“Eek!”
Clang! At the sudden appearance of the very culprit himself, the steward froze in place. A knight seized the chance and locked him tight behind the icy bars.
He stood stiff and awkward for only a moment before realizing he was now trapped alone with the very man who had betrayed him. With a pitiful cry, he clung desperately to the bars.
“Sir Knight! Please—let me speak with His Grace the Duke! I know more—I can tell him everything…!”
His pleading voice rang through the cell, but the knight who had dragged him there didn’t so much as glance back. Without the slightest concern, he turned and left.
Whether it was fortune or misfortune, the worst the steward feared did not happen.
One by one, others in the same plight were thrown inside. Servants who had taken money to cover the steward’s suspicious dealings, and even five retainers who had boldly joined him in embezzling funds.
The once-frigid dungeon quickly became noisy in the worst possible way.
“This is all your fault, Count! You swore all we had to do was buy time, and look at us now! How could you lose the most important ledger?! We should never have sided with you!”
One voice, sharp with fury, laid all the blame at his feet.
“Is no one out there? I’ll pay handsomely—just grant me one audience with His Grace! This has to be a mistake! I swear I’m innocent…!!”
Another clung to pathetic hope, stubbornly insisting on his innocence.
“Heh… heh… it’s over. It’s the end. The blood-crazed Duke will never let me live…”
Still another despaired, muttering about old rumors as he lamented his fate.
It was a pitiful sight—men who had once taken pride in serving the ducal house, who had even dared to reach for higher rank, now reduced to nothing but whining cowards.
And in their midst, Count Averitt Barmark finally understood.
It’s over.
He didn’t even have the strength left to rage against the lowborn who had betrayed him.
The Duke had already seized the ledgers and documents—the most damning evidence. But even with that in mind, what chilled Averitt was how quickly the net had closed. Clearly, he had been under suspicion long before this. Even without the ledgers, it was only a matter of time before he was caught.
A monster of a man.
His legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the rickety bed. The old frame groaned under his weight.
Only moments ago, his mind had been racing with plans for escape. Now it was utterly blank, as though he were trapped in a maze with no exit.
The crash from falling after reaching so close to the star he had coveted all his life was crushing. He didn’t even register the curses hurled at him by the other retainers.
And then—
—How unjust.
A chill brushed his fingertips. A damp, misty voice whispered in his ear.
—So bitterly unjust…
Again. For a moment he thought it was an illusion, but then every hair on his body stood on end.
—So, you’ve finally ended up just like me.
The voice… was speaking to him. The instant Averitt realized this, he sprang to his feet.
“Wh-who’s there?!”
His hands and feet went numb with cold. The air in the dungeon grew unbearably frigid.
He spun about in panic, shouting.
And the emptiness itself answered.
—Are you not resentful, little brother? My wife, myself… and now you, all crushed by the hands of our loathsome bloodline…
His trembling hands went still. Averitt whispered, half in disbelief.
“…Brother? Could it be… you?”
No. Impossible.
He shook his head immediately. He must have gone mad, reduced to this pathetic state—locked in a cell, awaiting judgment from his hateful kin.
His elder brother had died. He himself had ordered the body retrieved. He had seen it with his own eyes.
This had to be madness—hallucinations born of despair—or else some cruel trick Justyn had devised.
—That child hates you, Averitt Laufe. My poor brother. Once you’ve been caught, you’ll never escape his grasp.
But the whispers did not stop. The voice of the brother he had once yearned for now circled his ears like a demon’s curse.
—You’ll rot forever in this freezing dungeon. The cold will split your skin, sickness will eat you alive. And you’ll die alone, abandoned.
“No. No! That can’t be! I’d rather die than suffer such humiliation…!”
—You’d rather die? Averitt, my brother. You don’t have the courage for that. You’ve always been a coward. You still don’t see it?
He clutched his ears, desperate to block it out, but the voice pressed on relentlessly.
—Your wife, your son—they’ll never know if you live or die. They’ll be scattered, broken, suffering just as you will. And every day, I’ll whisper in your ear, telling you how your family withers and dies.
It was a curse so vicious it felt real, as if it were already happening.
And just as the voice said, Averitt had already become a coward. Terrified, face pale, he clung to the bars and screamed.
