Chapter 3.1

The atmosphere in the mansion was grim. The servants walked on their tiptoes, and the guests who had attended the funeral hurriedly left the estate. 

Everyone held their breath, overwhelmed by the heavy, oppressive mood. 

And that night, torrential rain poured down. The muddy roads, soaked with rainwater, were perfect for erasing traces. It was the ideal weather to conceal something that needed to be hidden. 

“Are you certain?” 

The sharp, irritable voice belonged to someone Frances knew well. She held her breath and listened intently to the voice that reached her ears. 

Nothing had changed. 

It was hard to believe that this voice belonged to someone who had lost both her husband and son at the same time. It was cold and composed, devoid of grief. Frances’s shoulders quivered instinctively, her body remembering the fear, but she forced herself to remain silent. 

“Of course.” 

At Brady’s response, the Duchess of Wiblow muttered a low curse under her breath. 

“You’ve taken care of it properly, haven’t you?” 

The Duchess of Wiblow was furious, her schedule delayed by two whole days. 

The situation, which had to be kept out of anyone’s sight, had been delayed without notice, further aggravating her already impatient temper. And then, the new truth she had learned had poured oil onto the fire. 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” 

Frances, who was tied up like an animal and hidden inside a sack, held her breath, her eyes glinting. 

When she lowered her head at the sound of approaching footsteps, the mouth of the sack, which had been rustling and shaking, was opened. Slowly, Frances raised her face from where she had been crouched inside. 

Unlike the rain pounding outside, the drawing room was peaceful. The dim, flickering light illuminated the room. Frances waited for her eyes, which had been submerged in darkness, to adjust to the light. 

And then, she met the gaze of the Duchess of Wiblow, who stood right in front of her. 

“…How dare a mere woman have the same name as my son.” 

The Duchess sneered, disgusted at the thought of a vulgar illegitimate child bearing the same name as her precious son. It was laughable that the child was a girl, not the boy she needed. 

The sharp, icy gaze of the Duchess of Wiblow swept over Frances like a blade, causing the people in the room to tread cautiously. 

Brady, uneasy, glanced back and forth between the Duchess and Frances. His gaze eventually landed behind the Duchess of Wiblow. 

Valeria Wiblow, dressed in mourning clothes, lay sprawled out indolently, her expression completely detached from the tense atmosphere in the room. 

Brady clicked his tongue inwardly as he stared at Valeria’s half-lidded, languid eyes. No matter how he looked at it, Valeria Wiblow didn’t seem like someone who would help Frances. 

Just as Brady turned his head away, Valeria’s wandering gaze suddenly sharpened, finding its focus. 

“Perhaps this is for the best, Mother.” 

Her slow, drawling voice made Brady look back at her. 

Valeria, who had been lounging on the long sofa, propped herself up with one hand and rose to her feet. Her graceful movements, almost like a dance, naturally drew everyone’s attention. 

“What nonsense are you spouting, Valeria?” 

“…It’s fortunate that she’s a girl.” 

Valeria approached Frances slowly, leaning in close to her face. 

Frances’s malnourished, gaunt features, though weathered, bore a striking resemblance to Valeria’s younger brother. 

Valeria’s lips curved into a wide smile as she studied Frances’s face. 

“Her hair color and eyes resemble Father’s perfectly. Just like my little brother.” 

Valeria reached out and roughly yanked Frances’s brittle hair, then lovingly stroked her face as though she were admiring a precious treasure. 

“Valeria.” 

The Duchess of Wiblow pressed her temples, trying to suppress the throbbing pain in her head as she called out to her daughter. 

In the Empire of Baien, daughters were not recognized as heirs. The reason the Duchess of Wiblow had sought out Frances in the slums was because she needed a male heir to present as the successor. But instead, she had found a girl. 

The Duchess bit her lip in frustration, her anger simmering. 

“Then just turn the girl into a man. It’s a simple problem; I don’t understand why you’re so troubled by it.” 

Valeria strolled toward the crackling fireplace, her steps light and graceful, as if she were dancing. 

Her movements drew not only the attention of the others in the room but also the gaze of the Duchess of Wiblow, who followed her daughter’s back with her eyes. 

“Turn a girl into a man? Don’t tell me you’ve been meeting with those strange magicians again!” 

At the Duchess’s outburst, Valeria burst into laughter. 

