So I Was the Persecuted Grand Duchess Destined to Die? Chapter 14

Chapter 14

— — —

The last room of the West Tower.

From there, Renée’s annex was visible at a glance.

With heavy steps, Xavier pushed the door open.

The chamber was round and old-fashioned, built entirely of stone.

Few people ever came here—but it was always kept immaculate, ready to receive its master at any time.

Across from the thick wooden door stood a large window. Beside it hung an enormous tapestry embroidered with the Celeste crest, quietly declaring that this space belonged to the lord of House Celeste alone.

“Hm.”

Xavier lowered himself into the plush velvet chair near the window.

The weather was unusually clear. From here, he could see the back mountain behind the estate… and the small cabin nestled below it.

No one stood in Renée’s yard. She seemed to be inside.

“Haa…”

He let out a slow breath.

Seeing his own reflection in the glass made a sudden wave of disgust wash over him.

“Don’t be fooled by such an obvious lie… What am I even doing?”

The Celeste domain was heavily guarded. An intruder couldn’t simply stroll in.

He knew that better than anyone—yet here he was, lurking in the West Tower because of an absurd suspicion.

Just as he was about to turn away—

“…!”

As if on cue, Renée Blanche appeared.

She was far away, but for better or worse, Xavier’s eyesight was excellent.

He could see her clearly—bustling about like a lit spark.

Renée wore a red cloak that matched her eyes.

She hurried into the yard and flung it open dramatically.

Xavier startled and reflexively looked away—

only to realize she had a fluffy fur outfit underneath.

No wonder she’d looked stifled. The maids had bundled her up like a parcel.

Like some small white animal swallowed by winter.

Xavier was thinking that idly when—

“…?”

The strange behavior began.

“What… is she doing?”

Even Xavier found it difficult to look away, as if something had snagged his gaze.

Because out of nowhere, Renée stretched her arms and legs wide—

and began hopping in place.

It looked like she was trying to follow some kind of rhythm, swinging her limbs to a pattern.

But to a swordmaster’s eyes—

She has absolutely no coordination.

There was no beat. No timing. No control.

She looked completely absorbed in herself, and that was the only impressive part.

After bouncing maybe a dozen times, Renée started panting and wiped sweat from her brow like she’d just survived a duel.

She’s sweating from that?

Xavier was still processing that mild shock when—

Knock, knock.

“Your Grace. It’s Karl.”

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Karl entered.

Behind him stood a maid in uniform, her posture rigid with tension.

“I have brought the Grand Duchess’s personal attendant,” Karl said. “Introduce yourself.”

“Yes.”

The maid stepped forward and bowed.

“Greetings, Your Grace. I am Betty, assigned to serve Her Grace the Grand Duchess.”

Her face was composed and serious—as if she’d returned to being the quiet, stoic maid Xavier remembered.

“Report. Briefly.”

Xavier’s tone was clipped.

Betty swallowed, hesitated, then spoke with quiet firmness.

“Based on what I have observed over the past several weeks… Her Grace is not someone Your Grace needs to worry about.”

“On what grounds?”

“Because…” Betty faltered, then pushed through. “Someone like a little baby bunny could never pose a threat to Your Grace.”

“…?”

“Leave personal affection out of it,” Karl said sharply.

Betty scratched the back of her head, faintly embarrassed.

“But it’s true. Since arriving in the Celeste domain, all Lady Renée has done is clean the cabin, try to chop firewood and fall over, and catch a chill after cleaning the library.”

Xavier’s eyes drifted back to the window.

Renée—who had been hopping earlier—had now switched movements.

This time, she was flapping her arms up and down with stiff determination, like she was rowing a boat through air.

“……”

“……”

“……”

For a few seconds, everyone simply stared.

“…Right?” Betty asked, as if seeking validation—perhaps equally haunted by her mistress’s “daily life.”

“…I see,” Xavier said.

Oddly, that part slid into place without resistance.

“That will be all. Leave.”

“Yes. Excuse me.”

Betty bowed and slipped out as quietly as she’d come.

Xavier stared toward the window a moment longer—then yanked the curtain shut with sudden irritation.

He didn’t want to watch her wander around anymore.

As he stepped away, Karl—already holding the door—fell into stride behind him.

“After compiling the other servants’ reports… the attendant’s account appears accurate.”

Their footsteps echoed down the West Tower stairs.

Between them, Xavier’s deep voice rumbled.

“Karl. In your opinion—what do you think?”

“I cannot say with certainty, as I have not spoken with Her Grace directly, nor served her personally…” Karl replied carefully.
“However, considering the servants’ observations, her attendant’s report, and even testimonies from the Blanche household servants…”

“Hm.”

“She does not appear to be acting with malice.”

Karl was an experienced butler—his judgment as sharp as the years he’d served.

That was one reason the ducal estate functioned as smoothly as it did.

And Xavier trusted Karl completely.

More than that—

Hadn’t Xavier known it all along?

Perhaps the resentment he felt wasn’t truly aimed at Renée herself, but at her family—and beyond that… at the Empress and the High Priest.

Renée Blanche showed no signs of direct contact with the Empress.

So why had the Empress insisted on placing her here?

Even now, Xavier couldn’t fully release his suspicion.

But without realizing it—

his impression of Renée Blanche had already begun to shift.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Haah… haah… haah…”

The sky was clear, but winter was still winter. The air was sharp enough to bite.

Every breath pushed icy chill deep into my chest.

Underneath it, my heart hammered like it was trying to escape.

My cheeks felt hot enough to melt—probably bright red—and sweat slid down my forehead.

What did I even do to be this exhausted?

I forced myself not to collapse onto the ground. Instead, I dropped onto a tree stump with a heavy thud.

I burned pure white…

I felt like I’d just sprinted at full speed until my soul peeled out of my body.

And what I’d actually done was—

a basic calisthenics routine.

I’ll say it again: this body was worse than I thought.

No muscle. No stamina. No baseline fitness whatsoever.

Did the original owner live her entire life lying down and breathing only?

Maybe she did. But now that I was in here, I couldn’t leave it like this.

So I decided to go back to basics.

This “national exercise routine” had been designed to improve public fitness—meaning it was probably solid.

And since this body couldn’t even manage a proper squat, I should honestly be grateful I could follow this much.

That was how the routine became my morning habit.

After doing it for a few days, it felt slightly less brutal than before.

Maybe I was improving, little by little.

“Okay… one more set.”

I needed to build up enough strength to garden properly once spring arrived.

And more importantly—

I had unfinished business with chopping firewood.

To erase that humiliation, I needed to shed this twig-thin body.

Someday I’ll have arms as sturdy as Betty’s and split the thickest logs like nothing.

That was a pretty powerful motivation.

I forced myself back onto my feet—

but my wobbling body refused to cooperate with my determination.

I tried to control my shaking legs and took a few steps forward, basically performing a flailing “drunk crab dance”—

when—

“Pfft!”