A squat, rotund man in a black servant’s uniform appeared outside the secluded manor, carrying something that resembled a lunch tin. Among the group standing guard, the butler—distinguished by his immaculate uniform—took out a pocket watch, checked the time, accepted the item, and strode into the silent residence.

  It was mealtime.

  But the moment he pushed open the massive brown-lacquered doors, a faint yet unmistakable scent of blood drifted into his nostrils.

  Anyone allowed inside this place was considered one of Homitt’s most trusted men—competent, discreet, and capable. A terrible premonition rose in the butler’s heart. He quickened his pace and called loudly, “Young Master, it is time for your meal.”

  No reply.

  His heart sank further, dread pooling in his chest as he prayed nothing had happened to his master.

  But then he saw it—the familiar figure lying in a spreading pool of blood.

  It was over… that was the only thought left in his mind.

  ——

  In the grand estate of House Punk.

  A convoy accompanied by twenty mounted knights entered the manor grounds. The servants working nearby halted their tasks and bowed in unison. The Earl of Punk had returned.

  The dark mage disguised as Homitt hurried forward, imitating the young lord’s usual mannerisms with practiced ease.

  The convoy halted. The knights stepped aside in two perfect rows as the Earl disembarked with his wife and their third son. The disgraced third son kept his head lowered; bruising still lingered at the corner of his mouth. The Earl and his lady both wore stormy expressions.

  “Honored Father, how was the journey?” the false Homitt asked with obsequious enthusiasm.

  The Earl merely cast a cold glance at his third son and walked toward his residence without a word. Clearly, the negotiations with the elven delegation had yielded no advantage.

  The imposter breathed out in relief—silence was best; it meant less risk of exposure.

  But that relief proved premature.

  The Earl summoned all family members to the grand hall, evidently preparing for a proper family reckoning.

  “Those insatiable elves!” the Earl thundered, pacing furiously. “I ought to sell the whole lot of them at the slave market! Gold was one thing—but ten tons of mana stone as compensation?! Shameless extortion! My life’s savings are practically gone! Why not just demand my life while they’re at it?! Felco!”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Felco—the third son—had been expecting it. He bowed his head even lower, knowing anything he said would only inflame his father further.

  “Why are you looking down now?! You were quite pleased with yourself when you captured those elves, weren’t you?!” The Earl strode forward and kicked Felco to the floor.

  During the lawsuit, he had more than once resisted the urge to kill this useless son outright.

  He had tried to shift all blame onto Felco, but the long-eared bastards refused to accept that a mere fool of a noble’s son could mastermind such a thing. They insisted the entire Punk family had sanctioned it—otherwise there would be little value in squeezing compensation out of a nobody.

  As Felco was kicked and cursed across the hall, the other children remained silent as stones.

  If the real Homitt had been here, he would likely be trembling with guilt.

  But even the false Homitt suffered—he longed to beat Homitt senseless for forcing him into such a role. The dark mage’s volatile temper strained against its leash.

  “From this day forward,” the Earl snarled, “if any one of you causes trouble again and forces me to clean up after you, I’ll send you to the countryside and bar you from returning!”

  He panted harshly, eyes full of menace.

  “As for you—” he pointed at Felco— “you’ll be sent to Finar, the region ravaged by demon attacks. I’ll purchase land there, and you will reflect on your failures properly!”

  Hearing he was to be exiled to such a desolate place, Felco finally broke down, sobbing and pleading, “Please don’t! Father, I’m your son! You can’t do this to me! I beg you!”

  The Earl only gave him a look of pure disgust and ordered the servants to drag him away.

  Then he began reciting a list of new family rules he had drafted on the road.

  The false Homitt had never wanted to leave a place more desperately than now.

  Just as his patience reached its limit, a warding spell outside the estate triggered—indicating someone familiar had approached.

  It was a servant who should have remained at Homitt’s secret residence.

  Seizing the moment when the Earl glanced away, the dark mage briefly conjured another illusionary double and vanished under a shroud of invisibility.

  Outside the manor, the sneaking servant almost collided with a figure in the path. He looked up to see Homitt’s guardian mage.

  “What happened?” the dark mage asked, voice edged with bitterness toward Homitt.

  The servant trembled violently and stammered, “M-Mage… s-sir… Young Master Homitt… h-he is dead…”

  “What?!” Rage flared. A green light burst from the mage’s eyes— and the servant instantly crumbled into a pile of bones, clattering onto the ground.

  Ignoring the remains, the dark mage sped toward Homitt’s hidden residence at once.

  Meanwhile, in the hall, the Earl noticed his eldest son frozen unnaturally in place. He called out—once, twice— Then he watched in disbelief as Homitt’s form shimmered and vanished.

  He was stunned.

  A robed figure appeared beside him and murmured, “That was only a false projection. The Homitt here earlier was fake—likely cast by Soth.”

  Soth—the guardian mage.

  The Earl sensed calamity brewing. He roared to the household, “Find Homitt—now!”

  ——

  A slender figure ran through the pitch-black forest. Perlnas had no idea how long she had been fleeing—only that she must not stop. The farther she escaped from that accursed residence, the better.

  The darkness of the woods was suffocatingly eerie, a torment to both body and spirit.

  Her dress had been torn to tatters by branches; thin scratches marked her face. From the distant hills came the occasional howl of wolves, each one tightening the knot of fear inside her chest.

  It will be fine. It will be fine… She repeated it silently, a desperate mantra.

  When she finally allowed herself a moment’s rest, preparing to continue her flight, that familiar voice returned at last:

  “Perlnas, are you still there?”

  She spotted the strange device at once. Joy flooded her heart—she seized it with both hands, clapped a palm over her mouth, and wept soundlessly.