Chapter 172 : Chapter 172

She thought of Leah from the first story, the maid who had stood at a distance smiling, watching the person she loved spend his life with someone else. She did not want that. She refused to become that.

She wanted to be the maid from the second story.

She wanted to take the initiative.

She wanted to—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Someone was knocking at the door again.

Cosette shuddered all over and jolted awake from that tangle of chaotic thoughts. She turned her head toward the door, then glanced out the window.

Dusk had already fallen outside. Orange-red light spread across the sky and over the rooftops in the distance.

They had spent the entire day reading.

Lano was already on her feet, heading for the door. She pulled it open to find a uniformed attendant standing outside, carrying a food box.

“Thank you.” Lano took the box and closed the door.

She carried it back to the desk and lifted the lid. Inside were two bowls of rice, two delicate dishes, and a small bowl of soup. It was obvious they knew there were two young ladies in the room.

The food was still hot, white steam rising from it.

“Shall we eat together?” Lano looked at Cosette.

Cosette nodded.

The two of them sat at the desk and started eating.

Cosette picked up a piece of meat and put it in her mouth, but she could not taste a thing. Her mind was filled entirely with the scenes from those books, with the things those maids had done, with those possibilities she had never dared imagine before.

She stole a glance at Lano.

Lano was eating with her head lowered, clearly enjoying the meal. Her profile looked very gentle in the sunset glow, the corners of her lips faintly curved as if she were smiling.

Those two books had shown Cosette a different path.

The first path was Leah’s path. Standing at a distance, smiling in blessing, watching him love someone else and spend his whole life with that person.

The second path was the other maid’s path. To be proactive. To be brave. To do the things she had never dared imagine and fight for her own happiness.

She chose the second path.

She had to choose the second path.

Cosette lowered her head and continued eating. Beneath the table, her legs were pressed together, the calves wrapped in white over-the-knee stockings rubbing lightly against each other.

She had already made up her mind.

When Master came back, she would—

She did not yet know exactly what she would do. But she knew she could not go on the way she had before, merely waiting, merely watching, merely loving him in secret.

She had to let him know.

She did not yet know how. But she would think of a way. She had to.

The sunset shone on her face, coloring her cheeks with a faint blush and lighting her tightly pressed lips. She set down her chopsticks, cupped the bowl in both hands, and took a sip of soup. It was warm, and that warmth traveled all the way from her mouth to her stomach.

At her side, Lano watched her, the curve of her lips deepening. In the sunset glow, her amber eyes had become a deeper color.

Almost dark red.

Like fire.

Cosette did not notice.

She simply drank her soup and thought her own thoughts.

Outside the window, the sun sank bit by bit. The horizon burned orange-red, then slowly dimmed.

Another day was coming to an end.

But unlike yesterday, this day had been different.

Today, she had seen a new path.

Today, she had made a decision.

Cosette set the bowl down and softly let out a breath.

The calves wrapped in white over-the-knee stockings were still pressed together, but they were no longer trembling.

The stairs stretched downward without end.

Ryan walked in front, holding a lamp in his hand.

It was a square little iron box with a chain wrapped around his wrist. Light shone through the crystal panel in front of it, soft and warm yellow, illuminating only two or three steps ahead. The light fell across the stone stairs and the walls on either side, bringing out those dense patterns—ring after ring, deep and shallow, as if someone had carved them in one stroke at a time with a blade.

A moment earlier, he had told Rex and Lillian to put out their torches.

Naturally, he was worried about swamp gas.

All those rotting plants above the marsh, all those monster corpses, and all those poisonous vapors that might have settled there for who knew how many years—if any of that had seeped down and accumulated in this sealed passage, a single spark could have blown the three of them to pieces.

Torches were out of the question, so he had taken out this lamp instead.

He had made it himself, and the total cost had only been two silver coins.

He had bought a low-grade light-element magic core, taken it apart, and rebuilt it using what little he had learned in magi-device class. He had added a focusing rune, welded on an iron casing, and fastened a chain to it so it could hang from his waist. After fiddling with it for two nights, he had finally cobbled together something like this.

It was not expensive, and it was not bright, but it worked.

All it needed was a little magic power to stay lit for a long time, and since there was no flame, it would not ignite anything.

Rex and Lillian followed close behind him.

The passage was too narrow. Three people walking abreast could barely avoid brushing both walls. Rex’s breathing was heavy, and Lillian’s footsteps were so light they were almost soundless, but Ryan could feel her gaze constantly sweeping over their surroundings, wary as a startled cat.

The three of them pressed close together, their shoulders nearly brushing, and continued downward by the glow of that lamp.

The lamp did not cast much light, only enough to illuminate two or three steps ahead.

The stone walls on either side were close enough to touch. One only had to reach out to feel those patterns—rings within rings, deep and shallow, densely packed, as though someone had carved them one stroke at a time with a blade.

The passage was narrow. Three people walking side by side could just barely fit between the walls. Any wider would have been impossible.

They walked for a long time.

Gradually, the air around them began to feel strange. The charred smell from the swamp faded, replaced by something ancient—like a cellar sealed for a thousand years, like a coffin no one had ever opened.

The smell slipped into their noses and pressed down on their chests, forcing their breathing to become careful and shallow.

Lillian coughed behind him.

Ryan stopped. He looked up into the darkness ahead, then glanced back the way they had come. That too was black. Nothing could be seen.

“What is it?” Rex asked.

Ryan did not answer. He drew in a breath, then another.

The air was cool.

Not the oppressive, damp heat one expected deep underground. It was cool, carrying the faintest trace of freshness, as though there were some hidden ventilation, as though another unseen passage deep below were drawing fresh air in from outside.

“That’s strange,” he said quietly.

Rex leaned closer. “What’s strange?”

“The air,” Ryan said. “It should be getting stuffier the farther we go. But instead it’s cleaner than it was above.”

Rex inhaled a couple of times and blinked. “You’re right. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Ryan said nothing.

He continued forward.

They walked even longer. Their calves began to ache, and every step made the muscles quiver. Time became vague in this place with no windows and no sunlight. The only way to judge how far they had gone was by the soreness in their legs—perhaps an hour, perhaps longer.

Rex started complaining.

“How long are these stairs anyway? We must’ve gone down at least a thousand steps already.”

No one answered him.

“Two thousand?”

Still no answer.

“Three thousand?”

At last Lillian could not hold back any longer. “Can you shut up? Is counting stairs going to help?”

Rex scratched his head and fell silent.

They went on for a little while longer, and then a different smell suddenly joined the air.