I Plotted The World Destruction With The Male Lead - Chapter 42

In the northern territories, winter came earlier than in any other part of the Empire. Though it was still mid-autumn, if they didn’t hurry, the ground would soon freeze solid—making it nearly impossible to dig a grave.

Yet the Marquess Enrick had not granted permission for his daughter’s funeral.

They had barely managed to convince him to allow a preservation spell of cold magic on the body, but Charlotte still hadn’t even been moved from her bedroom.

The Enrick estate felt more like one enormous tomb than a home. The Marquess had stopped eating and drinking, staying constantly at his daughter’s side, while his duties as border lord had been taken over by his lieutenant.

The entire mansion was under a suffocating silence, where even breathing too loudly felt like a crime. The servants moved as if walking on thin ice, full of caution and dread.

No one dared bring up the subject of the funeral to the grieving Marquess—until Charlotte’s childhood nanny, Nancy, finally entered her room.

“My lord…”

She couldn’t even bring herself to speak words of comfort. Nancy had cared for Charlotte as if she were her own, ever since the death of the Marquess’s wife.

Her face was gaunt from grief as she approached him. Though preservation magic had slowed decomposition, the stench of bodily fluids leaking from the corpse filled the room with a nauseating stench.

Nancy couldn’t bear it any longer. If Charlotte had been alive to see herself in such a state, she would have been horrified—furious.

“Please… allow us to wash her and change her clothes. Even if we are to keep her here, she can’t remain like this. Our lady… she was always so clean and elegant…”

Unable to hold back her tears, Nancy broke down.

The Marquess, who had been kneeling by the bed like a statue, finally turned to her.

His lieutenant quickly spoke up before the moment passed.

“Let the nanny tend to the lady’s bath, my lord. In the meantime, you should eat something. If you collapse like this… who will protect her?”

At the mention of protecting Charlotte, the Marquess looked back at his daughter’s body. The foul odor meant nothing to him, but he knew Charlotte would have hated it. She’d likely throw a fit—if she could only wake up.

He trusted Nancy. If anyone could handle this, it was her.

“…Very well. Yes.”

He slowly rose, his large frame unsteady, and left the room with slumped shoulders. Even as he left, he couldn’t help but glance back one more time at his daughter’s remains.

Once the Marquess was gone, Nancy, still sobbing quietly, called the other maids into the room. They were all senior staff who had served the household for years.

Even for those familiar with death, washing a corpse was no easy task—and Charlotte’s body, heavier in death than in life, was especially difficult.

Nancy directed the maids to lift Charlotte’s body and bring her into the adjoining bath. While that was happening, quicker hands stripped the bed, opened all the windows to air out the stench, and cleaned the room.

In the bath, the maids laid the body gently on a temporary cot and began undressing her.

Nancy instructed Charlotte’s personal maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses. The girl, stifling sobs, disappeared into the dressing room.

Under Nancy’s cold, commanding gaze, the maids removed Charlotte’s soiled garments, which had been dirtied by leaked fluids, and dropped them into the laundry bin. Warm water was poured carefully over the body, and the maids began to wash her gently, taking care not to harm her delicate skin.

Nancy watched everything intently, afraid that something might go wrong. Even through her grief, she remained vigilant.

Then she froze.

Her breath caught.

“Stop!!”

Her scream rang through the room as she rushed out of the bath. Charlotte’s usual bath attendants had not been allowed inside today—they’d begged to be spared, too frightened by the sight of death. But they would be waiting outside under Nancy’s orders.

With a wild look on her face, Nancy burst out of the room, searching for the two maids.

Startled by her intense glare, they flinched.

“M-Madam Nanny?”

Nancy had been ready to scold them, but a sudden wave of clarity stilled her. This was not something that could be handled carelessly.

“You two! Come with me!”

Her tone allowed no argument. The maids hesitated, but followed her into the bedroom.

Nancy returned to the bath, ordered the other maids to gently lay Charlotte back down onto the bed, then quickly drove everyone else out of the bath and bedroom.

She shut the door tight and grabbed the two bath attendants by their wrists.

“Listen to me very carefully. You need to remember exactly what I say—and check for yourselves.”

Though frightened, the maids’ faces grew pale as they heard her next words. Horror, disbelief, and something like fierce determination flickered across their expressions.

*

The meal laid out on the table was meant for someone who hadn’t eaten in days—soft bread, finely minced meat, stew, and two kinds of soup. It was food prepared with care and consideration, something easy on the stomach.

But Marquess Enrick could hardly eat. He set his spoon down with barely a bite.

His lieutenant, seated beside him, nearly wanted to get down on his knees to beg.

“Please, just one more spoonful.”

The lieutenant’s voice was filled with concern, nearly pleading. With a long sigh, the Marquess reached again for the spoon. His fingers barely touched the handle before they slipped away once more.

“I have no appetite. I should return to Charlotte now.”

He rose from his seat with purpose—unlike when he had entered—and swiftly exited the dining room. The lieutenant followed, sighing deeply.

As they passed through the hall and began ascending the stairs, they suddenly spotted three figures hurrying down from the upper floor—Nancy, Charlotte’s nanny, and two of her maids.

“What are you doing here?”

The Marquess raised his voice, sounding like a man betrayed. He had only agreed to leave Charlotte’s side because he believed Nancy would stay with her while he was gone.

“My lord, I have something urgent to tell you.”

Nancy’s eyes, filled with pale fury, were closer to that of someone bearing a deep grudge. The Marquess immediately sensed that something had gone wrong—but in his eyes, it didn’t matter. With Charlotte gone, the world itself had lost all meaning.

Nancy glanced cautiously around, then stepped in close to the Marquess—closer than she ever had, even before or after becoming Charlotte’s caretaker.

“It’s about the young lady. Please, I beg you, listen to me.”

The moment she mentioned Charlotte, something shifted in the Marquess’s deadened eyes.

He immediately dismissed everyone in the vicinity, keeping only those he absolutely trusted. Then, with Nancy and the two maids, he returned to Charlotte’s room.

*

The military procession had completely vanished into the distance. Even through a telescope, not a single speck remained visible. Carlyle stood silently, staring in the direction the army had disappeared, eyes heavy with concern.

He had already given strict orders to his subordinates: Eleanor was to be brought back alive and without a single scratch.

Knowing his temperament, they would never dare harm her. And yet, even though Eleanor was undoubtedly safe, unease gnawed at him.

Because on that fateful night—the night that changed everything—she had stabbed a dagger into her own chest.

Even if he were to kill Van and take Eleanor for himself, it would never truly mean having her. To fully possess Eleanor, he needed control over her family as well.

Unfortunately, all the spies he had planted within the Granmire Duchy had recently been discovered and executed. They were people he had spent years carefully embedding, and the ones who replaced them simply couldn’t gather information with the same precision.

Thankfully, his network within the Imperial Palace had not been completely dismantled. But when it came to Eleanor’s family—hidden away within the Granmire territory—he had no way of reaching them.

There has to be a way.

Carlyle clenched his jaw. It irritated him that he couldn’t remember more about her family. What he did recall was that Eleanor had described her parents as irredeemable trash, and that she had three younger siblings.

She had rarely spoken about them. In fact, she had barely spoken about herself at all.

During their guiding sessions, it had mostly been Carlyle doing the talking. Eleanor would simply nod quietly, or listen with a serene expression.

But what were her preferences? What kind of clothes had she worn back then? What had she been learning recently? What books had she been reading…?

He couldn’t remember.