Surviving As An Obsessive Servant Chapter 135

“…You’re going to say it whether I allow it or not, aren’t you?”

“I’ve gotten stronger at purification. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while…”

The young master spoke as if he were a child showing off, and I couldn’t help but let out a small, amused scoff.

Seeing my reaction, he looked even more pleased—until he suddenly grabbed my calf and lifted it without warning.

“…What are you doing?!”

“You touched me before without asking, remember?”

“That was different…! Let go! That’s dirty!”

“You think I’m dirty?”

With effortless ease, the young master had pulled my leg up onto his thigh. His expression turned wounded at my words.

But he didn’t let go.

Because of that, my exposed ankle, the black socks beneath my dark trousers—everything was clearly visible.

I quickly tried to pull my leg away. I’d been standing or walking all day, so it had to smell.

But it wouldn’t budge, as if caught in a trap.

“…It doesn’t smell?”

“Not at all. You always smell nice.”

I asked in disbelief, and he shamelessly answered.

“…Are you insane?”

“Wait. If you’re that worried, there’s another way.”

As his large hand swept over my ankle, a cool sensation spread through my skin, leaving it feeling fresh and hydrated, as if he had applied a soothing balm.

Then, suddenly, a rich floral fragrance filled the carriage.

It was so intoxicatingly sweet, it felt like I had inhaled pure sugar water straight into my lungs.

‘…My legs don’t hurt at all.’

Even my heels and toes, sore from wearing new shoes all day, felt perfectly fine, as if all the fatigue had melted away.

‘…So this is really the power of Dif.’

I stared at my leg in awe when the young master spoke in a casual tone.

If I hadn’t been thinking, I might have just answered with a simple “Yes.” That’s how ordinary his voice sounded.

“Want me to do more?”

“No.”

I refused immediately, and he gave me a look full of disappointment.

That won’t work on me.

“Everyone else is desperate to use me. Why aren’t you?”

Then, as if making a request, he said,

“Lobelia, you know everything about me. You can use me however you want.”

“…….”

“Use me.”

No matter how shameless I might be, there was no way I could listen to something like that with a straight face.

Let alone agree to it.

Feeling my face burn with embarrassment, I turned my head the other way.

 

 

****

 

 

 

The conference hall, now absent of the young master of Denkart, was abuzz with fervent discussion. The topic? His ever-mysterious relationship with that silver-haired attendant.

Inside his returning carriage, Heaz Rezendar lazily sipped his tea, recalling the silver-haired servant.

He had already known of him from the black market, but the man was just as audacious and impudent in person as he was there—perhaps even more so.

And it wasn’t because of his relationship with the young master.

Not long ago, on the black market’s cruise…

‘Why is he staring at me?’

After the ship had tilted, Heaz Rezendar had felt an odd gaze upon him.

Unlike others who either blatantly sought his favor, envied him, or harbored hostility, this man’s stare held none of those things.

It wasn’t mere curiosity either.

It was as if he were deep in thought, hesitating over something.

…Almost as if he were concerned.

Heaz Rezendar’s crimson eyes darkened at the unfamiliar sensation.

Already irritated by the commotion on board, his frustration peaked.

‘How dare something like that look at me that way.’

If only he had been openly staring, Heaz could have dismissed him like the rest.

But the way this servant flitted about his vision, like an annoying insect buzzing just out of reach, needled at him.

‘…….’

A sudden impulse seized him—the same urge he felt when handling his collection of wooden figurines. He wanted to snap the man’s neck.

That slender throat would be easy to break.

Suppressing his impulse, he entertained the thought instead—until a question interrupted his train of thought.

‘…The ship is tilting. Why isn’t he running?’

Everyone else was scrambling to escape, their faces filled with panic, yet he remained completely unfazed.

Was he relying on that merchant guild master, Hornet, who stood protectively nearby?

Or perhaps he was trusting the Denkart heir, who was watching anxiously from a distance?

Though the heir was cloaked, Heaz could tell it was him. The aura was unmistakable—it was the same presence he had encountered at the imperial palace.

