Chantelle was my lady’s mother, but I didn’t quite have fond memories with the maid who had stumbled on us. She had aged, her hair all grey, and the branding hid her features along with the sagging cheeks, so it was hard to recognize her. Nevertheless, even time cannot win against the undead.

The woman was Chantelle’s maid, who had accompanied her most of her life. She rattled on me more than once, which resulted in me not getting bread multiple times. I remember the petty grudges really well, so never get on my bad side. It’s just that I don’t bother to address them because mortals are not worth my time. My lady’s enemies are a different issue because she is a mortal after all.

“You! How dare you push this elder?” she stood up, and I motioned Garlan to go ahead. My bread lad nodded and patted the baldy’s head, ushering to move on. They did, but this insolent maid had blocked our way.

Chantelle had favored and indulged Hetali thoroughly, so her countenance was similar to the nobles, and her arrogance often irked those around her. Like all noblewomen, she was a crafty one, acting all meek in front of the lady and shedding all pretense behind her back. Nothing new in the inner circle of nobles and not an unseen act among the maids vying to get on the good side of their masters.

Arrogance is ingrained in every mortal, and it just takes a few wrong steps to indurate the quality to last for eternity. We undead don’t have any use for arrogance, so we might come off as lads who lack confidence. You are a goner if you think that, so don’t let your vanity slit your throat.

Her serene eyes ran back and forth between us before realization struck her. “Letitia and servant Rudolf!”

“Lady Letitia,” I corrected her firmly, narrowing my eyes at her. She wasn’t in the mood to address my words and tried pushing me out of the way. There were not many people around, but a farce always attracted more, so we had enough spectators for a drama of this caliber. They were dressed in threadbare tunics that matched with the countenance of the thatched locality that had erratic houses in place.

“You bastard! Move out! Who knows how you have been treating Letitia all along!” I was baffled by her words, but I let her continue. “Even when Letitia’s–­”

“Lady Letitia,” I said with a sigh.

“–mother was alive; you were always poisoning Letitia with your words,” she started crying and pushed me away harder this time until a crisp slap forced her awake.

This was a really maddening situation, no matter how I looked at it. Hetali hadn’t seen my lady for almost a decade but fooled herself into thinking that she was still the high and mighty maid of the mansion.

“Don’t drop the honorifics, bitch,” my lady said calmly.

Hetali looked mortified by her words and hurt flickered across her weary eyes. Well, she had seen my lady grow up, so it was acceptable that she would have some fond feelings towards my lady. Alas, my machinations didn’t allow my lady to consider others’ feelings.

“Letitia…” she called out mournfully, and another slap sent her tumbling on the ground.

“You are my mother’s maid, Hetali, so your charade will work only on her. You have served your lady well and escaped as per her orders, so it makes you nothing more than a commoner now. If you dare to call me by my name again, you can forget about a slap. I’ll cut that vile tongue.”

Hetali gave me a glare, and I offered my most sincere smile, which forced her to gulp the words she was about to utter. If you think I have a wicked smile, I would ask you to reconsider. A smile honed after years of practice can only be a perfect one. Therefore, it is better to have grumpiness on your face often so that people won’t start getting scared of your sincere smiles.

 “Let’s go, mongrel,” she coldly stared at the maid before dragging me away.

“She was your mother’s maid, my lady. Don’t­–“

“You are my butler, mongrel. Let my mother take care of her maids, and I will take care of you,” she said, not slowing down her pace.

“Then why are you looking away, my lady?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “That pathetic branding reminds me of my mother.”

I sighed. “Isn’t it time to let go of those pitiable feelings, my lady? How long will you let lady Chantelle’s face haunt you? She was your mother, but not anymore. As much as you hate to admit it, you are an orphan now because that Marquis is not fit to be your father. It’s much easier to accept the facts and move on instead of walking in circles. What is the use of clinging to a little bit of humanity lady Chantelle ingrained in you?”

“It is not easy, mongrel,” she said, suppressing her feelings that I would have rather seen erupt. Rage can become quite a weapon if everything else fails. “Can you forget me if I die?”

I wanted to say yes immediately, but my tongue did not let me. Probably because I had too little bread today. That’s the most logical reason I could come up with anyway.

“I will haunt you for eternity if you ever forget me, mongrel!” her mood improved considerably in an instant, and she followed Garlan, hands tied behind on her waist. She was happy, somehow, though I didn’t quite know why. Mortals are very annoying at times because they reach beyond the understanding of an undead.

Thatched houses changed to sturdy ones as we reached a more organized habitat. Roads had become more distinct, and the vicinity increasingly resembled a progressing civilization than just an assemblage of red bricks. They were vendors with carts, probably selling stolen goods, but they had them, nonetheless, goods worth a few shins, trying to get the economy into circulation. Fresh fields lined in the distance, close to the rocky borders, and people worked, their shouts mingling amidst the murmurs of the city. Or that’s how the place looked, albeit primitive.

The baldy stayed true to his words and led us through the road made up of gravels and hardened sand to his house. It was nowhere close to the mansion, but it was still a house with a tiled roof and bricks supporting the entire structure. Similar houses lined around the place, with enough space to erect a few pikes, forming the compound.