“Someone! Anyone! There’s a voice here—someone’s hiding, waiting to strike! They’re after me!!”
His frantic screams echoed until the knights rushed over from the entrance. But nothing changed.
They found nothing. Only left him with a cold warning that further disturbances would not be tolerated.
The moment the guard withdrew—
—How pitiful. So pitiful.
The whispers resumed at once. Averitt’s broad frame shook violently.
“What have I done to you, brother? What have I done to deserve this?!”
His voice cracked, nearly breaking into a sob. The dungeon had gone silent, only the voice of the kin he thought long dead filling the void.
—Done wrong? No. You could never wrong me. You’re the only kin I ever acknowledged.
“Then… why…?”
—Averitt, Averitt. My foolish brother. It’s all because of Justyn. My hateful son. He’s the one who trapped you.
Averitt froze.
Yes… that was it.
The power and position that should have been his, snatched away. This freezing prison. This wretched fate. All of it—because of that boy.
—To take revenge, he cursed us for years, hiding his blade until the time was right. Both your misfortune and mine come from him.
“Justyn…”
The spark of hatred flared—and spread like wildfire, uncontrollable.
His bloodshot eyes rolled wildly, searching beyond the bars, as though Justyn were lurking just outside.
—He dragged us to the bottom of hell, and now he dares to escape our grasp, to seek his own happiness? How dare he.
“JUSTYN… JUSTYN!!!”
Rage boiled in his chest. He raked bloody nails across his own skin, yet felt no pain.
“Because of him… because of that boy, I—”
Staggering, Averitt lurched closer to the bars.
Bulging veins crawled across his forehead and neck, his eyes glassy and red. Across the way, the steward shrank back into the shadows, holding his breath at the sight.
A few minutes earlier, Averitt might have been offended by his presence. But now, that pitiful commoner was less than nothing to him.
He had only the guiding voice of his blood.
—Let’s kill Justyn Laufe. I’ll help you, Averitt.
Yes. He had to die.
Averitt’s hands clenched the bars with a terrible strength.
Crack—
Murderous light flared in his eyes, and the iron itself groaned and bent under his grip.
***
Ries blinked, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him.
A fairy?
What kind of nonsense was that? His hind legs twitched restlessly, flicking at his ears as though he could shake the ridiculous word out of them.
Yet the one who had said it looked utterly certain—no hesitation, not even a shred of doubt. Ries was left completely dumbfounded.
Maybe she mistook his silence for interest? Because Melissa, without a single prompt, started spilling the story in a rush.
“Last night, one of the maids who skipped her duties was sneaking back through the estate… and she happened to catch sight of you and Sefiut together.”
In short: A maid, sneaking in after shirking her chores, had accidentally witnessed him and Sefiut.
“Phew…”
“…Was that a sigh? Your ears—adorable.”
Ries’ head throbbed.
It wasn’t just that they’d been seen. On a dark night, it would’ve been easy enough to dismiss as a trick of the eyes. But no—the maid believed it wholeheartedly, and worse, spread the tale.
So the Spirit Beast really lived up to its reputation, huh?
He already knew more eyes had been following him lately. After all, he’d slipped past knights and even barged into a council chamber. Of course people found him strange.
But still—
Even so, a fairy? Really…?
The leap from “floating doll” to “fairy” was absurd.
Maybe it was just the way people thought in this fantasy world—their logic could be… surprisingly creative at times.
If it were me, I’d have thought, ‘That doll’s possessed by a ghost,’ and tossed it straight out.
Should he call it a blessing, then? Embarrassing and incomprehensible as it was, being mistaken for a fairy was still better than being branded possessed.
As Ries cast a sidelong glare at the motionless, half-lidded Sefiut, a sudden chill prickled down his spine.
His head snapped toward the door.
His pupils dilated, his tail fluffed and stiffened—every instinct was on edge. The three knights in the room stiffened too, responding to his sudden alarm.
Creak—without so much as a knock, the office door swung open. Melissa’s blade was out in an instant.
“No one here? …That’s inconvenient.”
The face that appeared beyond the door was one that should never have been there.
Melissa stepped back, sword raised, her voice as sharp and cold as steel.
“Count Averitt. How did you get in here?”
Averitt Barmark—the very man they all believed locked away in prison—stood before them.
bruh
worst fucking villain ever
targeting your own son? for shame