Episode 6
It happened then.
A scream rang out in the distance.
Without even realizing, I shot up to my feet.
The scream of a child.
No doubt it was just another ploy to terrify prey like me and throw me into a panic.
But I didn’t hesitate—I ran toward where the scream had come from.
The reason was simple.
“Master!”
What if it was Ian?
Of course, there’s no way a demon-possessed young master would ever be pushed into a corner enough to scream.
If anyone was in danger, it was me.
Even so, you never know.
What if he got startled by a bat mid-prank and screamed, then fainted?
And if I, as his assigned valet, failed to properly attend to him in that state, I could very well be dismissed.
My head spun with every grim possibility as I dashed blindly through the pitch-dark space.
“Master! Are you there? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?!”
The scream sounded two more times… then abruptly cut off.
The laughter had also ceased.
Strange, but I quickly brushed the thought aside.
Who cared who was laughing out there in the dark?
“It’s fine to leave me here, but please, just answer me once! Master!”
My desperate cry echoed through the void for a long while.
When only silence answered, I sagged with a weary sigh.
And then suddenly—someone’s hand pressed over my eyes.
“You are…”
A voice, oddly drained of will, brushed against my ear.
“…beyond belief.”
“Ah! Master, it’s you! You’re not hurt, are you?”
“You really worried about me?”
The hand lifted from my eyes.
And only then did I realize—I was back in Ian’s room.
I blinked a few times, staring at him standing before me.
The angel-faced devil regarded me with a truly enigmatic expression.
“You’ve got a death wish.”
He seized my wrist again, yanking me toward him.
His crimson eyes still bored into me.
At his feet, Ian Brighton’s shadow stretched unnaturally, swelling outward.
The darkness around him began to surge, ready to swallow me whole.
Hundreds of voices whispered in some alien tongue, but I ignored them and pressed on.
“Me? I only came because I heard a scream. I was worried something had happened to you, Master…”
“And you don’t even fear me.”
“Would you prefer I did?”
“‘Fear.’ And ‘awe.’ Those were mine by right, back when I was truly myself.”
It struck me anew—
Ian Brighton really was a demon.
The boy before me carried the same tone, the same words, as the adult Ian Brighton of the novel.
His speech rolled off his tongue smooth as silk.
A languid voice, enough to ensnare a listener.
But beneath it, a peculiar pressure.
Just hearing him stirred a primal dread.
I shook my head fiercely, clinging to reason.
“But if I fear you…”
My words stumbled forward.
“…then I couldn’t serve you properly.”
The whispers stopped.
At last, I could breathe again.
“I thought I should fulfill whatever you desired of me, Master.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed.
The red gleam turned sharper.
“Cece.”
“Yes, Master.”
“What can you offer me?”
I blinked.
The world swam and warped before my eyes.
Faint echoes of someone’s rage reverberated at the edge of hearing.
“Talking about wages? Kids like you, being fed and housed is your pay!”
“You think you’re equal to young master James? A bastard child could never be treated the same as the heir of the house!”
“So it was you who stole from young master James, wasn’t it? This is why treating a baseborn kindly is wasted effort…”
Those were voices from the Grington estate.
He was doing this on purpose. To torment me.
Probing my weaknesses, trying to break me down!
But even if I faltered, my answer wouldn’t change.
“…What I can give you is warm milk with honey.”
“…Milk?”
“It’s late, and you seem to have trouble sleeping. I thought it would be the most suitable thing I could offer…”
Silence.
“I don’t have anything else. I’m dirt poor. If what you want is torment… well, before I came here, that was basically my daily life. I can handle that much…”
I don’t know how long the stillness lasted.
At last, Ian released my wrist. His fingers slipped away slowly.
As I rubbed my sore wrist, two faint candles flickered back to life.
I lowered my gaze without meaning to.
Was I supposed to stay? Or was I dismissed? I couldn’t tell.
“You.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Look at me.”
“Yessir.”
I lifted my head and faced him once more.
The red eyes still glimmered, but not as ominously as before.
“What are you thinking?”
The tone was sharp, pressing. Why—did he worry I might be cursing him in my head?
“…That you’re handsome?”
“…Forget it.”
With a heavy sigh, Ian finally said the words I’d been yearning for.
“Now get out.”
I fought hard not to sound too happy.
“Yes, Master.”
“And bring me that honeyed milk.”
“Yes, I’ll bring it right away.”
I fiddled with the cross pendant tucked in my clothes.
Better not let it out of reach, just in case.
And I really ought to demand night-duty pay, too…
What kind of valet dreams of overtime pay in a duke’s household?
And yet, I managed to secure it.
Well—not exactly “night-duty pay,” but a bonus!
