The moment I escaped the mansion where they saw me as a thorn in their side, I clutched the beastkin slave on my back and bolted toward the annex without even catching my breath.
The breath I felt on my back was too faint.
So faint that even now, I could sense it flickering out.
More accurately, she wasn’t alive—she was merely not yet dead.
And the words I’d just uttered in front of the mansion.
Birthday?
What a joke.
In the original story, the character Lucas Argent was written to die after brutal torture right from chapter 1, imprinting on readers that ‘this novel is a tale of revenge.’ Who would remember the birthday of a man like that?
He was just a handful of dust, dissolving into the air.
So I’d simply made it up.
If it’s a day no one in the family cares about, even a lie rolls forward as truth.
‘What a cursed life…
both you and me.’ I let out a hollow laugh as I crossed the threshold of the annex.
“Young Master!
Where on earth— Huh?
What’s that you’re carrying on your back?” Karen approached with a thorny scowl.
As always, a maid showing no trace of deference in her service to me.
“Warm water, clean cloths, herbal medicine box.
Bring them all.
Right now.” “No, why should I —” “By the way, this child is a slave given to me by Brother Wolfram Argent.
If her condition worsens…
as my formal servant, you’ll be held responsible too, won’t you?” But at those words, Karen’s eyes shook instantly.
“W-Wolfram!?
Ah, got it!
I’ll fetch them right away!” She rubbed her palms together and scurried off in a panic.
The look she’d given me moments ago—like a fluffy rag—vanished in an instant.
Indeed, in this mansion, it wasn’t words that moved people, but fear.
“From afar, I thought it was serious, but up close, the reality is even more horrific.” While Karen fetched the herbal box and clean water, I carefully laid the slave I’d carried myself, Piel, on my bed.
The heat radiating from her tiny body scorched my palms.
The moment I stripped off the sackcloth, I swallowed hard.
“…Ha.” It was a gruesomeness words couldn’t capture.
So severe that Karen nearly dropped the basin she carried.
“Eek?!
Ugh…
so dirty—” “If you’re going to puke, do it outside.
If even a speck of your vomit gets into her wounds, it’ll truly be over.” All over the child’s body were linear lacerations from whips, burst wounds scraped by saw teeth or rough tools, and infected areas where flesh had rotted and pus had burst.
Ragged cloths unworthy of being called bandages were wrapped around her; when I unwound them, rotten blood and pus met the air, spewing a foul stench.
The worst was her head.
The stump of her severed ear wasn’t clean.
Flesh was jaggedly torn away, and white maggots writhed in the crevices, feeding on her body heat.
“…This isn’t just simple lacerations.
Dirt, rust, fibers are embedded deep in the dermis…
and toxic tissue necrosis is underway.” My words were calm, but my stomach churned.
Piel’s breaths came shallow and ragged, her fingertips gradually paling to a purplish hue.
Early shock symptoms.
If she were a human child…
she’d have died three days ago.
“Karen, once you’ve brought everything, get out.” Karen blinked.
“Huh?
You’re…
doing it yourself?” “Or do you want to?
Washing the wounds, squeezing out pus, holding flesh for suturing.
If you’re up for it, go ahead.” At that, Karen flapped her lips and waved her hands frantically.
“Th-that…
my stomach’s weak.
That tras— no, if you want the child, you handle it yourself…
hehe.” She belatedly corrected the word that had slipped out and bowed at the waist.
Contempt still lingered in her eyes, but Wolfram’s name seemed to force her silence.
And for what lay ahead, it was better to station her outside the door anyway.
In this room, all she’d manage was heavy breathing and retching.
“Fine.
Lock the door and let no one in.
Or…
if you fancy gore, peek away.” “…Got it!
Treat her—without any slip-ups!” Karen bolted from the room, her face lit with irrepressible relief.
As if grateful to flee this horrific sight, her toes bounced with each step.
Once the door shut, only one stifled breath remained in the room.
Piel.
The small body on the bed still burned hot, and the unrelenting fever only heightened my unease.
“Alright…
let’s get started.”