Chapter – 8
The room was vast, as big as a military camp.
“How’s it going?”
A solemn voice rumbled low, as if it could pierce the floor.
Archen bowed his head toward the master he served, looking apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I’m doing my best to find out.”
“If you can’t even handle one task properly…”
The master’s rebuke poured out.
Archen lowered his head even further, repeating only, “I’m sorry.”
“I said this is urgent.”
The master, seated on a spacious single-person sofa, fixed Archen with a sharp glare.
The piercing dark purple eyes held no hint of sympathy.
“I’ll find it as quickly as possible.”
For anyone else, fear would have made them collapse entirely in response. But Archen had been by his master’s side for over a decade and was used to this.
Still, the chill that ran down his spine was unavoidable.
Even after ten years, facing the master made his knees go weak.
It was because the master never showed kindness, not even to his own children.
To the master, people were divided into two categories:
Useful… or useless.
That rule applied even to his children.
“Useless.”
The master clicked his tongue at the man lying on the large bed.
His crumpled expression was full of discontent, as if displeased with the world.
Archen cautiously turned his gaze toward the bed.
On the king-size bed, big enough for five people, lay a single man.
He appeared dead, eyes shut tightly. He was the master of this room.
The master was covered up to the neck with a blanket so white and soft it looked almost pristine.
His pale lips had already lost color and had a bluish tint.
His cheeks were sunken, revealing the bones of his face.
It looked like he hadn’t eaten properly in a long time.
Yet, the care he had received showed in his skin and lips—they were uncracked and glossy.
His black hair spread limply on the snowy white pillow, like autumn leaves falling to the ground at the end of their life.
The faint sound of his breathing was so weak it seemed like he could die any moment.
Even if he were to pass away tonight, it wouldn’t be surprising.
Archen turned his head.
Though he had seen this scene countless times, every sight of it filled him with solemnity.
No one could be strong enough to watch someone so close to death with ease.
“Verdic.”
As the bright sunlight turned to the warm glow of dusk, the master rose from the sofa and called his butler.
“Yes, sir?”
At the master’s command, Butler Verdic hurriedly opened the door and entered.
“How long do we have?”
“Yesterday, the doctor said… at most, a year or two.”
When the master glanced at the bed and asked, Verdic understood and answered.
Archen wanted to cover his ears.
Even though the person lay unconscious, they were discussing his remaining lifespan in front of him.
The master’s cruelty had not lessened with time—it was chilling.
“Archen.”
“Yes, sir?”
At the master’s call, Archen hastily bowed.
“Bring him in front of me by any means necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If he resists, break a few limbs to bring him. But don’t maim him—he must not become useless.”
“…Understood, sir.”
Archen swallowed dryly at the vicious command.
After bowing, he quickly left the room.
The pallor of his face betrayed how tense he had been in front of the master.
Archen left the mansion and resumed the search.
He was a servant bound to this family.
He had no right to refuse orders.
He had to bring the man to the master as soon as possible.
Even if only partially useful, he was needed now.
That was what this family, and his master, demanded.
So even if it meant breaking limbs, he must bring him.
Cersinia opened the kitchen cupboard to make a simple bread for lunch.
Pushing aside the plates, she grabbed the large container that stored flour.
It should have felt heavy in her hands.
But it felt feather-light.
Strange.
“Ah, damn it…”
It was empty.
The flour was completely gone.
She was caught off guard by the unexpected shortage.
What would have lasted her more than a week was now insufficient with one extra mouth to feed.
She had spent every coin she had on gambling to buy a piece of bread, leaving her with no money.
“If only I had been paid properly…”
Had she been properly settled, she might not have needed to bring Ben along, and the flour wouldn’t have run out.
Enough with these thoughts. She slammed the cupboard shut.
“Cersinia, what’s wrong?”
Ben asked, noticing her action.
She realized her mistake and turned to him, keeping her expression neutral.
She could never admit that the flour had run out.
He would surely blame himself and feel guilty.
“I just felt like having some meat. I need to go shopping.”
“I’ll come with you!”
Ben raised one arm excitedly, like a student eager to present in class.
“Stay home. I’ll go alone.”
She shook her head, refusing.
She planned to sell some accessories to make money.
There was no need to show Ben such a pitiful side.
During the week he stayed as collateral, she wanted him to be carefree.
“I want to carry your bags…”
Ben lowered his arm with a pitiful look.
“No, no.”
She quickly averted her gaze.
That gaze could easily sway anyone.
“I’ll be back soon.”
She smiled at him as she passed through the door.
He seemed resigned, as if he knew she wouldn’t let him come.
She silently hoped the dishes would survive her absence.
“Okay, I’ll wait for you.”
He smiled faintly.
Stepping outside, Cersinia felt the breeze lightly brushing her skin.
She descended the hill at a leisurely pace toward the village.
From the forest cabin to the village, it would take a bit of time—maybe twenty minutes at a brisk pace.
Halfway down, she looked back to check if she had locked the door properly.
Ben waved a big arm with a bright smile, as if waiting for her to look back.
His innocent gesture made her chuckle and quicken her pace.
‘I’d better buy beef instead of chicken stew.’
Her slight elevation in culinary standards had nothing to do with Ben’s greeting.
