The Lord has returned.
This came as quite a surprise to the castle staff. Deep down, many of them had half-expected their new lord to flee from the castle's supposed curse, never to be seen again. Still, they'd fulfilled their duties faithfully—after all, they were being paid to work. Black had told them he'd be back within a month, and if he hadn't shown up by then, they'd have figured out their next steps.
But here he was, returning right on schedule. What's more, he'd brought ten burly warriors with him (or so they appeared to the servants). Naturally, this became the talk of the castle. But as mere employees, they knew better than to gossip too much. Nobles always had their secrets and eccentricities—matters far beyond the concerns of ordinary folk.
Among them all, perhaps only little Irene paid no mind to such complicated thoughts. In truth, she had far more important things to focus on.
"Your tea, my lady."
Dressed in a slightly oversized maid's uniform, Irene walked steadily over to Ofalil, curtsied gently, and placed the teacup from her tray onto the table beside the former princess. Ofalil picked up the cup without a word, took a small sip, and closed her eyes.
The girl clutched her tray nervously, watching the woman before her. Black sat nearby, an amused smile playing on his lips, waiting for Ofalil's "verdict."
Finally, Ofalil opened her eyes, and the serious expression on her face softened into a faint smile.
"You've passed."
"—!"
At those words, Irene gasped in delighted surprise. Her eyes lit up as she glanced at Old Marfa standing beside her. Only Irene knew what kind of trials and training she'd endured during Black and the others' absence. Back when she was just a simple village girl, Irene had thought being a servant was nothing more than waiting on one's master and following orders. But since being hired by Black, she'd learned that servitude involved far more work—and far more rules—than she'd ever imagined.
"..."
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but then closed it again, simply gazing at Ofalil with eyes brimming with excitement and eagerness. While Black was the lord of the castle, it was this beautiful young lady who held the authority to make personnel decisions.
"You may leave now, Irene. We'll send for you if we need anything."
"Yes, Lady Ofalil."
Though bursting with joy, Irene remembered Old Marfa's teachings. She curtsied once more, then turned and walked out of the room, a bright, sunny smile spreading across her cute little face.
"She's a lovely girl," Black commented once Irene had left. Unlike Ofalil, he paid little attention to the castle's day-to-day administration. Even in his past life, his interests had always lain in playing all sorts of interesting "games" with his friends and enemies. Matters like this had always been handled by his subordinates—and such "mundane" concerns were never something he'd bothered himself with.
"Not exactly beautiful, but definitely lovely."
"Indeed," Ofalil nodded, then glanced toward the door, a touch of melancholy in her eyes.
"Many nobles have a fondness for girls like her. They grow tired of beautiful women after a while…"
"Is that what you're worried about?" Black raised an eyebrow. Who would have thought the former princess was something of a feminist?
"No," Ofalil shook her head. She lowered her gaze, as if lost in memory or deep in thought.
"This was just a chance I gave myself."
Clearly, she had no intention of continuing this topic. She lifted her head, her bright, clear eyes locking onto Black's.
"Now then, Lord Black, I believe it's time we attended to today's business."
"Of course…" Faced with those transparent eyes, Black trailed off for a moment. Ever since returning to the castle, Ofalil seemed to be "getting back at him" for his earlier tests by insisting on "discussing" every aspect of the castle's operation with him.
"Any problems?"
"We're short-staffed!" Ofalil bit her lip, looking at Black with a hint of triumph. He'd bombarded her with all that talk about warrior classes, and while she'd learned a great deal, it hadn't made her forget the little prank he'd played on her—her right hand still throbbed faintly at the memory. So she didn't mind putting him on the spot a little in an area where she excelled. So far, though, Black had handled every problem she'd thrown at him with ease, much to the former princess's chagrin.
"Short-staffed?" Black leaned back in his chair, hands folded, looking at the young woman before him with curiosity.
"But I thought we had enough people. Four is a bit few, sure, but isn't it more than enough to take care of just you and me?"
"It would be, if it were just the two of us, my lord," Ofalil raised an eyebrow.
"But nobles need to socialize—they visit each other, they hold parties. What if another noble decides to pay you a visit one day? What will they see? A castle run by only four people? Oh, and only one maid at that? What will we say? 'I'm sorry, honored sir, but we're short-staffed—please wait a moment while we hire some temporary help'? My lord, surely you don't want to give other nobles an excuse to mock us, do you?"
"Then how many people do you think we need?"
