Chapter 11. I Won

The weight in my pocket wasn’t just my imagination. When I went to the station to hire a long-distance carriage, I discovered money secretly slipped in by Nexiard. Thanks to that, I could barely afford the fare.

I ended up sharing the carriage with an elderly couple dressed neatly and modestly. They were warm and sensible people, even offering me meringue cookies they said were from a famous village bakery.

“Our kids have been good to us. Healthy and never causing trouble.”

The wife said, leaning on her husband’s shoulder.

“Since last year, we closed our shop and started traveling.”

Inside the swaying carriage, the elderly couple held hands tightly. Sunlight shattered like jewels through the curtains, and the fine wrinkles on the wife’s face lit up with a gentle glow.

“We realized we never spent any time for ourselves. Life was always about survival,” she continued.

“Me too…”

The wife’s kind smile coaxed words out of me—words that didn’t feel intentional, but rather spilled out on their own. Like ice melting into water at the slightest touch, the knot in my chest unraveled, and my tongue moved without thought.

“That’s why I got on this carriage. For the first time, I set a goal for my life. I’m trying to make it happen.”

“A goal, huh?” The husband, who had nearly dozed off, nodded in admiration. The wife stroked his wrinkled hand.

“You’re a wonderful young lady. Not everyone lives with a goal in mind. May this old woman offer a word of advice? Don’t lose your resolve, even if you’re wandering or the path seems dark.”

“Yes, I’ll try.”

I replied out of politeness, thinking her advice was similarly polite. But then she leaned in like a girl sharing a secret and added with a mischievous smile:

“And if it doesn’t work out, just change the goal. If that still doesn’t work… let it go.”

“What…?”

“Listen, dear. You’re young, far too young. You don’t have to fight life. Sure, life will pick a fight with you, but we’re refined people, aren’t we? Just don’t engage. Oh, am I making it sound too easy? You’re right—it’s hard to ignore life’s provocations. Sometimes, letting go is harder than clinging on. But…”

“…”

“You seemed so solemn that I couldn’t help but give you a little lecture. You don’t have to take it to heart.”

Her words about letting go eased the tension in my shoulders. I thought of my mother, the last person I saw before I was possessed. She’d said something entirely different.

‘If life screws you over, punch it in the face.’

Perhaps that stubbornness is what allowed me to survive despite losing everything, even crawling at rock bottom. But if I intend to live much longer, maybe I should take the wife’s advice and loosen my grip. Life may have beaten me, but I won’t fight it anymore.

The elderly couple disembarked a few stops before me.

“Be happy, dear.”

With that most sincere and common farewell, they disappeared from view.

❖　❖　❖

Once you have a goal, the next step is making a plan. First, money. My funds would run out in two days if I stayed at a decent inn.

Next, identification. Without it, even having money wouldn’t be enough to function in society. I’d never get into the old Royal Academy.

‘I’ll solve this step by step.’

Fortunately, having read the original novel, I had knowledge only the omniscient author would know. There was an upcoming black-market auction where entry required only a ticket and money, not identification. I had my eye on an item there that could bring in even more money.

How to get the funds for the auction had been a concern, but Nexiard solved that problem for me.

“Welcome! How may I assist you today?”

At Billesbury Pawn Shop, one of the busiest in the capital, I placed something on the counter carefully wrapped in cloth.

The pawnbroker, using a magnifying lens, unveiled the item: a dagger aged to perfection. It was Nexiard’s gift to me, and I intended to pawn it.

According to <Bitten by a Mad Dog>, this dagger was crafted by one of the top five blacksmiths in the Ying Empire. Though it wasn’t a one-of-a-kind masterpiece or the artisan’s final work, its discontinuation made it valuable.

“Oh… you’ve brought a fine blade!” the pawnbroker exclaimed.

“I’m glad you recognize it.”

“Of course, of course. This is the best pawn shop in the capital. We know how to assess an item’s true worth!”

True to his word, the pawnbroker offered a fair price for the dagger. He was both honest and polite. Thanks to him, I had enough money to bid aggressively at the auction.

“What an incredible dagger!”

