But reality had been far less accommodating. The butler had immediately reported Nox’s attempt to find Khalid to Olga Rainerio, Nox’s mother. It was likely a situation she had pre-emptively orchestrated—no, he was certain of it now. From her sickbed, how far into the future had she been peering?
As his mother had often said, there were two men in the house bewitched by that child; it must have been a sight she loathed to behold.
On the night Nox requested the search, Olga summoned him to her room. Nox approached with a sense of impending dread. His mother’s condition had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer rise unless someone lifted her, yet her eyes—those eyes remained as vivid and piercing as ever. Like a predator that had just spotted its prey. Nox often thought he didn't resemble her at all; perhaps, as she claimed, he truly took after his loathsome father.
Nox bowed his head before her. "You summoned me?"
"Do you know why I called for you?"
Nox swallowed hard and feigned ignorance. "I do not know."
"There is nothing more ridiculous than pretending not to know when you clearly do. Are you suggesting we perform a play together?"
"......"
"I hear you asked to find that boy?"
"Mother, that child is—"
Do not touch him. Before he could finish the plea, Olga’s voice cut through.
"I do not know where he is either. A few months after he was expelled, his trail went cold. He might be dead for all I know. Even if you tended to his wounds, this world is not kind enough for a child to survive on his own."
Nox’s chest tightened painfully. She already knew how he had helped Khalid. She had looked the other way, granting him one chance, and today, Nox had crossed her final line. Seeking the boy out—that was the boundary Olga would not allow him to breach.
"He... he cannot be dead."
He couldn't help but protest. He had provided treatment, money, and a letter of recommendation. He wanted to believe Khalid had found work with another noble household in a distant territory. He refused to imagine him dead. Nox’s fingertips trembled slightly. Olga watched his shaking hands with a contemptuous smirk.
"I didn't call you here to discuss that brat."
"Then, if not that..."
"As the sole heir to this house, you are currently possessed by a strange delusion. As your mother, shouldn't I correct you?"
Nox could say nothing. The door opened and someone entered. It was Head Maid Maeta, carrying a whip. The very same instrument used on that boy. Nox felt his body go rigid as his mother’s servants stepped to his sides.
"Mother...!"
"I will fix your state of mind. You dare seek him out again after a year? You cannot be a defective product. Now that I can no longer bear another heir, you must be perfect! You cannot be bewitched by a mere servant boy."
The servants grabbed Nox’s arms and forced him to his knees on the floor. From her bed, Olga signaled the head maid. With trembling hands, Maeta finally raised the lash and struck as her mistress commanded.
Crack!
"Kh...!"
Nox grit his teeth. His back burned as if branded by fire. From a single strike, he felt the blood begin to flow.
"Continue."
Crack! Crack!
Maeta began to rain down the blows relentlessly. Instead of screaming, Nox bit his lower lip until it bled, enduring the pain. Olga looked down at him with a frozen expression, her face unchanging. Nox looked up at his mother; in her gaze, he saw only a vivid, singular resolve to 'correct' his mistake. He wanted to laugh, but the agony prevented it. The lash felt like a searing iron, tearing through his clothes and exposing the skin beneath.
Gasp, huff. Cold sweat began to drip onto the floor. Nox could no longer tell if it was sweat or blood running down his forehead. But Olga gave no command to stop.
Crack! Crack!
Even when the back of his shirt was shredded and the skin beneath was torn to reveal raw, red flesh, Olga watched without blinking. Nox collapsed toward the floor, but the servants held his arms, forcing his torso upright again. His back was stained so deeply red there seemed to be no skin left to strike.
As Maeta hesitated, Olga spoke. "You still haven't let the words 'I was wrong' leave your lips."
"...Ha, huff."
"You refuse to admit your fault until the end..."
Olga grit her teeth. Nox was half-delirious, barely clinging to consciousness. His mother barked a cold final order.
"From now on, visit me every time the wounds on your back heal."
Her voice was thick with stubborn malice. "I must hear you say that you were wrong."
Nox lost consciousness then and there. The servants caught him as he fell, his blood soaking the carpet. They hurriedly carried him to the family healer.
"What should we do with the Young Master?"
"Did Her Grace truly say she would whip him every time the wounds heal?"
"He's the only heir, how could this happen?"
"Should we tell the Duke?"
"...The Duke wouldn't dare say a word in front of Her Grace."
Through the haze of fever, Nox heard their whispers. It was true. His father never stood up to his mother, even while she was bedridden. And Nox had no desire for his father's help anyway. Thus, his back was treated, and for a long time, he was whipped under Olga’s orders every time his skin closed.
Until she became too weak even to speak, he never once begged for her forgiveness.
Truly. Not once.
*****
Jolt.
The carriage came to a halt. Nox jerked out of his thoughts and lifted his head. The door opened, and the memories that had filled him like a flood poured out, leaving him empty. He stepped down from the carriage on his own.
The lavish party hall. The place where his father had died. The place where so many other nobles had perished, and where he had lost everything.
As Nox stepped out, a stir of commotion rose from the surroundings. Having received no specific orders, he stood still and looked around. Most of the faces were familiar—people who used to flock to him whenever he made a rare appearance in high society. Now, those same people avoided him. Or rather, they covered their mouths and laughed mockingly.
"So the rumors were true."
"From the heir of a Ducal House to a slave..."
"I hear he's the new Duke’s favored bed companion."
"I'd rather bite my tongue and die."
He should have felt a surge of rage, but strangely, Nox felt nothing. Perhaps it was because he knew he had to get used to it, or perhaps because he expected nothing from them. Like a slave who had received no instructions, he stepped away from the central path and stood his ground. He saw a few servants of similar standing nearby, but Nox was not a servant; he was a slave. Everyone stared at the bolo tie around his neck.
Ah, Nox thought. From now on, this is my face.
He stood there for a long while amidst the whispers. Nobles stared at his face blatantly as they passed, or scanned him from head to toe. He stopped counting the sneers after ten. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking straight ahead. No matter who mocked him or clicked their tongue, he did not avert his gaze.
Eventually, someone approached him—a man wearing a brooch that only the Emperor’s personal attendants could wear.
"The Duke summons you."
"Ah, yes."
The attendant raised an eyebrow at the response, seemingly surprised, but turned and began to walk without a word. Nox followed closely to ensure he wasn't left behind. Along the way, the stares of the crowd felt like thick sludge clinging to him—those hiding their lips with fans, those scowling openly. Yet, because of the bolo tie at his throat, none dared to speak to him. The scorn of those who only knew how to bow to Khalid, the man who had beheaded the Crown Prince and claimed a Dukal title, meant nothing to Nox. Or rather, it had to mean nothing.
Passing through the gold-decorated doors into the hall that seemed built of solid gold, it felt like entering another world. Though this space was intimately familiar to Nox, it was now the most alien environment imaginable.
It was his first step taken not as the only son of House Rainerio, but as someone's possession.