After an unknown amount of time, the intermittent sound of piano once again echoed in the studio.
Even to the mechanical butler, those playing sounds could not be called music. Not only did they often pause in inexplicable places, but many times, they were only two or three measures or even shorter. Nobody could make out what Miss Bauman wanted to express, but everyone knew that repeating similar playings was meaningless.
Suddenly, the female composer slapped the piano keys with both hands, making a deafening discordance. "I’m working! Don’t stand there like a pillar! Don’t you have anything better to do than distract me?"
In the corner of the studio door, where her anger was directed, Desmond, wrapped in a black cloak, stood quietly. "Please forgive my intrusion, Miss Bauman. You’ve deactivated the magic warning system throughout the mansion, which poses a serious threat to your personal safety. Particularly since your eyesight is compromised, this is far too dangerous."
"No one would go out of their way to harm a blind person like me! Thieves never visit here, and even if they did, they wouldn’t get anything. Tuck away your stiff caution that makes me sick!" Bauman retorted unreservedly, but at the moment, she had not moved at all, still firmly sitting in front of the piano, too lazy to even turn her head around.
"I apologize for interrupting your composition!" These were the words left by the mechanical butler before withdrawing. "Please don’t mind me, just continue your work."
Thus, as the mechanical butler carried the bucket to the garden blooming with hyacinths again, the entire mansion echoed with the bouncing notes once more.
The two suns were still high in the sky of the Demon World. The originally languishing flowers and plants finally regained some vitality after the mechanical butler sprinkled them with some water. People from the small town occasionally passed by the mansion, some curiously pointed at Desmond’s tall figure, while others quietly discussed what was hidden underneath the broad black cloak.
All of this was captured by the auditory system of the mechanical butler, but he did not focus his attention on such mundane affairs. Desmond only occasionally looked up while watering the plants, looking in the direction of the studio, as if checking on the safety of his master.
That direction still periodically emitted simple music notes. From time to time, a hummingbird that had wandered in the flower bushes for a long time would fly by.
Often at this time, that cacophony caused by both hands falling on the piano keys would echo again.
Miss Lich’s composition was still stuck at a bottleneck, though she did not know what her butler was doing at the moment. A beam of sunlight shone through the gleaming window, illuminating the frail, helpless figure in front of the piano. Follow current novels on novel{f}ire.net
Bauman sat in front of the piano with a drooping head, motionless for a long while.
In the dining room, Miss Bauman sat at the head of the long table, slowly enjoying her lavish dinner. Laid out on the luxurious Sime velvet tablecloth before her were several dishes, each only touched by a knife and fork once or twice. The mechanical butler still stood behind her, wrapped in a cloak.
These dishes were naturally cooked by the mechanical butler himself, who had been equipped with a memory core filled with a chef’s specialized data, including cooking methods. In the beginning, Miss Bauman didn’t pass up any opportunity to criticize him. However, this didn’t last long. After all, despite his machineness, Desmond’s stability and fine control as a superb warrior shone, and any meal strictly prepared according to the data process was always much better than those cooked by the blind Miss Bauman herself.
During the meal, the Lich lady only needed to extend her arm, and the considerate mechanical butler would serve her a crystal goblet filled with grape wine. The purple-red liquid further accentuated the tender, white skin of Bauman’s thin arm. Taking the goblet to her lips and taking a sip, the mistress of the mansion slightly raised the corner of her lips, yet she still didn’t express any satisfaction. On the butler’s side, he just carefully put the wine bottle back in its place, making no unnecessary demonstrations.
"How many people have you killed?" A sudden, blunt question broke the silence in the dining room.
The mechanical butler slightly tilted his head, his tone carrying a hint of confusion, "Pardon?"
"I’m asking how many innocent lives you’ve snatched away with this body armored in crystal, during your service in the Undead Scourge army," Bauman spoke nonchalantly, with a hint of mockery.
