About a month after leaving the monastery, Marquis Zion Verbaine, accompanied by his younger sister Leah, returned to the charred ruins of the Verbaine estate. 

A devastating fire had broken out in the monastery and when the flames were finally extinguished, four charred bodies were discovered in the ashes. 

The deceased were identified as novice priests, but no one could explain why they had been in the stables at that hour or what had caused the fire. 

“I want to restore my family line.”

Zion said, explaining his reason for leaving the monastery. 

He also introduced Leah as his sister, and together they left. 

They returned to the estate, long since reduced to ashes. 

The fire that had destroyed the Verbaine estate had occurred ten years ago, leaving only an empty lot. 

Within a month of their arrival, Zion had hired workers to begin rebuilding. The foundations of a new mansion had already been laid and the structure was beginning to take shape. 

Rumours began to circulate in high society that Marquis Zion Verbaine, heir to the Verbaine family, was rebuilding the estate and planning to restore the family name. Prominent families wasted no time in proposing marriage alliances, attracted by the vast wealth of the Verbaine family. 

Until recently, it had been widely assumed that Zion, the family’s sole heir, would remain in the monastery and devote his life to the service of God. Many believed that the family fortune would eventually pass to the monastery. 

But with Zion’s departure from the monastery and his determination to restore the Verbaine name, the immense fortune became a coveted prize. 

Despite the flood of offers, Zion showed no interest in any of them. 

“I may have left the monastery to restore my family name, but my faith and the vow of chastity I took before God remain as long as I live,” he declared, rejecting every offer. 

With Zion unwilling to marry, the focus of those seeking the family fortune shifted to his younger sister, Leah Verbaine. 

A beautiful virgin who had previously been part of a convent, Leah was not only Zion’s half-sister but also a legitimate member of the Verbaine family, with her own rightful claim to the family’s wealth. 

“We have to stay here for a while.”

As the mansion was still under construction, Zion and Leah stayed in temporary accommodation. The new mansion, which was being built on a grand scale to replicate the original, would take at least another three months to complete. 

“Can you bear it, even if it’s uncomfortable at the moment?”

“It’s not uncomfortable at all.”

Leah replied with a bright smile, glancing around the small house they would call home for the time being. 

Though temporary, the house was well built and designed to provide all the necessities. Made of sturdy brick with a solid roof, it had two bedrooms and enough space for them to live comfortably. 

When the mansion was finished, they planned to hire servants. But for now, in this small house, there was no need for help. Both Zion and Leah had learnt to manage daily tasks during their time at the monastery. 

“Come outside, Leah.”

Zion called as she unpacked her bag. 

He led her away from the bustling construction site of the mansion to a quieter place—the Verbaine family cemetery.

Stopping at one of the graves, Zion turned to Leah.

“This is Mother’s grave. Do you remember it?”

“Yes…”

Leah had been ten years old when their mother passed away. Though she hadn’t been with her during her final moments, she remembered her mother’s long battle with illness.

Her mother had been bedridden for about a year, unable to leave her bed due to her deteriorating health. Then, one day, she quietly passed away, as if slipping into a peaceful sleep.

Leah also recalled the day of the funeral—it had rained heavily, the skies weeping along with her.

Her mother, Grace, had remarried the Marquis Verbaine and moved into the estate. Leah, however, was the daughter of her mother’s previous marriage. 

Despite this, Leah had no memories of her biological father or her stepfather. Both figures felt like distant shadows, absent from her life in every way that mattered. 

Her biological father had died before she was born, and her stepfather had passed away when she was still a newborn, wrapped in swaddling clothes. 

Although Leah and Zion were technically step-siblings, Leah had been raised at the Verbaine estate since infancy, before she could even walk. To Leah, Zion felt like a true older brother, no different from one who shared her blood.

The notion that they were step-siblings felt strange and distant—almost awkward to consider. 

“Let’s lay flowers on Mother’s grave.” 

“Okay, Brother.” 

Leah took the flowers that Zion had brought and placed them in front of the gravestone.

“Mother, I’ll take good care of Leah. Please rest peacefully.”

As Zion spoke while placing the flowers on their mother’s grave, Leah’s heart grew heavy.

Zion didn’t belong here. 

The life he truly desired was that of a monk. 

Yet, because of her, he had left the monastery and returned to this place. 

In the end, her very existence had become the chain that bound him. 

‘I’ve made my brother bear the chain of sin… I must dedicate my life to him to make up for it…’

Guilt consumed Leah as she thought of everything Zion had sacrificed for her. 

She resolved to repay him by doing everything she could to ease his burden, no matter what it took. 

“Brother, there are small graves over there. Whose graves are they?” 

Leah’s attention shifted as she noticed a cluster of tiny graves nearby. With a curious expression, she approached them. 

They were so small that they hardly looked like graves at all. 

“They’re probably the graves of birds and squirrels.”

Zion said casually, stepping up beside her. 

“Birds and squirrels? Who made them?”

Leah asked, tilting her head. 

“When we were young, if we found a dead bird or squirrel, Mother and I would bury them here.”

“Then you made these little graves, Brother?”

“Yes.” 

“You’re such a kind person, Brother.”

Leah said, her expression filled with gratitude. Zion gave a faint smile in response. 

Kind? There was no word that felt less fitting for him. 

Kind? No, that couldn’t be true. 

Everything buried here was something he had killed. 

His grandmother, his father, his mother, as well as the birds and squirrels—he had killed them all.