Didn't Plan to Become a Companion (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 1

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Resotia, a city nearly reduced to ruins because of the Dermayer Empire, is a city of blood-red hue.

The land I live on is estimated to have once been the thriving capital of a kingdom founded by the Tesarians, from roughly 2,000 years before Imperial reckoning began until the Empire’s inception.

Of this city, it is said, “It is as old as the very existence of light itself.”

But since the moment light first appeared in this world predates not only this city but even the land itself, that saying was practically nonsensical.

It was merely a metaphor to convey just how ancient this city truly was.

The reason this city survived destruction and maintained such an enduring history lay in its unique terrain. Surrounded by jagged cliffs and bordered by red sandstone hills that blurred its boundaries, Resotia was the perfect desert sanctuary.

Around a thousand years ago, at the time of the Dermayer Empire’s birth, enemies mercilessly trampled this land.

To those who had already seized many nations and proclaimed themselves the Dermayer Empire, this small city—though beautiful—was nothing more than easy prey.

Yet, after stepping foot upon this land, Wesley Schneider, the ruler who founded the Empire, declared:

〈I shall establish it as a duchy and preserve it.〉

That is why present-day Resotia, though geographically adjacent to the mighty Dermayer, still retains its status as an independent nation.

But time passed, and where once there had been desert, a vast civilization now rose. The only remaining evidence that this place had ever been desert now lay solely within Resotia’s border regions.

“Aaaaaah!”

I awoke from sleep with a jolt, startled by a bolt of lightning splitting the pitch-black night sky.

Though my body refused to rise as if pinned down, I forced myself upright—but the dreadful dream persisted.

〈So the illiterate girl from the Eastern Kingdom has finally met her fiery end.〉

Before the words even finished, flames erupted before my eyes. In the dream, the “Eastern Kingdom” was the derogatory term the Dermayer Empire used to belittle the Duchy of Resotia.

〈To dare let a witch usurp the Saintess’s sacred duty—that was her gravest sin.〉

The witch writhing in agony amidst the pitiless, roaring flames was none other than myself.

〈It’s too h-h-hot. Please… save me.〉

Just then, someone strode steadily into that inferno. Whoosh—the fire flared, yet he did not stop. He walked without the slightest disturbance, as if strolling through a moonlit garden. Surely, he could not be human.

Yet, merely looking at him tore my heart to shreds. A bitter resentment, whose target I could not identify, boiled fiercely within me.

〈You shall be given a chance.〉

A thin, drawn-out voice, like a moan, suddenly echoed.

〈Yes! Whatever it takes—please, please just give me that chance!〉

As I screamed desperately while burning alive, the voice from the void laughed with an eerie sound.

Boom! Crash!

The moment thunder roared again, I understood everything instantly.

I had just died.

No one had told me—I simply knew. The silence akin to death told me so; the loneliness deeper than the ocean depths told me so; the sensation of being ripped from my body told me so.

Then, suddenly, light poured into the pitch-black world. Reflexively drawn toward it, I opened my eyes once more.

I looked around the room. Nothing had changed.

I hadn’t become someone else, nor had my circumstances altered.

Lienne Loi Pernelle.

The unwanted child of House Fennel—a ten-year-old bastard whom the maids neglected so thoroughly she couldn’t even speak before nearly dying.

In my memories, I had loved a man.

Ricardo Gardarelli Rochester.

Heir to House Rochester, one of the Empire’s three great ducal families, and the next Emperor chosen by divine oracle.

〈He who slays his father shall become the sun of heaven.〉

If my memories were true, the protagonist of this dreadful prophecy would now be staying in the East Wing—the opposite side of the manor from my current West Wing quarters.

As the nameless child of the East Wing.

‘If I’m ten now, then Ricardo must be… about twelve?’

Suddenly, I recalled his jet-black hair fluttering gracefully and his eyes—black as the deepest ocean, capable of swallowing all emotion.

Merely picturing him made my heart ache painfully.

‘What on earth is this feeling?’

While deeply pondering my emotions, an abrupt realization struck me.

“Huh!”

I clapped a hand over my mouth, startled by how loudly I’d gasped.

‘So what does this mean? That I’ll burn to death out of greed for Ricardo?’

