The sound of footsteps and rustles echoed in the Northern side of the vast mansion. The voices of females that seemed to be the servants of the mansion scream in terror and agony, chased by unknown armed figures dressed in all black, grasping a dagger in their hands that has been tainted with the blood of the others who are unfortunate enough to be caught by him in the middle of the chase.

The maids shout in vain, they knew they were going to die either way, yet their survival instinct still kicks in and command them to run. The owner of the house, the Duchess, Victoria Gainsborough has died in their hands with less effort; as if she had given in from the start and had expected this to come.

The whole mansion knows her whole capability. The rumours, the overly dramatic nick-names, the myths, the stories about her were all true. At least most of them were. 'The hell guard duchess, Witch of the nation, devil's bride,...' and so on. She's not someone you would expect to be grasped by her neck, dead and lifeless like a doll, by her own son.

Her own son.

Not with her known strength across the nation. The servants and knights were hopeless with their guardian dead. They knew mere humans like them who couldn't even pull a strand of the duchess's hair would meet a morbid fate even with their useless efforts of wasting their energy to run.

Each main doors that lead to escape are locked, the windows are sealed with a thick hovering magic shield that can only be broken through the made word of order from another damned witch who cast the spell.

The spell shuts down the sound of their screams, no one outside of the mansion's walls could hear a single sound emitting from it. They were practically trapped in a solid box with no way out.

"There is no point in running." A proud voice yelled, one of the hooded figure chasing them had stated the words in their minds.

Given their mansion's location in the middle of the forest doesn't help with upgrading their chance of survival as well, they are too far from other human beings to reach for help, the nearest human they can find is a fellow farmer near the land in his late 80s.

One of the maids who was the duchess's personal maid, Annelijn, the foreigner orphan she picked off of the slave market ran down the basement in a rush. She fiddled with the keys to open the door and eventually made it in without one of the attacker's notice.

Anne breathes heavily in the result of her energy drained out purely on escaping the rebellions. She lays her back on the wall at the corner of the dark basement, biting her nails out of nervousness.

Her thoughts wander off carelessly, questioning why the young master is doing a coup d'etat against his own mother. Even though they aren't blood-related, she didn't see any problem nor conflict in their relationship. It is known that both of them hadn't spoken to each other for two years until now, no one bothered to speak out about it.

Anne thought it was because of the death of her contract marriage husband, which made the atmosphere awkward and chilly between them. The duchess was young and wasn't quite the fit for the high society's expectations of a duchess. This of course would doubt many other nobles greatly, including her step-son.

Or what Anne would call young master, he was never the cheer boy, always gloomy and distant ever since his biological father died in an accident on the way to work. She could tell the boy was sad even if he didn't shed a single tear throughout the funeral.

However, none of this information can provide her with a clue as to why the young master would rebel against the hands that fed him cruelly, slaughtering those who haven't even spoken to him. Perhaps, the duchess and the young master had a private problem none of them knows of?

Knock, knock.

Two knocks came softly from the basement's door, Anne's thoughts shut down as every inch of her body trembles, scared of what might happen. She had finally escaped the slavery work just three years ago, and now she's about to face death, she would be lying if she says she's ready for it.

"Ah, I can see a soul in there. The core shines in the darkness, weak and terrified. Not to mention, completely alone." A voice muttered from the other side, shaky and cold, like a freezing old man.

"How odd, why would you leave yourself so defenceless? Like a lone wounded human inside a shark's territory."

Anne's right-hand travels up, closing her lips tightly to prevent any scream escaping out of instincts. He sounds awfully lot like the one that has been chasing all of the servants ruthlessly, killing them with a swift of his finger. It lets out terrifying energy, and the same energy is currently radiating from the other side.

"Why are you in a panic state? Isn't this peace for you all? You will meet your friends again after just a slight pain." The mysterious man trailed his words in a slur, his tone mocking the fate she would face.

Questions after questions, pressuring her situation even more. Anne cringed at the sound of the voice forced to talk, coming out scratchy and hoarse, she couldn't help but gulp at the man's voice.

Anne stayed quiet, she couldn't let out a single word to reply, her heartbeats are raging in her ribcage, as if it's ready to escape.

"Am I scaring you? Oh! of course, I am. Do not fear death, it's a way to escape this terrible nightmare."

Click.

There was a single click, and her limbs suddenly turn sore.

Her breath hitches, she can no longer breathe. The man had done something with his magic as he was talking. Anne's hands grasp her throat, scratching her skin as if trying to bring the oxygen back.

"Funny, isn't it? The last member of the Gainsborough house will finally meet her end, cutting down the possibility of the Gainsborough's roots growing and building another generation again."

And the atmosphere fell silent, the breaths of Anne could not be heard by the man once more. A sign of another life is taken away from this cursed house.

The man laughed at the notice, finally. The deed has been done.

He entered the door without the need to open the lock, he only needs to turn it hard enough and break it down like a barbarian.

His smile widens as he notices the lifeless figure draped over the floor, pale white skin with temperature as cold as ice.

He crouches down, lips stretched further into a twisted grin. His right-hand hovers over her head, a pressure made between her skin and his palm, pulling something out.

A transparent orb, wrapped around by white flames, seemingly trying to protect the core of it.

"Mrs? Why are you choosing me to be your personal maid?" A voice came out from the transparent orb, one that is the replica of Annelijn's.

"Ah, so this is your precious memory? Being picked off the dirt just to be made a Servant?" The man clicked his tongue, bored seeing the same thing over and over again.

Does the duchess have a fetish over picking a slave and made them her personal servants? Truly as weird as the rumour says.

He clenched his fist hard and tight, the orb-like thing disappears into oblivion. That soul had no important or useful memory for his search on the young master he's currently serving after being paid a large sum of gold coins and another interest that motivated him to quickly serve under him.

His search involves the young master's original identity, which he has yet to discover.

Talking about the duchess's son, he should've killed his mother already. It took longer than expected, and even blood was shed. Seems like some rumours speak the truth sometimes. Lady Victoria is one vicious female noble.

Nevertheless, he shouldn't concern himself with his master's private matter if he still wants to be left alive. He had done his part, now he only needs to watch from the side as things continue.

"The last witness of the Gainsborough's massacre has died."

With the words, he teleported back to where the rest of the magicians are.