually looked back up, though she didn’t speak.

After several moments, Scarlett arched a brow. “Is there something you wish to say?”

Evelyne hesitated, then let out a quiet breath. “Having knowledge of the future should be reassuring, but somehow, you only manage to make it the opposite, Scarlett.”

“…I can hardly be held responsible for the chaotic nature of this world,” Scarlett said.

Evelyne gave another light shake of her head as she turned back to her papers. “With all that you’ve told me, I’m not sure I would be surprised if even that turned out to be wrong.”

Before Scarlett could respond, a knock came at the door. Then Garside stepped inside.

“My lady, Lady Evelyne.” The grey-haired butler inclined his head in his usual composed manner, directing his attention to Scarlett. “My Lady, Count Knottley has arrived, as per scheduled. He is waiting in the parlour.”

“I see. Inform him we will be there shortly.”

“As you wish, My Lady.”

With a bow, Garside exited.

Evelyne turned to Scarlett, surprise showing on her face. “Count Knottley is here?”

Scarlett nodded. “He is.”

“You were expecting him?”

“I was. You should have been as well. After all, he is here to meet with you. Did I not inform you?”

“What? No, you didn’t.”

“It must have slipped my mind.” Scarlett rose from her seat. “No matter. You are not presently engaged with anything urgent, so you have time to join me. Come. Let us not keep our guest waiting.”

The quiet clink of porcelain accompanied the rich aroma of dark tea as Garside poured the drink, setting a fresh cup before Count Knottley. At the centre of the parlour’s ornate table sat an untouched platter of light pastries and sugared fruits. The polished silverware gleamed softly in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the broad windows, scattering reflections onto the white marble floor.

Despite the mild midday warmth, an odd stiffness lingered between the room’s occupants. It wasn’t outright tense, but more of a drifting formality, as if the atmosphere was still searching for the right mood to settle into.

Scarlett, for her part, remained indifferent, sipping her carefully prepared tea without hurry.

To her right, Evelyne sat primly on the sofa, lifting her own cup with the fingers of her uninjured hand curled neatly around the delicate handle. Beside her, Lady Withersworth appeared perfectly at ease, taking a slow, familiar sip like the very image of polished nobility.

Across from them, Count Knottley—with his broad shoulders and solid frame—looked somewhat out of place in the refined setting. Though he handled his teacup with all the care expected of a well-mannered nobleman, the contrast between him and the rest of them was…hard not to notice.

He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “It’s good to see you well, Evelyne,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “It’s been some time since we last spoke in person.”

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Evelyne was silent for a moment. Her grip tightened just slightly before she carefully set her cup back onto the saucer.

“…Yes, it has,” she eventually replied.

Her eyes flicked to Scarlett and Lady Withersworth, as if trying to gauge whether they knew more about this meeting than she did. It had been obvious since they arrived that Knottley’s attention was focused mainly on her, and for some reason, she seemed vaguely unsettled by being the unexpected centre of attention.

Lady Withersworth’s lips quirked into a faintly amused smile as she studied the younger woman, then turned her gaze to the count.

“My, my. It’s been years, and yet you still manage to look so comically out of place among us refined ladies, Guifford,” she said. “With that brutish frame of yours, I sometimes wonder how in the world you ended up with such a charming daughter. The girl must take after her mother’s side.”

Knottley exhaled sharply, though not quite in irritation, more in resignation, almost as though he’d accepted that such jabs were inevitable the moment he realised Lady Withersworth would be present. Scarlett was aware there was some history between the two.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Lila,” he said dryly. “When exactly did you meet my daughter?”

“I do try to remain consistent in my twilight years.” The woman chuckled, taking another sip of tea. “And Baroness Hartford here was kind enough to introduce us during the Tyndal Ball — before that dreadful mess began.”

“Hmph.” Knottley grunted, casting a look at Scarlett. “I see.”

Scarlett wondered if he was blaming her for allowing Lady Withersworth to join them here. Surely he knew that the woman was currently staying at the estate, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Did he think Scarlett wanted to hide his visit? If so, he was giving her and himself far too much credit. It wasn’t as if she cared that much.