The pawnbroker marveled, holding it up as if it were already his. I glanced at the dagger and silently promised:

‘I’ll come back for you soon.’

❖　❖　❖

A Week Later, I Sat in the Audience of the Black Market Auction with a Golden Ticket Around My Neck.

Rumors had been swirling that this auction would feature treasures from the fallen royal family. Since all royal valuables were now officially property of the new government, these items must have been siphoned off through the hands of some greedy individuals before making their way here.

“Next, we have the cane used by the Limping Grand Duke! It is embedded with fifty sapphires and thirty rubies…”

“Here is a childhood portrait of the queen and her twin sister, painted in the early style of the greatest artist of the Ying Empire…”

Despite the auctioneer’s enthusiastic introductions, these items were of lesser value. They lacked any magical properties.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience! Up next is ‘Arphagiel II of the Guillotine’! It is said that making eye contact with Arphagiel II in the painting will curse you to death. Seven owners of this painting have already perished…”

Now, the real bidding began. Masked participants shifted in their seats, and the room buzzed with excitement. I could hear their nervous swallowing. In an instant, the atmosphere grew feverish.

“Starting at five hundred dur!”

“Seven hundred dur!”

“We have seven hundred! Seven-fifty! Oh, one thousand dur!”

Occult enthusiasts filled the black market, growing more excited over blood-soaked curses. The painting <Arphagiel II of the Guillotine>, which had supposedly killed seven people, eventually sold for seven thousand dur. More high-priced treasures followed in rapid succession.

I had three thousand dur on hand, but there was no rush. After all…

“Next, we have the ‘Jar of Desire.’ Let’s start at four hundred dur, shall we?”

“…”

“Four hundred dur! No takers?”

The auction crowd operated on a network of shared information. They’d already classified the Jar of Desire as a fake. Or at least, they believed it to be.

“…Four hundred fifty dur.”

“Ah, we have four hundred fifty dur!”

I played the part of an ignorant young lady ready to waste a fortune on a worthless fake.

“Five hundred dur!”

It seemed I wasn’t the only fool here. I turned to see a man in a white swan mask raise his card.

“Five hundred dur! We have five hundred dur!”

Not one to back down, I raised my card again.

“Five hundred fifty dur.”

“Five fifty! Do I hear five eighty?”

“Five eighty dur!”

“Six hundred fifty dur.”

“Six sixty dur…”

The bidding intensified. Whenever I nervously bit my nails and called out fifteen hundred dur, the swan mask countered with sixteen hundred. My throat felt parched as tension mounted.

‘I didn’t anticipate this…’

Nothing ever came easy. But it seemed the man in the swan mask was hesitating. He began raising his bids more cautiously.

I gripped my card, running through my calculations in case I lost the Jar of Desire. Slowly, I closed my eyes and reopened them, making my decision.

“Three thousand dur.”

“Ah—three thousand dur! Do I hear any higher?”

“…”

“Three thousand dur! Three thousand dur going once, twice…”

The sharp gaze from the swan mask lingered on me, but I sensed his fading determination.

I won.

“Three thousand dur! Sold for three thousand dur!”

After paying the sum backstage, I received the Jar of Desire. It wasn’t very large, fitting snugly in my arms, and was coated in a garish, fake golden finish.

“Haha! You’ve got a good eye, my lady. Come back next time!” The manager, delighted to have conned a “fool,” grinned from ear to ear.

“Yes, I will.”

There was no need to stay for the rest of the auction. I was heading back to the inn when a voice called out as I neared the entrance. The swan mask was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Hey.”

The fact that he still wore his mask outside the auction house meant he wanted to keep his identity hidden. Best to avoid such people.

“That’s a fake.”

It was a provocative statement. Why had he gone to such lengths to bid on something he knew was fake? And why tell me this now? I wasn’t interested in his reasons. What mattered was that I now possessed the treasure.

“…I know.”

“…”

“Still, thanks for letting me know.”

I bowed lightly and slipped into the dimly lit alley, leaving only the moonlight to follow me. Like a stray cat, I disappeared into the night.