When the Villains Unite - Chapter 15: Trace (2)
I had explicitly instructed the butler to ensure no staff ventured into the basement storage, but it seemed this girl hadn’t yet been informed. Still, for someone new to the estate, she had managed to recognize my identity by my hair color alone.
“Keep it a secret that you saw me here.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Quietly. When you go upstairs, report directly to the head maid and ask for work.”
“Thank you, Lady…!”
Quietly, I said!
I watched her quickly bow and scurry off, her figure disappearing from view. Thankfully, I didn’t sense anyone else nearby.
Though I was slightly taken aback by the unexpected encounter, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t manage. It just left a nagging feeling in the back of my mind.
I resumed my descent. The cool, damp scent of the basement greeted me as I went further down.
The storage room, untouched by human hands for ages, was thick with musty dust. When I opened the door to the passageway, a cloud of aged particles rose into the air.
“Cough, cough!”
Why was it that obstacles seemed to keep popping up today? Now, of all things, the dust had gotten into my lungs, making me cough uncontrollably.
I quickly covered my mouth with my sleeve and closed the basement passage door behind me. Inside the underground corridor, where the air was heavy with dampness, it was slightly easier to breathe compared to the dusty entryway.
It must be the nature of this underground space, but the air felt even more humid than it had been a few months ago, as the season began to warm. The lingering bloodstains that had yet to fade and the eerie atmosphere of this place… no matter how many years passed, I couldn’t get used to it.
If anything, it felt more frightening now than it had when I was younger.
“Ah, damn it, I forgot to bring a flashlight…”
Hurrying my steps, I moved quickly through the underground corridor. When I finally entered the annex, the warm and familiar aura of the space greeted me like an old friend.
And yet, for some reason, the peace of the annex felt artificial today.
Maybe it was just my imagination—or perhaps it was the contrast with the dark, damp underground tunnel—but the stillness of the air felt oddly unsettling, as if someone were quietly watching me.
Of course, that was impossible. Other than myself and the Orca brothers, no one would—or could—step foot in this place.
‘Let’s just handle what I came here for and get back to the estate quickly.’
Maybe it was just my imagination, but my instincts were practically screaming at me not to linger here too long.
This annex, once the place I was most familiar with in this world, now felt unsettling—like a space abandoned by people, left for wandering spirits to claim. A chill ran down my spine, and goosebumps prickled along my arms.
Still, the thought of heading back through the underground passage felt even worse. Its oppressive gloominess was far more suffocating than the eerie calm of the annex.
‘Why am I feeling this way?’
Trying to ignore the creeping unease, I straightened my posture and climbed the stairs with a calm façade.
The mansion, void of Belhark’s magical presence, was dim even though it was early morning. Shadows fell heavily across the halls, casting an unsettling darkness over everything.
Pushing through the heavy atmosphere, I entered my room and opened the drawer where the problem book lay. Beneath it, I noticed the old documents about the Count—papers I had once thought might be useful when leaving the annex.
‘Should I burn these too?’
Even as I thought about keeping them for nostalgia’s sake, I knew revisiting those memories would only do harm to my mental well-being. The Count was gone from this world now, and there was no reason to hold onto these anymore.
After gathering everything that needed to be dealt with, I went down to the first floor, where the fireplace was located. I tossed the book and the papers into the hearth all at once, feeling a sense of finality.
And then I realized—I’d forgotten something important.
Was there even anything here to light a fire with?
I vaguely recalled the time, eight years ago, when I’d proudly brought flintstones to this place, only to see the Orca brothers’ unimpressed faces. That memory felt oddly nostalgic.
But eventually, even the flintstones became obsolete. Once Belhark learned basic magic, most small tasks could be handled by him with little effort.
‘Could they be in the storage room at the far end of the third floor?’
Most rarely used items were stored up there, after all.
I quickly searched around the fireplace for anything I could use to start a fire, but there was nothing.
If only I could use even the simplest of magic, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Unfortunately, I had no magical talent whatsoever.
The short descent to the first floor, which had felt like a relief earlier, now became a frustratingly unnecessary effort as I realized I had to retrace my steps.
Sighing, I began climbing the stairs again. The only thought on my mind was to finish this task quickly and leave.