"At the very least…" Ofalil paused, thinking carefully before giving her answer.
"Thirty."
"Thirty?" Black finally looked taken aback.
"Aren't you being a bit excessive? Let's be honest—right now, there's not a single noble in the kingdom who'd be crazy enough to come chat with me in this castle, is there? Don't forget—this place is supposed to be cursed. The previous lords all met violent ends. Chances are, in the eyes of other nobles, I'm just the next poor fool who'll wake up dead one morning. I don't think they'll be lining up to visit. Besides, where are we supposed to find thirty people?"
While Black's recruitment drive in Twilight Town was still ongoing, besides the four they already had, no one else in the town seemed willing to work at the ancient castle—they were all still too scared. The only ones who'd dared to take the jobs were people like Marfa, who took great pride in her family's history of serving the castle, and Old Benba, who had no family left. Even Irene probably wouldn't have come if her parents hadn't died and she hadn't been unable to find any other work in the town at the age of ten. The old mayor had been quite helpless about the situation, but Black had taken it all in stride. If no one wanted to come, so be it—after all, they had enough people for now.
The only pity was that the spirit warriors hadn't yet absorbed enough soul energy to fully materialize their physical forms. If they had, they could have put on maid uniforms and handled these chores—after all, one of the reasons they existed in the first place was to serve someone who was now gone. Such work would have been child's play for them. Unfortunately, though, not even Judy, the most advanced among them, had gathered enough soul energy to take on a human form. So Black had been forced to abandon that idea.
"Then we could buy slaves," Ofalil frowned, exasperated by her lord's apparent lack of concern.
"Even in peacetime, it's not hard to find well-trained slaves, my lord. I'm sure you understand what I mean."
"We can think about it later, can't we?" As always, Black brushed off her suggestion with his usual easygoing demeanor.
"We've got plenty of time. Why don't we focus on the town's development instead? That's what's really important right now…"
But he never got to finish his sentence. At that moment, there was a soft knock at the door. Irene walked into the room, her fair, lovely face etched with a hint of nervousness.
"My lord, there's someone here to see you."
Standing in the spacious hall, Thomson sat quietly on the sofa, studying the castle carefully.
As a noble's servant, Thomson had worked for House Byrd for thirty years. He'd met countless nobles and visited countless castles and estates. But somehow… he'd never seen a place quite like this. From the outside, Twilight Castle looked dilapidated and worn-down. But stepping inside, Thomson realized his first impression had been wrong. The interior, while spacious, was spotlessly clean and tidy, and the furniture was arranged with surprising care. To the trained eye of a seasoned servant, Thomson could even discern subtle details that spoke volumes—the family crest hung prominently in the center of the hall, high above, with suits of armor and swords displayed on either side below it. These were age-old traditions of the nobility, ways to showcase their family's glory and the path by which they'd risen to power.
Still, the crest itself seemed rather peculiar…
Thomson frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at the emblem above. Just then, a young man's voice echoed through the hall.
"Welcome to my castle, honored guest."
At the sound, Thomson immediately tore his gaze away from the crest. He focused on the young man descending the stairs toward him, and bowed slightly.
"Greetings, noble lord."
He removed his hat and pressed it to his chest, bowing his head respectfully.
"I bring you greetings from Viscount Von Byrd of House Byrd."
"Please convey my gratitude to his lordship," Black replied with flawless courtesy.
"May I ask the purpose of your visit…?"
"Oh, of course," Thomson straightened his back, then reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed letter embossed with gold leaf.
"As I'm sure you're aware, this region—the Twilight Forest—has been without a lord for quite some time. Until recently, it was under the administration of House Byrd. As such, Viscount Von wishes to pay you a personal visit, and to hand over the official documents pertaining to your rightful lands."
"I see," Black looked suitably "enlightened," then broke into his usual elegant, charming smile.
"His visit would be most welcome, of course. When does Lord Von intend to set out?"
"If you have no objections, my master will depart in ten days' time," Thomson replied promptly.
"Then I shall eagerly await his arrival. Thank you for bringing me this good news," Black said, gesturing politely.
"Then…"
"There's no need for refreshments, my lord. I must hurry back to deliver your reply to my master. I'm certain he'll be deeply touched by your warm welcome."
With that, Thomson took his leave. After seeing him off, Black turned back to find Ofalil standing on the stairs, watching him silently. He gave her a helpless smile.
"Ten days…"
"At the very least, we need ten people, my lord!"
It was Ofalil's final, unyielding demand.