You were made to farm, and now you're the emperor of an empire?

Chapter 325 Netherworld
Roman ate dinner, then sent a maid to boil water. He washed away the winter snow in a wooden tub, and while bathing, he was still feeling a bit of a headache about what had happened that day.

Roman returned to the bedroom in his robe and was surprised to find a thick blanket on the bed that covered someone's body lying on the bed, but he could see dark, blood-red hair scattered on the pillow by the candlelight and the light of the snow outside.

“Margaret, it’s you?” Roman said.

“Your Highness, I’m warming your bed,” the Scarlet Witch replied.

"But what about Shasta?"

“I’ve already told her that I will protect you today.”

Roman was always amazed by Margaret's delicate appearance. Her beautiful face had a girlish quality, and she looked like she was in her adolescence. She was only about 1.6 meters tall, not as tall as Shasta at 1.7 meters, and her figure and build were like those of a living young girl, making one feel sorry for her.

But her fashion sense was a different story. She liked blood-red clothes, and her eyes and hair were also blood-red, giving her a gloomy and terrifying aura.

The maids in the castle dreaded dealing with Margaret, fearing she would drink their blood. And Shasta was far too aloof, an unapproachable, icy older sister figure… These witches were truly freaks out.

Margaret pulled the blanket up to her chin, turned to her side, rested her head on the soft pillow, and stared intently at Roman.

I didn't see you at the dinner party.

"You won't let me have dinner."

Are you hungry now?

“A little,” Margaret said, hiding under the covers.

Roman summoned a maid who brought a plate of snacks, which included cake, crepes, milk tea, two slices of bread, and a small bowl of jam.

"Come and have some."

"You told me not to eat it."

"If everyone were as obedient as you, come and have something to eat with me." Roman draped a soft fur cloak over Margaret's shoulders.

The plate was placed on the blanket. Margaret quietly watched Roman sitting on the edge of the bed. He picked up a crepe and brought it to her lips; the crepe smelled sweet. Margaret opened her mouth and took a small bite. The rich aroma of the crisp crepe filled her mouth, followed by a crisp chewing sound.

"Margaret, why don't you dress yourself up?"

"Why dress up?" she asked, puzzled. "Witches bring misfortune. Nobody likes me. They throw stones and sticks at me, treating me like a calamity. Your Highness, I don't live for them."

"Then for whom do you live?" Roman asked.

He didn't get an answer, and the Scarlet Witch would remain silent when she had no answer.

"You have such a beautiful face." Roman examined Margaret's face, and without her hair to hide it, her eyes were somewhat evasive.

But Roman held her delicate, small face, preventing her from turning away.

Two pairs of eyes met; one pair seemed to be silently bleeding deep within, while the other pair was burning with a brilliant flame.

“Margaret, smile,” he said.

The witch looked at him silently, her face devoid of smiles or any other expression.

Roman suddenly realized that Margaret had never asked for anything.

Shasta obeyed his orders for the sake of other witches.

Edith obeyed his orders for the sake of the pearl.

The other battle witches obeyed her orders because she paid them.

Anyway, everyone has their own demands.

Margaret, however, never made any demands of him. She would carry out any command given to her.

"Do you have a goal?" Roman asked, casually placing his empty plate on the desk.

“I’ve thought about… going to the Netherworld…” Margaret hesitated.

It's clear she wasn't satisfied with that answer either.

"Netherworld? The world of the dead?"

"It's not just a world for the dead."

But Roman wouldn't listen to her explanation. He stubbornly believed it was a world of the dead. "Why do you want to go to the Netherworld?" "It's quiet there, no pain, no blood, no killing, and no stones or sticks..."

Roman was surprised by her answer, and his fear of her inexplicably lessened, replaced by a little pity.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Is not it good?"

Roman sighed softly, already regarding her as a child who lacked love but was homeless, and that was indeed the case.

Although Margaret was more than ten years older than him, growing older does not equate to growing up mentally; otherwise, there would be no such thing as a "giant baby."

In this ignorant and backward era, everyone suffers from mental illness.

Roman also suffers from mental illness, more severe than anyone else's.

"I've heard you mention the Netherworld before, could you tell me about it again?"

"It is recorded in the ancient and unknowable texts of the Dark Ages. It is the end point for all spellcasters and the final destination for all life. It is completely different from the world we live in. When you step into it, it is like stepping into the deepest fog. The boundless earth will dissipate and the endless ocean will recede. It is shrouded in shadow, yet it is deeper than darkness..."

The Scarlet Witch said, "If the gods of the Holy See truly exist, then the Netherworld must be their abode, lurking in some corner. It is an invisible world; even some high-level spellcasters cannot sense its existence. Even if they occasionally come into contact with it, others simply assume that the person who touched it has taken the wrong medicine or is seeing an illusion..."

Roman knew this was normal; witches and wizards often dealt with various herbs and mushrooms, so it wasn't surprising to have such rumors.

Who would believe in spellcasters who are superstitious and have ulterior motives?

If what Margaret said is true, then it's not a question of whether to believe it or not, but rather how the Vatican should burn them at the stake and how to extinguish the rumors.

She said softly to Roman, "If one day, Your Highness, you die, I will take you to the Netherworld."

Roman was startled, but he quickly regained his composure. "Let's talk about it after I'm dead. I still have a great cause to accomplish."

“Okay,” Margaret said softly.

Roman was both amused and exasperated; this simpleton had actually taken it seriously.

He believed that Margaret needed spiritual solace, and the Underworld was her ultimate refuge. It might be terrible there, but the real world was even worse. Once she reached that world, she would no longer suffer—does this idea seem familiar?

Alas, the Vatican and the believers.

Roman wondered if Margaret hadn't been a witch, could she have become a hymn nun in the Papacy?
On the other hand, if Margaret hadn't been a witch, she might not have turned out this way.

Her magic brought her extremely close to blood and death; she has taken countless lives.

She was different from those believers.

Those blind believers are passively waiting for a miracle to happen, like betting their entire lives on a lottery ticket to heaven.

Margaret was actively seeking that world, believing that her soul would find release in the underworld.

If she has the chance, she will also bring Roman along.

The latter had no response.

He took off his robes and crawled into the warm, cozy quilt.

The scent of Shasta had faded, replaced by a different one—a peculiar, unsettling, faint smell of blood.

Roman didn't dislike the smell; it had a kind of clashing swords and galloping horses scent that instantly aroused his desire to conquer.

"Why do you suddenly want to replace Shasta?" he asked.

She paused for a moment, then said, "I'm here to protect you... as your personal protector."

Her answer was vague.

Roman felt that she longed to be loved.

This is a human need; this seemingly young witch has never received any care.

What he should do now is satisfy her and pour his burning love into Margaret's body.

(End of this chapter)