Besides, Lady Withersworth’s presence served as a useful distraction. Scarlett had witnessed plenty of imposing nobles knocked slightly off balance by the older woman’s effortless mannerisms. They had a way of evening the playing field. And given Lady Withersworth’s extensive connections, Scarlett suspected that few people—maybe only the emperor himself—could outmanoeuvre her in a ‘casual’ exchange.

After a moment, Knottley turned back to her. “So, what are you doing here, Lila? As far as I know, you had no ties to Castor, and the Hartford barony never had dealings with your husband. Since when have you taken such an interest in another noble’s personal affairs?”

The amusement in Lady Withersworth’s expression didn’t fade. “It is only right to repay one’s debts, wouldn’t you say? These brave sisters have both saved my life — and that of my family. The Baroness has aided us in other ways as well. Offering this old set of bones in service for a few minor matters is the least I can do.”

Knottley gave her a pointed look. “If what I have heard is true, what you’ve been involved in is anything but ‘minor matters’. I dread to imagine what scheme you’re really running.”

Lady Withersworth smiled over the rim of her teacup. “Oh, perish the thought. Must you always assume the worst? Sometimes, an old woman is simply repaying kindness where it is due. Besides—” she gestured subtly towards Scarlett and Evelyne, “aren’t they such dears to be around?”

Knottley’s eyes shifted to Scarlett, and she could practically see the skepticism etched into his face. If she didn’t object so much to being called ‘such a dear’ herself, she might have had something to say about that expression.

He was silent for a while, then finally turned towards the broad windows overlooking the rear grounds of the estate. Beyond the glass, the landscape lay quiet — dormant flower beds, patches of stone, and a light dusting of snow. His gaze narrowed slightly on the edge of the hedge garden, where the bare branches gave way to the faintest traces of green deeper within.

“That’s it, then?” he asked, his voice low with a note of restrained interest. “Where the Barrier’s pylon is meant to go?”

Scarlett gave a small nod. “Yes. Preparations are now underway. I have been informed that the foundations will be ready in mere days.”

Though the Loci’s garden wasn’t visible from here, a team of wizards and specialised workers was currently hard at work laying the necessary groundwork for converting the Loci’s home into the site for Freybrook’s pylon. Delays from the latest attacks had complicated the timeline, but Scarlett had managed to negotiate favourable terms for allowing the structure to be placed on her land.

Initially, she’d had her concerns that housing the pylon might constrict her movements or draw unwanted scrutiny. However, the overseeing officials had proven surprisingly flexible with their demands, provided the site remained secure and accessible when they really needed it. A small detachment of knights had been stationed beyond the estate’s perimeter, their patrols covering the area, but as long as they refrained from entering the estate itself, Scarlett found their presence tolerable enough. If anything, it served as an added buffer against the Cabal.

Knottley let out a gruff sound, taking another sip of his tea as he watched the garden. “It’s an ambitious project,” he muttered. “And a necessary one, I suppose, given the state of things.”

Scarlett regarded him. “Yes. Perhaps.”

“Though I question the wisdom of placing the pylon here,” he added, turning back to her. “In your garden, of all places.”

“Why, I find it rather charming,” Lady Withersworth said. “Certainly more character than one of those dreary old towers.” She lifted her own cup with a graceful hand. “And that delightful little house spirit the Baroness has taken to sheltering gives the place such a lovely atmosphere.”

Knottley looked at her. “You’ve seen it? This…’house spirit’?”

“Naturally. I sometimes take a pleasant evening stroll through its garden. It reminds me of wandering about with my boor of a husband in our youth. Like most men, he was much more tolerable then.”

The count’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and he cast a sidelong glance at Scarlett. “I assume it’s something you introduced after taking over the estate. What exactly is it?”

Scarlett tapped a finger lightly against her teacup. “As of a few days ago? An imperial secret.”

Knottley frowned.

“If you wish for further details,” she continued, “I suggest you speak with those now tasked with its security.”

He half-glared at her for several seconds before shaking his head in frustration. Evelyne, watching closely, then broke the silence.

“Not to steer the conversation off topic,” she said, eyeing Knottley, “but if I may ask, Count…what was the purpose of your visit today?”

