The sunset was like blood.
Balte trudged along the dirt road, which was overgrown with weeds.
With every step, the soles of his feet felt as if they were treading on red-hot iron plates.
His expensive purple silk robe had long since been reduced to tattered rags.
It hung off him like a beggar's clothes.
He had been hanging from the city wall all day.
Those damned soldiers.
They really did wait until the sun was nearly down before letting him down.
The fat on his body felt as if it had melted under the sun. It was sticky and disgusting.
Balte spat. It was full of sand.
“Damn it.”
The movement aggravated the swollen wounds on his face, making him grimace in pain.
“Bell Lucas...”
Balte ground his teeth, his eyes filled with pure malice.
“That little brat.”
“Thinking he's so special just because he has a bit of money and a few crappy cannons.”
“Just you wait.”
“Once the First Prince is free to deal with this.”
“I'll chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs.”
He killed Bell a thousand times over in his mind.
Finally, the silhouette of his estate appeared before him.
It was a private property he had established in the outskirts, specifically for hiding illicit wealth and the women he didn't want his tigress of a wife to know about.
This place was remote and quiet—a perfect spot for pleasure.
Balte quickened his pace.
Even though his legs were still shaking.
All he wanted now was to soak in a hot bath and find a couple of maids to help him blow off some steam.
“Open up!”
Balte hammered on the heavy iron gate.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
The dull thuds echoed across the empty wilderness.
“Where the hell are you?!”
“Can't you see your master is back?!”
No one answered. No dogs barked.
Even the usually noisy cicadas seemed to have vanished.
Deathly silence.
Only the rustling of the wind through the treetops remained, sounding like countless hands rubbing together.
Balte frowned. An inexplicable chill crept down his spine.
“Steward!”
He shouted again, but still, there was no one.
Just as he was about to kick the door.
“Creak—”
The heavy iron gate slowly creaked open just a crack.
There was no one pushing it. It opened on its own.
It was as if the house had opened its mouth, waiting for its prey to walk inside.
Balte swallowed hard.
“Playing tricks,” he muttered to bolster his courage.
He pushed the gate open and stepped inside.
A second later, his foot froze in mid-air. He couldn't bring himself to set it down.
His pupils constricted violently, and his stomach churned.
Everything he had eaten and the very air he had breathed surged up his throat.
“Blegh—”
Balte collapsed to his knees, vomiting until he was dizzy.
The once meticulously manicured garden was gone. In its place was a forest of thorns.
Countless sharpened wooden stakes erupted from the ground, densely packed like a dead forest.
Something was skewered on every single stake. They were people.
His steward. His maids. His chef.
Some were pierced through the chest, others through the throat. Some were skewered from the bottom up, like human kebabs.
Blood ran down the stakes, gathering into small streams that stained the soil beneath his feet.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of iron mixed with the stench of ruptured organs.
“This...”
Balte's entire body trembled, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Who did this? Who was so bold? Who was so cruel?
“La la la~”
A light humming drifted toward him.
Not far off, at the fountain square, stood a statue of Balte made of quartz. It was his proudest collection.
At this moment, a young girl in a white lace dress was standing on a ladder in front of the statue.
She held a brush in her hand, with a red bucket sitting beside her.
She hummed as she dipped the brush into the “paint” in the bucket and applied it to the statue.
It was blood. Thick, dark red blood.
The white statue had already been transformed into a figure of gore.
Her movements were gentle and meticulous, as if she were completing a grand masterpiece.
Hearing the sound of vomiting, the girl's movements paused.
She turned her head, her golden hair shimmering in the setting sun.
Her face was as exquisite as a porcelain doll's, flawless and without a single blemish.
It was Cecilia. Balte recognized her.
She was the fiancée of the First Prince, Thorne Ross.
“Hmm?”
Cecilia tilted her head, a sweet smile blooming on her face.
“You're back?”
Her voice was crisp and sweet.
In this scene of carnage, however, it was more terrifying than the roar of a demon.
Balte slumped to the ground, scrambling backward with his hands and feet.
His crotch instantly became wet.
“You...”
“You...”
Cecilia hopped down from the ladder, her skirt fluttering like a white butterfly.
She carried the red bucket, walking toward Balte one step at a time.
“What a useless piece of trash.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust at his pathetic state.
“You're vomiting from just this little scene? Whatever will you do later?”
Balte shook his head frantically.
“Don't... don't come any closer...”
“I'm a Marquis... I'm...”
“Shh.”
Cecilia placed a finger against her lips. There was still blood on that finger.
“I don't care who you are.”
She walked up to Balte and crouched down, her eyes level with his.
Those obsidian eyes held no human emotion—only a pure, twisted curiosity.
“I only want to know one thing.”
Cecilia reached out, her icy fingertips lightly brushing against Balte's swollen cheek.
“It was you.”
“Who hit my Brother.”
“Wasn't it?”
A roar echoed in Balte's mind. Brother? Bell? That lunatic?
“No... it wasn't...”
“It's a misunderstanding...”
“AAAAHHH!!!”
A scream of agony erupted. Cecilia jammed the brush in her hand directly into Balte's mouth, cutting off all his excuses.
The wooden handle pierced his throat, and blood gushed out.
Cecilia stood up and brushed her hands together as if dusting them off.
“I don't like listening to lies.”
She watched Balte writhing on the ground, the smile on her face growing more radiant.
“Brother's face... only I am allowed to touch it.”
“Brother's pain... only I am allowed to give it.”
“What kind of thing are you to think you're worthy of touching my Brother?”
Balte clutched his throat, blood spraying through his fingers.
He didn't want to die. He really didn't want to die.
He used his last ounce of strength to roll over and crawl frantically toward the gate.
That was the exit. That was his path to survival.
If only he could escape...
“Bang!”
A heavy thud sounded. The massive iron gate slammed shut right in front of him.
It sealed tight, like a coffin lid falling into place.
Despair. Absolute despair.
Balte collapsed against the gate, his fingers clawing at the iron plate until his nails snapped and left bloody streaks.
Behind him, the sound of high heels stepping through the pool of blood approached.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Don't be in such a hurry to leave.”
Cecilia's voice came from behind, laced with amusement.
“We have plenty of time.”
“Beating my beloved Brother and failing the task I gave you.”
“We're going to settle these two accounts very slowly.”
A cold little hand grabbed Balte's ankle.
She began to pull, dragging him toward the depths of the estate like a dead dog.
Balte's nails left ten bloody furrows in the dirt.
“Make sure you don't cry from fear.”
Cecilia hummed a song, her mood clearly wonderful.
“The game...”
“...has only just begun.”
“Hahahahahaha.”
Rate on N.U.