"We were soldiers controlled by the Lich lords. Generally, according to the laws of the Demon World, we are not allowed to harm any silver-eyed nobles, Liches, and the like. Usually, our ranged units don’t directly engage with the enemy."
The corner of Bauman’s mouth curled up slightly, "So you’re saying you’ve never killed a human? Means all those you’ve killed were your own kind?"
"How many fully armored, partially dressed, or even primitive abominations without a trace of crystal on them, have you thoroughly destroyed?"
"Has the number grown to such an extent that you’ve lost track over time? Your hands seem to be smeared with a considerable amount of blood. One thing I’m particularly curious about, what was your feeling when you tore your own kind to pieces and sent them to Hell?"
The turret steward stood still, neither making a move nor emitting any sound.
Finally, Bauman, who was evidently losing his patience, struck his dinner knife heavily on the plate, "Get out of here, patchwork monster! You’ve made this already bland dinner even more lifeless!"
"Then, I’ll take my leave, Miss." This response from Desmond was timely, indeed. After respectfully bowing his head and withdrawing a few steps from the edge of the table as usual, he turned around and left at a normal pace.
Farewelling him was the deliberate friction sound of the villa owner’s knife and fork scraping across the plate. "What a detestable guy!" Bauman made this summative remark.
A few days passed, and the loud sound produced by the slamming of piano keys echoed throughout the villa again. Miss Bauman, as usual, sat dejectedly in front of the piano, not intending to do anything else.
Various musical instruments, some common and some rare, all made of crystal, were scattered a few meters away from the piano. The instruments, which sparkled with various marvelous colors in the sun, seemed to be casually discarded on the studio floor. This was entirely Miss Bauman’s masterpiece. The only thing of value in her eyes was the piano located in the center of the studio, which she spent hours playing each day.
A truly top-tier piano from the Aegean Continent.
At this moment, the turret steward was diligently wiping the instruments on the floor with a special cloth. After meticulously cleaning every corner of the instrument, he would arrange it by type, laying the instruments out like the seats of a formal orchestra.
The pounding sounds that Miss Bauman was using to vent her frustration didn’t interfere with his work. Alternatively, the Lich lady, who had proclaimed days ago that he would affect her creation, had seemingly become accustomed to his presence and hadn’t shown any dissatisfaction towards his actions. It was as if they had both deliberately avoided the unpleasantness of the past.
However, as Bauman finally gave up her silent vigil at the piano and slowly stood up to walk towards the living room, the turret steward’s instrument refinishing work seemed to come to an end. After his glance had swept over all the shining instruments, he finally settled his gaze on the grand piano.
Bauman was apparently in a poor state of mind, as she had forgotten to even close the piano keys cover before leaving. Upon discovering this oversight, Desmond immediately approached it, but abruptly paused at a moderate distance from the piano. After staring at the eighty-eight keys for a while, he tentatively extended his crystal right hand towards the keys and slowly, very slowly, pressed out a softer note.
"Don’t touch my piano!" The fierce voice of Bauman suddenly rang out behind him. She, who should’ve already reached the living room, had returned for an unknown reason, precisely witnessing this absurd scene. "If anything happens to this piano, even dismantling you and selling you off wouldn’t compensate for my loss!"
Without hesitation, the turret steward moved a step away from the piano, "I’m very sorry, Miss Bauman."
He was met with only a cold snort of reply.
Unexpectedly though, this time, Desmond didn’t seem keen on leaving. Instead, he turned around as if he was planning to say something to her.
"I have just cleaned all the instruments in this studio. Although I was prepared to perform necessary repairs and tuning beforehand, and even have the relevant content in my memory core, in the process of my work, I found that each and every instrument here is in perfect condition. Aside from the dust, they don’t have even the slightest flaw. It seems that you haven’t used any of these instruments. I understand that you are a piano composer, but don’t you ever need other instruments to trigger your inspiration?"