Recently, his older brother had stolen from him the gift of their family’s pureblood sight, yet Heaz still recognized it.

As he pondered the strange scene, the violet-eyed servant turned his gaze away.

So Heaz Rezendar lost interest as well. Annoying as the man was, he wasn’t worth ruining his schedule over.

Yet his mood plummeted upon returning home.

His wooden figurine.

It was only then that he realized he had lost the very first wooden figurine he had carried with him—one he treated as an extension of himself.

The reason was obvious.

It must have fallen when the ship had tilted.

But recovering it was impossible.

More than half a day had passed.

If a cleaner or a crew member had found it, they would have discarded it immediately. It was old and worn—someone might have even thrown it into the sea.

And above all, he couldn’t allow rumors to spread that the second son of Rezendar was searching for a mere wooden doll.

‘…….’

Closing his eyes tightly, Heaz Rezendar forced himself to give up.

That night, he shattered everything in his room.

Even then, his anger refused to subside.

And then, the very next day—

“Young master, a letter has arrived from the black market.”

His butler presented him with a black envelope.

The butler, with his usual grim expression, looked no different from any other day. But the letter…

‘…This doesn’t carry the black market guild master’s aura.’

The envelope and the seal matched, yet something was distinctly off.

For one, the letter was unusually large. And the aura… it felt different.

Once the butler had left, Heaz Rezendar opened the envelope without hesitation.

His deep red eyes, tainted with black, widened.

‘…My wooden figurine?’

Inside was, without a doubt, his cherished wooden figurine.

Even the arm and ankle, which had broken when he was a child and clumsily reattached, were intact.

He had never told anyone about this figurine—it would have been a source of ridicule within his family—so he had repaired it himself.

‘…This isn’t an adhesive commonly used in the Terua Empire.’

Bringing the figurine to his lips, he inhaled. It carried the scent of that silver-haired merchant.

Like wildflowers—subtle yet brimming with life.

Stronger, even, than the scent of the young master of Denkart.

After that, Heaz Rezendar found himself thinking about the silver-haired merchant.

But it wasn’t an anxious kind of preoccupation, like wanting to silence someone.

No one knew he had possessed this figurine, so even if that man talked, there would be no one to listen.

No—more than that, Heaz was certain.

The man wouldn’t speak of it.

‘…Certain?’

Feeling a strange sense of doubt toward himself, Heaz furrowed his well-shaped brows.

In his entire life, he had never felt such trust toward anyone.

And a merchant, of all people?

Merchants were not to be trusted lightly.

‘…….’

Tapping his fingers slowly against the table, he lost himself in thought.

Time passed meaninglessly, but he didn’t care.

Because he was utterly absorbed.

How had the merchant known the figurine belonged to him?

‘And what was the meaning behind that gaze he gave me…?’

If he could bring the man before him, he would find his answer—one way or another.

So, he began an investigation.

But there was no such person in the Hornet Guild.

To make matters worse, the guild master of Hornet was away, adding to the mystery. Evo Martin rarely left his post.

This process repeated itself.

Then—

“I will attend.”

Heaz Rezendar cleared his schedule and announced his decision to attend the merchant guild leaders’ gathering.

There were endless excuses he could use to decline, but he couldn’t ignore even the slimmest possibility.

Both the Hornet Guild Master and the Denkart merchant guild master would be there.

And as expected, he encountered the silver-haired youth.

Just as predictably, the man kept his distance from him.

Still, Heaz learned what he wanted.

‘…Lobel.’

His name was Lobel.

The endless gossiping nobles had made it impossible not to know.

It turned out he was closely acquainted with not only Edric Denkart and Evo Martin but also other major figures.

‘…Even Manellano Stell.’

Heaz Rezendar felt as if an invisible web had been spun across the marble floor beneath him.

One wrong move, and he would be caught.

If he mishandled this, all his efforts—even rendering his brother comatose—would go to waste.

So, for now, he planned to wait and observe.

Once he had officially inherited his title, he would cast the bait and lure him in slowly.

But then—

A completely unexpected variable appeared.

“It’s been a while, Rezendar.”

Edric Denkart had come to him.