I Became the Daughter of a Disgraced Duke - Chapter 8

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 7
“(What? Pardon?)”
“You seem to think I’m easy to mock, but I don’t go soft on kids. If you don’t want this chicken drowned in hot sauce, stop right there.”
“(Wh-what?)”
The Small Child merely tilted her head, and yet something about her struck him as endearing.
There it was. He’d already fallen for it.
‘Damn.’
Casian Calipso. You’re finished too, aren’t you?
There had been nights when he went four days without food or sleep, locked in battle, but now a single meal with a mite of a girl had him entertaining stalker fantasies.
So this was the endgame—becoming the sort of fool who droned on about “back in my day” with no sense of how pathetic he sounded.
Self-disgust washed over Casian, and he screwed his eyes shut, swallowing the sorrow that rose in his throat.
Time defeats even kings, they said, but he’d wanted to stay young and vital a while longer.
So he fixed the Small Child with a glare—or tried to, anyway.
The problem was that her feet didn’t reach the floor, so her legs dangled uselessly, and there was nowhere to glare at without it seeming ridiculous.
Steam hissed and dissipated.
Casian reached for a towel draped over the adjacent chair.
It hadn’t been washed in ages and reeked of mold, but he’d grown so accustomed to such smells that he barely noticed anymore.
‘It’s trash anyway. What’s the difference?’
As he wiped the grease from her face, the Small Child whimpered.
“(Oww. It hurts.)”
“I have no idea what you’re saying, kid.”
“(I’m trying to speak the Imperial tongue, but it’s hard. Half your words don’t even register for me.)”
“Yeah, well. Must be frustrating for you. Driving me up the wall too, if I’m honest. I could use a drink right about now.”
Wispy strands of hair brushed against his pinky finger.
For such a small face, the delicate, unfinished bones and diminutive frame communicated such fragility—the soft cheeks and the child’s own warm touch telegraphed directly through his fingertips.
And then… the scent of a child.
‘Ah.’
Above the towel, their eyes met—hers a bright, feral yellow.
‘…She looks like her.’
The eyes of the woman who’d pierced his heart with a blade keen as razored steel came rushing back.
She, too, had possessed such thick, densely-packed lashes.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
His heart hammered. It felt as though Iris had come back to life.
The tenderness he’d felt mere moments ago was almost illusory by comparison—a torrent of something strange and unsettling rushed through him.
Casian recognized this sensation. He’d felt it before.
When he’d first met Iris.
The peculiar anguish of having something vital hollowed out from within, yet remaining blissful nonetheless.
That ache of wishing he had more to give.
Casian clenched his teeth, balled his fists, and forced the words into his skull.
‘Iris is dead.’
He turned away sharply.
His head swam. His chest lurched.
For no reason he could name, he wanted to weep.
‘Iris is dead. Say it.’
Casian gnawed at his lip with brutal intensity.
If he didn’t, he’d sob until everything inside him came pouring out.
“(Mister? Why do you look like that?)”
The Small Child’s voice pierced his reverie. He stood abruptly and stalked toward the bathroom.
Splash.
Cold water ran over his face, and he thought to himself:
“That little thing’s a real tough opponent! You think I’d lose?”
He was Casian Calipso.
The hero who’d led the Holy War to victory, saving the world from ruin.
Unless the child was a Demon Beast, there was no sword to cut her down with—just the necessity of getting her out of his sight as quickly as possible.
Casian had resolved to take the Small Child to the Orphanage.
Yes, that had been his intention.
* * *
“Now that you’ve finished eating, we should be heading out.”
“(What? Where are you going?)”
“I’ve been waiting for today.”
With the Confirmation Document tucked snugly in his coat, Casian Calipso stepped out of the house with unmistakable eagerness.
Stalker syndrome or whatever else—nip any disorder in the bud and there’s no problem at all, right?
“Hey. Small Child. Hurry up.”
“(Sir! You’re going too fast! I’m short!)”
Impatience gnawed at him; he wanted to move faster, but the pace simply wouldn’t cooperate.
Watching the short-legged girl patter after him, struggling to match his stride, he felt an unexpected pang of sympathy.
“Sigh.”