“How long has this place been around, boss?” Garlan asked as the man pushed open the wooden gates and beckoned us inside.

“No idea,” the man said, his face softening as he glanced at the little girl in the foyer through the open door. “When the previous head of the village bought me here, most of the structures were already in place, so I just tried making the foundation more concrete and established some brick buildings.”

“So, you were a mason?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I needed to know what kind of hideous crime this man had committed. If this doesn’t excite you, then I have no idea what else can.

“Something like that,” he said. “I was mostly responsible for keeping the structure sturdy before they cemented the bricks.”

“So, your construction killed some nobles,” I said it as a matter of fact, and he bobbed, though not without a surprise.

“And some commoners,” he added. “It was a well-known incident in the capital.”

“Yes, my parent died in that demolition. But it was after they sold me, so I won’t kill you.”

In all honesty, I had little feelings toward my own parents, let alone this body’s owners. So, forget about revenge; if he gave me some bread, it was already considered a good enough deal. You could say I’m selling my worldly parents for a few loaves of bread, but what’s the point if they can’t even fetch me that much?

"Don't hurt my daddy!” the little girl walked out and stood protectively in front of the badly. She probably knew about his profession better than me.

“You want me to kill you, brat? I don’t mind, either way.” I smiled, and the girl looked aggrieved as I earned a glare from baldy. Nevertheless, my lady looked amused.

“H-he is b-bad man, daddy!” she said and rushed back to the house. Wasn’t she about to protect this baldy? Pitiful mortals and their antics.

“Mind your language in front of kids,” he said with repressed anger.

“We are the ones calling shots here,” I said. “Just so you know, I don’t discriminate between adults and kids.”

He withdrew his glare, and I saw him clench his fists underneath the long sleeves that almost covered them. He would live longer than mortals who couldn't handle their emotions.

We followed Garlan inside with my [Devil eye], the little mortal running away from me as I walked past the foyer. The small corridor divulged into two, the left one leading to, what I labeled as, great room. There was a fireplace on the right, with logs burning continuously, and a lady was sleeping on a straw cot close to it, almost dead. Her life force had thinned considerably, and she wouldn’t survive past this week if they didn’t take her to a healer.

Sliding wooden windows that breached the wall on the opposite side were shut to keep the winter winds at bay. A wooden chair lay beside the cot, and the little girl sat atop it with great difficulty, her hateful gaze directed at me. Well, children did hate me, so I can’t really blame her. The carpet on the ground was tainted with our shoes, and the wood stock beside the fireplace was almost empty.

The man took out a book from the shelf lined with his achievements as a mason, which included a medallion from the royal family. The king and his brats are nothing more than scums, so it surprises me to see millions trying to flatter them with their work. If they instead pour such authentic interest into studying magic, they might discover new ways of casting.

Mortals are stupid in that respect. First, there were kings, and then there was church, then the military, and finally government. I always wonder if mortals enjoy bowing before the authority. You might say the government is by the people, then I suppose you can invite the president for a late-night snack. The modern world is no different from primitive, except for the chiseled arrogance thanks to the development in technology.

“That’s all we earn to sustain the entire village, Garlan,” the baldy said, and I raised my eye at the bread lad, who just shrugged, mimicking my usual stance.

“Almost four thousand shins every fortnight, Rudolf,” he threw me the book because he knew I was better at mathematics than he could ever be.

If you ask my bread lad what is two times two loaves, he’d say no loaves. That is the correct answer for bread fanatics, but it won’t help you calculate the accounts.

I glanced at the detailed records, and at a glimpse, knew the wife was keeping tabs. Brute men of the wild didn’t have articulate zeal, neither did they enjoy drawing margins and scribbling methodically. When I looked at the man, he nodded, already reading my thoughts. The recent entries verified my misgivings thanks to the irregular writing that had only zeros trailing all over the page. At least that’s what it looked like, and I was more amazed that my bread lad was able to read it.

How come he managed to surprise me every time?

“She’s sick,” the man said, interrupting my stares at Garlan. “Been always sick, but it just got worse. We have no healers in the village, but it doesn’t take one to know that she will die soon.”

I nodded and glanced at the records. “Thousand five hundred shins every month would do the job. Garlan will come to collect it regularly, so make sure you pay on time.”

Everyone in the room stared at me, except the sleeping woman and obviously my amused lady.

“He just doesn’t feel much, Forlon,” Garlan laughed. “For your tragic story, we’ll help you out by removing some hundred… no ten shins.”

I smiled, and my lady giggled as the man flared in anger. This rotten bastard was worse than me in many ways, but I was glad he wasn’t emotional like the common bunch.

“If we cure your wife, can you pay us two thousand shins every month?” my lady asked like an actual businesswoman. Her tone was neutral, devoid of emotions, and I was taken aback.

“Can you heal her, noble lady?” the man asked, genuine mirth in his widened eyes.

“Didn’t you call me a bitch? Grovel before me, and pay us the additional charges, and then I’ll consider healing your woman.”

I was mistaken. She could never be a capitalist.