Why Bother Whitewashing?

He had been scolded.

Under Guiliniweier's bloodshot glare, Bavanshi was soundly lectured—yet she couldn't muster a single retort. Thoughts of "How dare you speak to me that way? I am your liege! Do you wish to die?" never crossed her lips. Instead, faced with his fierce reprimand about "people's livelihoods," "development," "economy," "public opinion," "talent," "taxation," "trade," "planning," and the like, she found herself utterly unable to reply—she didn't understand those concepts in the first place.

So she tried another angle:

"Honestly, look what you're doing—everyone poured all the funds we had into raising you, yet you still act like this!"

But Guiliniweier's criticism only intensified.

"Do you even know where those funds came from? After the late queen vanished and the other territories cut off supplies, once you lost the queen's allowances, do you think money just fell from the sky? Fifty million Morg pounds! Do you have any concept of money, spending it so casually? Do you know what that sum was supposed to be used for? Do you know how many sleepless nights I spent figuring out how to raise it? Do you know whose mess I've been cleaning up these past days, working like a fool?"

By then, Bavanshi was speechless. She'd never considered any of it. For the first time, a troubling thought flickered through her mind: Could it be… that she was wrong?

A more quarrelsome person would've skipped that thought entirely and shifted blame: "I was only trying to help—how dare you question me?" or "Who are you to lecture me? I'm the lord here!" But honest Bavanshi couldn't think of such angles. Once arrogant, now she shrank inward, at a loss for where to place her trembling hands.

"But… you didn't have to be so harsh. If I was wrong, I apologize… I only wanted to learn something from you…"

"…Fine," Guiliniweier eventually relented, his anger ebbing. In truth, he felt some remorse. Had he just shouted at Tristán? This liege was someone who truly killed without hesitation—where had he found the nerve to rebuke her? He meditatively reminded himself to remain calm: if she genuinely wished to learn governance from him, that might ease his burdens later.

"So… since you're willing to learn, that's not bad. What is it you want to learn?" he asked.

Instantly, Bavanshi perked up: "I want to learn how to kill people."

"What?" Guiliniweier froze.

After two seconds, he tested: "You mean—literally kill people?"

"Exactly," she nodded matter-of-factly. "Since you've been king—well, at least you have the qualifications of a king—surely you're skilled at killing. Maybe even more so than Beril? Teach me how to kill better—"

She cut off mid-sentence as the atmosphere turned frigid. Even the air seemed to chill.

"What… what's wrong?" she stammered.

"Your reason?" he asked, drawing a deep breath. "Why do you want to learn to kill? Do you find murder… enjoyable?"

"…Is that not normal?" She flinched under his cold gaze. Ironically, she was exactly the kind of person infamous for killing without a second thought, yet faced with his stern look, she felt tongue-tied.

He thought through her situation: "Lord Tristán, at a time like this—are you seriously fixated on killing? Do you understand why New Darrlington lies in ruin? Why your people despise you, awaiting the chance to stab you in the back? Why your reputation across Britain is so abysmal it could become scandalous for Morgan? Murder, murder—do you truly comprehend your predicament? Under ordinary conditions, your subordinates could be bought by other lords to betray you. Do you realize why all this happens? Why, at such a moment, you still think about killing?!"

These words played through Guiliniweier's mind but remained unspoken. In that moment, he felt genuine murderous intent toward Tristán. He regretted joining her cause—she was no better than a tyrant unworthy of loyalty. Her bloodlust and misrule served no purpose; cleaning up after her was pointless. Though the thought of attacking her occurred to him, he quickly dismissed it—he had little chance of success. Instead, he resolved to plot her downfall from the shadows rather than continue aiding her.

Yet he could not feign friendliness either. "What do you take life for?" he said, then turned and left. "There are many matters in the territory demanding my attention. I can't waste more time here, my lady."

"Eh?" Bavanshi, too stunned to react, barely managed to think of an excuse to call him back—though she had no idea what she'd said wrong.

System Notice:

You spoke with Bavanshi.

Due to irreconcilable views, your attitude toward her has shifted.

You begin considering rebellion.

As you leave the castle, someone unexpected approaches you.

A soft voice came from behind. Guiliniweier turned to see the maid, Riko, quietly stepping out of the shadows. In recent days she'd handled his living needs; now he addressed her cautiously: "Did you overhear our conversation?"

"I only caught fragments while cleaning nearby," Riko replied gently. "You seem displeased with Bavanshi."

"I wouldn't say pleased," he chose his words carefully. "But don't you think our liege is overly bloodthirsty? I don't understand—does she take pleasure in killing?"

"Perhaps… perhaps not," Riko murmured. "But I have a fragment of her past to share."

You learn from Riko about Knight Tristán's (Bavanshi's) history.

You discover her original name: Bavanshi.

"It's no grand tale," Riko began. "Once, Bavanshi was entirely different: naïvely kind to the point of folly. She knew neither anger nor refusal; whenever asked, she would help, even if tortured by other fairies—she bore it without rancor, never fleeing."

He nodded slowly, recalling how cruel fairies could be. "I can guess her fate."

"Exactly," Riko said. "As a blood-drinking fairy, she survived by feeding on blood. In her innocence, she merely stole to battlefields to sip from corpses. Discovered, other fairies deemed her the vilest "flesh-eating fairy." Even after death, she would be reborn anew as Bavanshi, with the same powers—and face the same persecution, again and again."

"So Morgan appointed her heir and granted the name 'Tristán,'" Guiliniweier confirmed.

"Yes." Riko nodded. "But why? With no lifespan limit, fairies need no successor."

"Who knows?" he shrugged. "Perhaps the queen once asked for water, and that kind fairy fetched it—so she remembered her, wanting her to have a better fate?"

"It seems too trivial," he mused. "Morgan is reputed austere—would she do such thankless kindness?"

Riko smiled faintly. "Never mind Morgan's motives. You ask me to justify her cruelty: because she was once oppressed, now in power she oppresses? Is that fitting?"

"Maybe her harsh early life warped her view—only oppressor or oppressed," Riko suggested.

"But that cannot excuse her bloodlust," he replied.

"Why not?" Riko challenged. "She kills mainly fairies, yes? You yourself have complained about fairies—said many in Britain deserve no pity. Would you risk everything for them, for abstract justice? Yet if you serve Bavanshi, you might act freely toward your goals."

Her words struck him: if he allied with the Prophet's Child, he'd strive to save everyone—were fairies worth saving? Would he sacrifice vital things for their sake? But by aiding Bavanshi, he could pursue personal aims unbound.

Guiliniweier's resolve steeled: he would not whitewash Tristán. He would plan her undoing. Yet outwardly, he remained composed, concealing his true intent.