Ha. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Trending

Like all prophecy-bound protagonists, Ricardo would inevitably endure a traumatic childhood—and the root of that suffering lay right here, at Count Fennel’s estate.

The one who tormented Ricardo viciously was Justin Loi Pernelle, the Fennel heir.

In other words, a pervert who claimed to love art.

Ugh—I swallowed an unrefined groan.

“Probably three years….”

If my memory served, these unspeakable horrors would persist for another three years from now.

The outcome was horrific.

House Fennel would be annihilated for kidnapping and imprisoning—and then abusing—the heir of an imperial ducal family.

But I, fortunately, would survive the family’s destruction, precisely because I lived far from the main house in the West Wing.

And even more so, because I wasn’t even registered in the family lineage.

“So, am I supposed to be grateful for surviving, then?”

Slowly rising, I carefully swept my hands across the objects in the dark room.

My memories after Ricardo left this estate were fragmented—existing only as disjointed pieces, like paintings in a gallery.

But one thing was certain: as an adult, I would go to the Empire for some reason and meet Ricardo again.

And there, I would commit an unforgivable sin.

The awakening of the Rochester bloodline’s power.

Only the current Saintess could trigger the Rochester family’s divine ability.

Since Ricardo would undoubtedly possess the Rochester power more brilliantly than any before him, that meant the Saintess already existed.

The problem was, it clearly wasn’t me.

“Ah….”

A deep sigh escaped my throat unbidden.

‘Just how did I manage to awaken Ricardo’s power?’

Though I couldn’t recall how I’d aided the awakening, one thing was certain: the result had been utterly devastating.

The most dreadful punishment—infernal execution—reserved solely for witches.

I shuddered as the memory surfaced: standing amid the crowd that condemned me as a witch, helplessly watching flames consume my body.

Crash! Boom! Thunder and lightning struck simultaneously, as if the heavens themselves were warning me.

Perhaps that faint, moan-like voice offering me a “chance” meant I was to live this life properly once more.

What I had to do next was surprisingly simple.

Ensure Ricardo didn’t suffer a miserable childhood.

Never seek him out or go to the Empire.

And no matter how handsome he was, never fall in love with him.

“At the very least, I’m confident about that.”

Once I’d settled my purpose, all troubling thoughts gradually quieted.

Nights without lightning were pure darkness.

I stared out the window into the pitch-black void. From afar, a torrential downpour charged toward me with a loud whoosh, breaking the world’s stillness.

Just then, a commotion arose outside my door. I quickly scrambled back onto the bed. The unattended door creaked open with an eerie groan.

As the door swung wide, a sickly yellow light stretched from the blackness of the hallway all the way to my bed.

“Ugh, it’s cold.”

Peeking through half-open eyes, I saw three young maids shivering as they timidly poked their heads in. Shoving one another, they tiptoed into the room. The lamps they carried cast unsteady, flickering light onto my bed.

I swiftly closed my eyes again.

“She must really be dead.”

“I told you so.”

Frosty breath escaped the lips of the frightened maid as she spoke.

“C-could it be?”

“Look—her face has no color at all. Check if she’s even breathing.”

“W-why me?”

One maid thrust her lamp right over my eyelids, searing a lingering afterimage onto my closed eyes.

“Hey, Betty, didn’t you bring firewood here yesterday?”

“What? That was your job!”

No wonder it was so freezing. Hearing this, I suddenly felt a piercing chill claw through my skin.

ads

“What do we do now?”

“What’s there to do? Don’t panic. We’ll just light a fire now to leave traces and report to the head maid tomorrow that she’s dead. Who even cares?”

The other maids, seemingly agreeing with her brazen tone, began bustling about. Meanwhile, I slowly sat up. Their lamp at least offered a bit more light. The room was small, nearly empty—only a bed and a wardrobe furnished it.

Ahead, the three girls frantically tried to light the fireplace.

“Hey, you lot.”

My voice cracked from disuse. Clearing my throat, I called out louder.

“Betty.”

“Why’re you calling me? I’m busy—why won’t this fire catch? Try harder!”

I firmly enunciated her name once more.

“Betty.”

This time, they heard me. All movement ceased instantly.

The maids slowly turned their heads—then, meeting my gaze, shrieked and collapsed onto the floor. The gust from their skirts caused the fireplace to burst into flame.

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