There was a barely perceptible shift in Knottley’s posture. His shoulders stiffened by a fraction, an even deeper crease growing between his brows as his gaze flickered towards Scarlett. After a moment, he exhaled through his nose and set his cup down with a deliberate clink. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, he leaned back slightly.

A quiet pause stretched. The man watched Evelyne for some time, who, in turn, shifted somewhat in her seat, traces of uncertainty crossing her face as if wondering whether she had said or done something wrong.

Scarlett simply observed the exchange, unimpressed. She had already gathered that Count Knottley wasn’t the most subtle of men, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite this inelegant about what he wanted to say. If this was his version of hesitation, it was almost painful to watch. Given that Evelyne was someone he had known since she was born, Scarlett had thought he’d manage something with a little more tact.

If this continued any longer, they would be sitting here all afternoon.

“He is here to ensure I am not keeping you prisoner or otherwise controlling your actions through nefarious means,” Scarlett said at last, lifting her cup. “Despite ample evidence to the contrary, he remains concerned that I have bartered my soul—and the blood of countless innocents—to demons in exchange for power and influence.”

“Oh my.” Lady Withersworth raised a hand to her mouth.

Knottley’s gaze snapped to Scarlett, his expression hardening, a sharp intensity flashing in his eyes. Evelyne blinked, looking between them before focusing on Scarlett.

“Was I not supposed to tell her that?” Scarlett asked, tilting her head ever-so-slightly. “My apologies.”

Knottley scowled, and she could see the vein in his forehead threatening to surface.

…How come she always seemed to enjoy needling him so? Was that something she had inherited from the original Scarlett?

“Is… Is that really true?” Evelyne asked carefully, her expression unreadable as she turned back to Knottley.

For a few seconds, he remained locked in silent glare with Scarlett. Then he looked at Evelyne. His arms tightened across his chest, his face grave. “…I only wanted to make sure that Castor’s daughters were safe. That is all.”

“I was not aware my well-being was part of that concern,” Scarlett remarked. “Should I consider myself honoured?”

“You have always been a stubborn man, Guifford,” Lady Withersworth said with a tickled lilt, “but I never quite took you for one with such an active imagination.”

Knottley seemed to ignore them both. His gaze firmly settled on Evelyne. “Given recent events and circumstances, as well as your sister’s uncharacteristic actions, I have had my apprehensions. That much is true.”

Evelyne was quiet for a while, then let out a slow breath. “I… I can understand why you’d feel that way,” she admitted, briefly glancing at Scarlett before returning to him. “A lot has changed with her. I won’t deny that. It’s complicated, but…it’s not something bad.”

He studied her for a long moment, his frown deepening. “Is that really true?” His tone was harsh, but not forceful. “If you’re being pressured into saying that—if there’s anything you need to tell me—I will help you. Here and now.”

Evelyne’s eyes widened again before she lifted her uninjured hand, palm forward. “No. It’s nothing like that.” She shook her head slowly, her voice turning more firm. “I mean it. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

Knottley’s frown didn’t ease entirely, but his gaze might have softened just a fraction. “Then explain to me how a person changes as completely as she has.”

Evelyne bit her lip. Her gaze drifted to Scarlett, as if looking for some kind of answer, before finally sighing. “That’s…probably not something I can talk about,” she said. “But I can promise you that it’s not what you fear.”

A heavy silence followed.

Knottley sat there, considering her words. His eyes moved to Scarlett, still calmly sipping her tea like this conversation didn’t have anything to do with her. Then, after another pause, he glanced towards Lady Withersworth, as though trying to read the older woman’s face for any sign of deception.

Eventually, he seemed to give up, leaning back further and lowering his arms. It wasn’t exactly an admission of acceptance, but maybe it was something close.

Just as the tension began to ebb, the parlour door opened. A servant entered quickly, his face tight and in a hurry. “My Lady, forgive the intrusion, but there’s urgent news from the capital.”

Everyone straightened. Knottley’s jaw tensed.

“Another attack?” he asked.

The servant shook his head. “No, but…”

Scarlett set her teacup down.

She’d been worried this moment would come.