The annex was a grotesque sight. Every window on the first and second floors had been nailed shut, all to prevent the Duchess’s repeated escape attempts.
On the third floor, however, the panes had been shattered one by one in her frenzied outbursts, leaving gaping holes where glass once stood.
To conceal the Duchess’s madness from prying eyes, only a select handful of attendants were permitted to enter the annex.
Deprived of care, its outer walls had succumbed to neglect—dripping with moss, streaked with rain and grime, veiled in cobwebs. The once-celebrated rose garden had long since twisted into a bramble of thorns, more like a witch’s garden than a noble estate.
The annex, once admired for its refinement, now mirrored his mother’s ruin.
Ethan clenched his teeth the moment it came into view. The very thought of facing his mother sickened him.
The wind howled, rain lashed down, and lightning split the sky with a searing flash. As thunder roared, the knight at the gate saluted.
Inside, the annex was even gloomier than during his last visit. The air was foul with dust and rot. Not a trace of daylight filtered through the boarded windows, leaving the hall in oppressive shadow.
“Song, forgive me. I couldn’t keep it clean enough…”
“Enough.”
Ethan cut the maid off. He knew well that three maids alone could never manage this place.
This miserable, decaying hall felt to him a perfect reflection of the Blake family’s current state.
He followed Laura up the creaking stairs, already picturing the chaos awaiting him: the physician’s desperate attempts at reason, his mother’s frenzied shrieks of prayer.
But the silence unsettled him.
When he reached the third floor, he was greeted by a shocking sight.
A stranger—clad in nothing but thin undergarments—stood before the Duchess, who knelt on the floor, pressing fervent kisses to the intruder’s hands.
The stranger was a young woman with cropped black hair brushing her neck. Bare arms and legs were exposed beneath the flimsy garment; no shoes, no stockings, her toes pale and raw against the cold floor.
Across the room, Physician Calvin Corax looked lost between an injured maid and Patia. At the sight of Ethan, he rose quickly.
“You’ve arrived, my lord.”
Patia turned, still clasping the girl’s hand.
It had been four months since Ethan last saw his mother. Then, her face had been twisted with rage and bitterness.
But now—her violet eyes glistened, her complexion flushed with life, her voice soft, almost girlish.
“Ethan!”
For the briefest instant, Ethan’s chest constricted. She looked like the mother he had known fourteen years ago.
“…Mother.”
A dangerous flicker of hope sparked inside him—perhaps she had finally returned to herself.
“Hundt has heard my prayers!” Patia exclaimed, eyes shining. “He has sent me His representative!”
Ethan forced a bitter smile and turned to the knight behind him.
“Help Calvin tend the maid.”
“Yes, young master.”
“Laura, assist him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Patia was too enraptured to notice. “At last, we’ve found our sweet Louis again! What a joy, what a blessing!” She pressed her lips once more to the girl’s hand.
Ethan forced down the swell of anger, focusing only on the facts.
But the girl spoke haltingly, voice uncertain.
“I…”
She stopped abruptly, hazel eyes darting to Ethan, wary and suspicious.
A chuckle escaped him. Who on earth was this woman?
Then his gaze fell on the floor—upon a shabby dagger, its blade still stained with blood. He stooped to pick it up, weighing it in his hand.
“Do you realize,” he said coldly, “that trespassing into the ducal castle carries the penalty of execution—after a thorough interrogation under torture?”
“Wh-what?!”
“Ethan!” Patia leapt up, shielding the girl. “How dare you speak of such vile things? Do you not fear Hundt’s wrath? He will take you away!”
“Mother…” Ethan ground his teeth. That damned blind faith again.
“Have you not been deceived enough times already? Do you still not see their tricks?”
“This one is different! Can’t you feel it? The aura beyond this world?”
“She says the same thing you said about every other charlatan.”
Ethan’s glare sharpened. “Shall we see how long until this one produces a counterfeit relic? Perhaps a ring—‘the Blake ancestor’s lost treasure’—smuggled in to fool you.”
Patia’s lips trembled at the memory of past humiliation, but she held her ground.
Fourteen years. Fourteen years since Ethan’s parents had lost their reason. Fourteen years of him alone, dragging a crumbling house forward.
That was why he hated this place. The annex reeked of resentment.
“Or perhaps,” he hissed, “she’ll wave a child’s finger bone and claim it belonged to Louis. Do you know how many fragments lie buried in these halls?”
“Excuse me…”
“Wake up, Mother! How long will you cling to these delusions? How much longer must I endure this madness?”
For a moment, Ethan wondered if it was better simply to let her drown in false hope. Better to weep when the impostor fled than continue this endless war of words.
“…Hey.”
The girl peeked out from behind Patia, her eyes fixed—not on Ethan, but on the dagger in his hand.
“Little Duke Blake?” she said cautiously. “I am not a fraud. I am a duly appointed agent.”
Patia clasped her hands. “You see! I told you so!”
The girl swallowed hard, her face pale. “I apologize for trespassing. But I had no choice—the sanctuary of Hundt is here. The gods themselves have designated the room at the end of the hall as a temple of the Hunt. It is… unmatched in sanctity.”
Patia gasped, nearly in tears. “Such honor…”
“Ha!” Ethan laughed harshly. “So, Your Grace, what shall I offer you next? Shall I slaughter every sheep in the domain? Or fill your coffers with silver and gold?”
The girl’s face darkened. Ethan pressed on, mocking.
“Why so quiet? Because the truth has slipped through? Say it—what do you want? The Blake family has nothing left to give.”
Ashamed of his own words, he still forced the cruelty out.
“That’s enough. Let’s execute her. She trespassed, she witnessed the duke’s disgrace—she cannot be allowed to live.”
“I don’t want anything.”
The girl’s voice was low, heavy. The sorrow in it startled him. She didn’t even try to mask it.
“Just…” she lifted her chin faintly, “…kiss the top of my feet.”
Ethan froze.
She’s insane.
Yunsol thought grimly. Even she agreed it sounded insane. But she couldn’t bear it any longer.
The Duchess had been drowning in praise to her god, unwilling to listen. Ethan had stormed in, only to rage at his mother instead of calming her.
Still, Yunsol’s gaze had snagged on him from the start. Ethan Blake—the calm black hair, the weary but striking face—he was undoubtedly one of the characters from the game’s promotional cutscene. He looked every inch a protagonist.
Yes, his temper was fierce, his life weighed down by misery, but at least he wasn’t deranged like the Duchess. That much was a relief.
But this tense standoff couldn’t last forever. Her legs ached, her bloodied feet throbbed, and she longed for nothing more than to wash them clean.
If she wanted to survive, she had to break the cycle of shouting.
Besides, so long as the Duchess shielded her, Ethan couldn’t simply kill her outright. At least, Yunsol prayed that was true.
And unlike the impostors before her, she was the true representative. If she simply demonstrated her ability, everything would resolve.
“It’s true,” she said firmly. “A kiss upon the instep—that is all it takes. If you doubt me, you can try it yourself.”
Ethan stared at her as if she had gone mad.
The Duchess spun around, skirts flaring, hands clasped in ecstasy.
“I believe you! I’ll kiss you! Right now, as many times as you desire!”