Panting heavily from my lack of stamina, I finally made it to the third floor. As I stepped into the corridor, a memory surfaced—of the time before the New Year’s banquet when Belhark and Damian had accompanied me to the annex and blocked me from entering the room at the end of this very hall.
At the time, I’d suspected they were hiding something from me, though I had no concrete reason for that suspicion. It was just Damian’s awkward glances and nervous demeanor that had bothered me.
Now, standing before the door, I hesitated for a moment. Should I enter? If they were indeed hiding something, surely it wouldn’t be anything of great importance. Damian, after all, had a tendency to conceal his more immature actions even when we were children.
But I was wrong. Horribly, undeniably wrong.
As soon as I opened the door, I froze, unable to move.
The scene inside the room was beyond horrifying. It wasn’t just a matter of scattered or disorganized belongings. The true horror lay in the figure before me—a man in a catastrophic state.
I immediately understood why the Orca brothers had tried so desperately to keep me from this room.
The man—I knew him well. Count Wright.
His bloodshot, clouded sky-blue eyes seemed to have been fixed on the door for an eternity. Now, they shifted to meet mine, an eerie recognition passing between us.
Blood had poured from his body and dried, painting nearly every corner of the room in a macabre, rust-red hue. The stench of blood mingled with the sickly-sweet odor of decay, making me feel nauseated, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.
Count Wright was alive—if you could call it that. Though it seemed impossible, his chest, horrifically torn open as though carved with a blade, moved faintly up and down. It was unmistakably Belhark’s magic, sustaining his life just enough to trap him in this torturous limbo.
The injuries inflicted upon him—no doubt by the Orca brothers—were staggering. His left arm had been severed, and his right leg was entirely gone.
I didn’t want to look for the missing parts, but a glance toward the corner of the room revealed them anyway. Rotting and shriveled, the dismembered limbs exuded a vile stench, their location no longer a mystery.
Unable to balance with his missing limbs, Count Wright had been bound with thick ropes, securing him in the center of the room like a grotesque marionette.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how this had happened. The Orca brothers had tied him here, left to dangle in this agonizing state, so he could experience his slow, inevitable demise.
This was no accident. Every trace of violence—the bloodstains, the mutilation, the putrid remains—had been deliberately left behind. It was their cruel message: forcing Count Wright to witness his own lingering death.
His sky-blue hair, now matted and sticky with blood, clung to his face, further disfigured by wounds. His body, riddled with gory emptiness where limbs and flesh once were, was a horrifying testament to the brothers’ merciless precision.
Among the horrors in that room, the most striking was the wooden practice sword embedded in Count Wright’s side.
Scattered around him, near the pool of blood, lay various items the Orca brothers had used—some of which bore stains, clearly marking them as tools of torture.
“…Hah…”
When had I stopped breathing?
I gasped for air, but the foul stench filling my lungs made me feel nauseous. Fighting the urge to vomit, I forced my frozen legs to move, stumbling out of the room and slamming the door shut behind me.
I nearly collapsed on the spot, but I willed my trembling legs to take one step, then another. My body felt like it was bound in heavy chains, but no matter how unsteady my steps, I knew I had to get out of there.
‘Why? Why am I so shocked? Deep down, I already knew the Orca brothers wouldn’t kill the Count so easily.’
Even as the question raced through my mind, I couldn’t deny the visceral impact of what I had just seen.
This was the place where, in the original story, “Rose” was supposed to die. But with fate twisted, Count Wright had taken her place.
The severed nose, the wooden sword—Damian’s, now mangled—piercing the Count’s side, the burns on his skin from some unknown substance, and the grotesquely severed tongue…
I knew what it all meant.
Had I been foolish to think that this place, once destined for despair, had become a beacon of hope because of me?
No. The hope that had filled this place was mine—never Belhark’s or Damian’s.
Whatever drove the Orca brothers to inflict such wounds on Count Wright, it wasn’t just about revenge. It was born from their own scars.
Eight years ago, the day I was assaulted by the Count, their rage had seemed like an extension of my suffering. At the time, I had believed their vengeance was for me. Perhaps that had been part of it.
But the truth was, the Count had stolen more than my safety that day. He had taken from them too—stripping them of their positions, their dignity, and forcing them into isolation.