“Mother, no matter how advanced magic has become, it still can’t turn a woman into a man.” 

“Then what?” 

The impatient Duchess urged Valeria, who continued to speak at an infuriatingly slow pace. 

“I heard Father’s carriage was loaded with gunpowder, wasn’t it?” 

Valeria picked up a poker and began stirring the embers in the fireplace. Then, she rummaged through her pocket and tossed something into the pile of logs. 

Bang! 

“Ahhh!”  

At the sound of the faint explosion, the Duchess of Wiblow flinched. The bright red flames suddenly turned a cold blue. Valeria smirked and raised the poker. The part of the poker that touched the flames turned blue, as though the fire had transferred its hue. 

“All that matters is that people believe this lowly girl is my brother Frances, isn’t it?” 

“That’s right.” 

The Duchess of Wiblow nodded. Valeria, holding the poker, began walking toward Frances. 

Click, clack. 

Valeria stood before Frances, who had been forced to kneel. She smiled down at her. 

“Then, wouldn’t it be enough if people couldn’t see this face?” 

There was no time for anyone to intervene. Without a moment’s hesitation, Valeria brought the poker she was holding to Frances’s face. 

Sizzle. 

With a horrifying sound, the stench of burning flesh filled the room. Frances clenched her teeth instead of screaming. Though she suppressed her cries, she couldn’t hold back her tears. 

Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw Valeria’s eyes curve upward in delight. 

“Congratulations on becoming my brother, Frances.” 

Clang! 

Valeria threw the poker aside. 

Drip. 

Tears fell from Frances’s eyes. They trickled down onto the fresh burn marks, intensifying the unbearable pain. 

Brady flinched, his mind blank, unable to process the reckless and unilateral actions of Valeria. The first to regain composure was the Duchess of Wiblow. 

“Valeria, I’ve told you to leave such dirty work to the servants.” 

At the Duchess’s reprimand, Valeria shrugged her shoulders and let out a deep sigh. 

“It’s a matter of making her my brother. As her older sister, shouldn’t I take care of this myself?” 

“My daughter, you truly are generous.” 

At the Duchess’s words, Valeria approached her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“Look, Mother. Now no one will doubt that this lowly girl is Frances Wiblow.” 

The Duchess patted Valeria’s hand, which was draped over her shoulder. Frances silently observed the mother and daughter. 

“So this is the method you spoke of to turn a girl into a man?” 

“Yes. Do you like it?” 

“I’m very satisfied.” 

Blood seeped from Frances’s lips, which she had bitten to endure the excruciating pain. 

“To think she didn’t scream even once. She’s quite strong-willed.” 

The Duchess of Wiblow, removing the handkerchief from her nose, commented as she examined the grotesque burn on Frances’s face. Displeased with the lingering smell in the air, she waved her hand. At her command, figures hidden in the shadows emerged and opened the windows. 

Swoosh! 

The sound of pouring rain outside snapped Frances back to reality. The unbearable pain was a brand meant only for the living. Lowering her gaze, she surrendered herself to the agony. 

“She really does resemble Father to an unsettling degree, doesn’t she, Mother? She was more like Frances than Frances himself, but now she’s easier to look at.” 

At Valeria’s words, the Duchess’s eyes gleamed. She clenched her fists as she realized the source of the discomfort she had felt when she first laid eyes on Frances. 

Frances resembled the Duke of Wiblow more than her own son did. 

Even the way she endured the poker’s searing heat with wide-open eyes and unwavering composure was reminiscent of her late husband. 

“You won’t have to face that lowly girl again, will you? You’ve done your part today, Valeria.” 

The Duchess spoke without taking her eyes off Frances’s face. 

“I’m relieved, Mother, that your mood has improved at least a little.” 

The Duchess smiled at Valeria. Valeria, in turn, returned her mother’s smile with a radiant one of her own. 

“I thought you were too obsessed with strange things to care about family matters, but it seems you’ve brought something quite useful.” 

“I paid a hefty sum to acquire it from a magician. They said it leaves scars that no magic or medicine can ever heal. I was wondering who to use it on, and luckily, a perfect subject appeared.” 

“Scars that can never heal… I like it. You deserve a reward.” 

At the Duchess’s words, Valeria’s face brightened even more. Her beautiful features seemed to glow with life. It was as though Frances didn’t exist in this space, as if the mother and daughter were entirely absorbed in their conversation.