Well. They’d be parting ways soon enough anyway.
Casian hoisted the Small Child up and tucked her against his hip, moving quickly toward the carriages—
“Hm?”
Were children always this light?
With two nieces, he knew roughly what to expect weight-wise, but this girl was unusually insubstantial.
‘There’s no solidity to her.’
His nieces, when held this way, thrashed about like fish caught in a net, their bodies solid and dense.
But this girl’s bones were too slender, too soft and yielding—fragile enough that the slightest pressure might shatter her.
“(Why are you like that?)”
The Small Child tilted her head, her face now much closer to his.
‘Perhaps because she’s a girl.’
Suddenly worried he might crush her, Casian felt a twinge of regret.
He should have just walked slowly to accommodate her short legs. Then he wouldn’t have needed to carry her. And he wouldn’t be feeling this strange discomfort.
Having already picked her up, setting her down seemed awkward, so Casian proceeded forward with trembling arms, careful not to grip too firmly.
It was the weekend; no carriages were in sight.
He was heading toward another carriage stand to find one when—
“Casian?”
Someone called his name.
Before his mind could place the owner of that piercing voice, his sharp instincts screamed at him to run.
Casian pretended not to hear and quickened his pace.
“Casian!”
I didn’t hear. I heard nothing. Nothing at all.
‘I can’t hear!’
That woman had been stalking him relentlessly for the past year.
Her obsession had reached such extremes that when he’d lived at the Mansion, she’d constantly snuck inside; even after he’d burned the place down, he’d felt nothing but relief that she would surely never find him again.
“(That pretty lady is calling for you, sir.)”
“Shh. Be quiet.”
Though he hurried to slip away, it turned out not everyone could be evaded through stalking alone.
The woman, despite his height exceeding 190 centimeters, managed to catch up and seized his shoulder, forcing him to stop.
“Casian Calipso!”
A chill raced down his spine.
Frozen in place, Casian turned his head slowly.
Creak. Creak.
His neck made a screwing sound.
“So it is you!”
A radiant smile bloomed across the woman’s face.
At first glance, one might think her extraordinarily beautiful, but the truth was she was no ordinary type of mad.
They’d had a casual arrangement—mutually agreed upon, light and easy—yet whenever he so much as spoke to another woman, she’d appear with a blade, threatening to kill her; she’d earnestly advised him that sending over twenty Letters daily until the postal workers fled didn’t seem healthy; and she’d even drugged his drink once and locked him in the Underground Prison.
Escaping, of course, was child’s play, but the feeling lingered. The feeling.
“So. Here you are again.”
“Long time, isn’t it? You said you were moving. Where did you go?”
“Why would that concern you?”
“What kind of question is that? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been searching for your new place? You didn’t want to see me?”
“So that’s why you went around introducing yourself to over a hundred homes in every neighborhood rumored to be where I moved, checking who lived in each one?”
“That’s all my love for you. But who is that child? Your niece?”
The woman’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling fervor. Madness, plain to see.
Casian hesitated. He’d run so many times already, and now money was so tight he couldn’t afford to move again.
This time, resolved to finally rid himself of this woman, Casian smiled and introduced himself smoothly.
“Say hello. She’s my daughter.”
* * *
When I lived with Mother, my distant cousin Enrique was what I envied most in the world.
Enrique’s father had given him piggyback rides and even tossed him onto the sofa from upside down.
I’d been so jealous that I tried riding on Mother’s back too, but she couldn’t run with me hoisted up the way my great-uncle could with a baby.
So my wish was to have a father of my own.
Once I had a father, I thought we’d go fishing together at the Frozen Lake and ride sleds in the snow.
I wanted a father so badly that I even made it my birthday wish to the Goddess.
‘I hate this man!’
This man had a filthy house, he wouldn’t play with me, and though his face was handsome, it was frightening.
Worst of all, he was an idiot who’d made the Witch angry.
And that had everything to do with me.
“(Screeeee! Mister! Hurry! Waaaaah!)”
I had to flee with my tail between my legs, dodging the Witch as her hair thrashed through the air.
I’m just a small child, you know……Witches aren’t supposed to hurt good people, right, Goddess? Someone explain! Huff.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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