The depth of that wound showed in their inability to open their hearts to anyone but me. Even now, they were locked in a past they couldn’t escape, replaying their grief and anger in secret.
And I… I had lived selfishly.
In the haven of happiness I had built for myself, I had ignored the shadows lurking within them. Those shadows, those burdens—they were partly mine to carry.
My legs buckled, and I sank to the ground.
Did I even have the right to run away?
This ambiguous, fractured reality was my doing—a spark ignited three years ago when I disrupted the natural course of events.
The answer was clear. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. It was my responsibility to bring this to an end.
Suppressing the sudden urge to set the entire place ablaze, I turned back. My feet carried me toward the dreadful room again, despite my unwillingness to see the Count’s face. Clenching my eyes shut, I trudged forward, each step heavier than the last.
The neatly arranged items I had organized years ago as an eight-year-old—proud of my small strength—were now strewn carelessly across the room, no doubt due to Belhark and Damian’s destructive presence.
I began searching through the mess, trying to find what I had come here for in the first place.
The pile of supplies was massive, untouched for years to conserve resources, making it hard to find anything specific. My white indoor dress, now stained with dried blood and grime, was the least of my concerns.
All I wanted was to get out of this wretched situation.
I dug through the chaos, my hands scraping against sharp edges. Even as my skin split and blood seeped out, I didn’t stop.
Finally, I spotted it: a glossy black object buried in the mess, gleaming faintly in the faint light. I grabbed it and slammed it against the ground with all my might.
If it had been Damian, he would have cleanly sliced it in two using his aura-infused strength. But my crude approach shattered the stone into fragments that scattered across the floor, some leaving long scratches on the hem of my dress.
Picking up two of the larger shards, I approached the ruined figure of Count Wright.
I wasn’t trying to kill him to offer him some meaningless absolution in death. No, I knew—and so did the Orca brothers—that death was likely what the Count longed for. That was precisely why they had kept him alive—to deny him that wish.
But the longer he remained alive, the more his very existence seemed to rot all of us from within. If his presence was dragging us down into decay, then there was no reason to let him linger any longer.
Striking the black shards together, I managed to create a bright blue spark. But it was only a spark—it failed to ignite the broken wooden practice sword lodged in the Count’s side.
Frustrated, I turned to a pile of firewood stacked nearby. After several trembling attempts, I managed to strike the shards hard enough to ignite one of the logs, its flickering flame glowing a fierce red. Gripping the burning wood tightly, I plunged it toward the Count’s chest.
What was he thinking as he watched me?
The child he had once believed was his puppet, now devoid of focus in her eyes, was charging at him, determined to end his life.
But just as the flaming wood was about to pierce his chest, it didn’t connect.
Instead, an unseen force sent the Count’s body toppling to the ground while simultaneously flinging me backward with incredible strength.
“…Ugh!”
The impact slammed me into the wall, leaving my body crumpled and humiliated. The ropes that had restrained the Count swayed violently, causing the furniture they were tied to to collapse with a deafening crash.
Grimacing through the pain, I pressed my hands against the floor and struggled to my feet. My left arm throbbed sharply—I must have hit it hard against the wall.
The invisible force that had thrown me back was undoubtedly Belhark’s powerful magic, designed to shield the Count from any external harm.
“Ha…”
Observing how the scattered objects near the Count’s body had all fallen in a perfectly spaced pattern, I realized that the barrier reacted with equal force against any physical intrusion.
If I had tried to poison him instead, the result might have been my own death.
Wincing at the scratches covering my body, I stomped out the burning log and crouched in the corner of the room, my mind racing with anxious thoughts.
‘If I’m going to deal with him, I’ll inevitably have to face the Orca brothers.’
I had pretended to be unaffected by the past, thinking I had overcome it. But after witnessing the horrifying pRosection of their trauma in the Count’s mutilated body, how could I face them now and remain composed?
Burying my head against my knees, I grappled with the endless questions swirling in my mind. Did I even have the right to deal with him? Or would it have been better to simply walk away?
Why had I allowed their pain to fester since before I was locked in the annex? Had I not always known about it?
The questions overwhelmed me, and tears I could no longer suppress spilled down my face.
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