“My word, I can’t believe it, truly, unthinkable…”
All thanks to Ian Brighton’s baffling behavior.
For the first time ever, he appeared at the family breakfast table, startling not just the servants but the entire ducal household.
And out of nowhere, he declared: “My valet carried out my orders well at dawn.”
I had no idea what his intentions were, but that one remark was enough to leave Margaret—and even the duke and duchess—ashen-faced.
Rule One. Do not meet Ian Brighton alone after 10 p.m.
Rule Five. If summoned by Ian Brighton after 10 p.m., always bring another valet with you.
And yet I, his sole valet, had broken both rules and survived.
More than that—I had earned his approval.
From there, everything snowballed.
Margaret came to me first, showered me in exclamations and sighs, then discreetly handed me a bonus.
And the looks from the other servants began to change.
“How did he survive?”
“What trick did he pull?”
“Word is the new boy arrived smiling, even on his first day. He’s definitely not ordinary.”
Such rumors were just icing on the cake.
And what’s more—serving Ian Brighton became oddly uneventful.
For a whole week after, Ian never called for me past 10 p.m.
In other words, I never had to face the “terrifying” version of Ian Brighton again.
He still piled on trivial errands and little tasks, enough to keep me busy, but he no longer hurled pillows or threw tantrums.
Compared to what I had braced for, the peace was almost disappointing.
“Not even a single rat showing up at naptime like I expected,” I mused.
Well, aside from the occasional flock of crows crowding the tree outside his window.
I scrubbed my hands and face clean with the washbasin water and began tidying his usual mess.
Recently it had been a bit quiet, but today his shoes and clothes lay scattered all over the floor, looking suspicious.
“Why’d you toss your clothes everywhere, Master?”
Perched by the window, chin in hand, Ian answered flatly.
“If all my outdoor clothes are ruined, no one will tell me to go out.”
“Who told you to go out?”
“Hah!”
I’d grown accustomed to his scoffing by now.
“I can read the thoughts people try to hide. Every time someone meets my eyes, all they’re thinking is: ‘If only he would disappear.’”
He said it with a yawn, as though bored.
Something about it pricked at me.
At night, Ian Brighton claimed he wanted fear and reverence.
But in daylight, he seemed hung up on people’s hostility.
“You’re ugly.”
His gaze finally flicked from the window to me.
The sudden insult left me blinking in confusion.
“Not at all. You’re very handsome, Master.”
By now, he’d grown somewhat resistant to my habitual compliments. Instead of gaping, he just clicked his tongue with a short laugh.
“Then why does everyone run in terror, if I’ve got such a fine face?”
I scooped his clothes into a basket as I tried to console him.
“Eat well, get some sun, exercise—you’ll have marriage proposals pouring in every day.”
It was a stock phrase, but also half true.
After all, in the novel, “Demon” Ian Brighton dazzled society with his presence.
Right now, people avoided this unrefined boy, half-demon though he was, but once he fully embraced his power, none would dare disregard him.
“That may be true, but I don’t want marriage proposals.”
“Oh, but finding a life partner could be a worthwhile experience.”
“Life partner, hah.”
Another scoff. I let it slide and simply nodded.
After all, no one could ever control a demon. Not unless they were “the one the demon truly loved.”
That was what <The Sacred War of Heaven and Evil> had said.
But demons didn’t have hearts that could beat for love. They could only mimic humanity, never truly feel.
It was impossible—a line meant to emphasize that only a saint could slay a demon.
‘Even so…’
To never love anyone.
And yet before “Demon” Ian Brighton, there was still “Human” Ian Brighton.
The boy beside me was still human.
Half demon, yes. But not yet wholly consumed.
‘Wouldn’t it be lonely, living like that…?’
Ugh. Why was I even worrying about this?
“Where are you going?”
His voice suddenly brushed my ear, startling me.
Ian had crept up right behind me.
“The laundry! They were all over the floor. I need to wash them.”
“Have someone else do it.”
Huh. Why did he look so displeased?
He flung himself onto the sofa, slouching with a sullen glare fixed on me.
‘Funny—when I’m with him, he grumbles nonstop, but when I step away, he hates it.’
And then it hit me—
Could Ian Brighton be… lonely?
Was I the only peer who actually talked to him, looked him in the eye as an equal?
Had he never formed a close bond with anyone, so now “don’t go” was the best he could manage?
‘Hmm.’
Basket tucked under my arm, I turned abruptly to face him.
“Master!”
His crimson eyes tilted toward me.
A brusque, surly gaze, but that didn’t matter.
“Let’s go out together!”
Proclaiming it boldly had been fine.
The problem came after.
“Come in.”
I hadn’t expected one request for permission to take me straight to facing the Duke himself…!
