The dim candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
"It's been a week… since he left," Amy murmured, her small hands gripping the hem of her apron. "Is he alright, Ms. Carla?"
I looked at the little girl standing before me. She was still so young. Her soft brown hair, usually tied into a neat braid, had come loose, strands falling over her round, worried eyes. Those big brown eyes—so full of warmth and curiosity—were now dulled by concern. Her rosy cheeks, which once carried the innocence of childhood, had lost their usual glow.
She had changed since Young Master left for his trial.
"Why are you so worried about him?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Didn't you tell me he was rude to you? Didn't he call you a
'little girl', Amy?"
I could still recall the way she had complained—how Young Master had dismissed her with nothing but a careless glance after tending to the wound on her face.
"Yes… he was rude to me," Amy admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But still... I am his big sister!. So, of course, I worry about him!!."
A bitter chuckle left my lips. "Haha… don't worry. Your little brother will be fine."
But as I said the words, my heart ached. I wasn't just comforting Amy—I was trying to convince myself.
He promised me he would be fine.
He told me not to worry.
But how could I not?
I clenched my hands into fists, swallowing the guilt that threatened to rise in my throat. He was only a child, forced to endure pain beyond comprehension, and all I could do was watch. Watch as he suffered. Watch as he bled.
It was unbearable.
"But Ms. Carla," Amy's voice broke through my thoughts, "why do you care for Young Master so much?"
I looked at her. She stared back with wide, innocent eyes.
"I can't tell you," I said softly. "It's a... secret."
"But why?" she pouted. "You're not even going to tell a kid?"
I knew that look—it was fake. She was trying to use her tears against me. But I wasn't going to fall for it.
"I'm not going to tell you, even if you cry," I said firmly.
She sighed, shoulders slumping. "O-Okay..."
For a brief moment, I considered telling her. The secret that weighed heavily on my heart. The truth I had never spoken—not even to Young Master.
But before I could say anything—
Thud!
The door burst open.
"Hey! You should knock first before coming in!" I snapped.
But the maid at the door was gasping for air, her face pale.
"Huff... Huff... Miss Carla... Huff..."
"Relax," I said quickly. "Amy, go get her some water."
"Yes, Miss Carla," Amy said, turning toward the kitchen.
But before she could take a step, the maid caught her wrist.
"I-I'm... okay... Huff... but... Y-Young Master... Huff... has returned from the dungeon... He's injured."
My breath caught in my throat.
"Amy, go inform the head maid and call the doctor." I didn't wait for her response—I was already running.
"Y-Yes, Miss Carla!" she called after me.
But I didn't stop.
I didn't care about anything else.
All I could think about was him.
---
The basement was cold. Dark.
I could hear voices behind the heavy wooden door. The deep, commanding tone of the Duke. The trembling voice of a servant.
I couldn't move.
I pressed my back against the stone wall, listening.
"What about the reports? Did he gain any knowledge from the trial? Or did he fail as well?"
My heart pounded.
Please... please say he failed.
"L-Lord..." the servant stammered. "The report... h-has arrived..."
"Just tell me," the Duke growled. "I don't want to waste my time on a failure who needed a whole week to return."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Failure.
That word.
The same word they used for me.
"Y-Yes, Lord... He failed... He failed completely. We gained nothing from him."
Relief flooded my chest. He failed.
Now they wouldn't use him. They wouldn't experiment on him. He would be safe.
But then—
"That trash kid... I thought he was special, but... tch, such a waste."
No.
No, no, no—
"Bring him here," the Duke ordered. "I will see if he has any value left. If not... dispose of him."
My breath hitched.
Dispose...?
No.
They wouldn't. They couldn't—
I wanted to scream, but fear kept my voice locked in my throat.
I watched in horror as the door swung open and the servants dragged Young Master inside.
His body—
Blood. So much blood.
Cuts and bruises covered his arms, his legs. His clothes were torn, soaked in red. His once bright eyes were shut, his breathing shallow.
My stomach churned.
I can't... I can't see him like this...
The Duke stepped forward, looking down at Young Master's limp body.
"How pathetic," he muttered.
He flipped through the report in his hand, his expression cold and unreadable.
"His body is completely broken. Too damaged to awaken the 'Legacy.' He can't even perform our family's swordsmanship like this."
Silence.
Then—
"He is totally useless to us. Dispose of him. Let him feed the beasts."
No!
Before I knew what I was doing, I had thrown the door open.
"Stop!"
The room fell silent.
I glared at the servant who had reached for Young Master.
"Don't do this," I said, my voice shaking.
"If he is of no use to you, then just let him live."
The Duke turned to me, his piercing gaze like a dagger. "You dare to tell me what to do?"
I forced my feet to stay planted.
For Young Master... I can withstand this much pressure.
"If you kill him, the Stellar Duchy will surely cause problems."
I expected him to hesitate after I mentioned Young Master's maternal side, but he remained unfazed—like it didn't matter at all.
"Are you under the illusion that that b*tch will do anything for him? If you think she will, then you're nothing but a naive fool who doesn't understand human nature."
"W-What? But Young Master is her child! She will protect him! She even visits him every month!"
"You're truly dumb." He sneered. "She only meets him because of the pact between us. Now that the pact is gone, she will never come again. She is nothing but a calculative bitch who only sees profit."
No! No!
No...
That can't be true...
Young Master's mother—she loved him. Didn't she?
Didn't she?
I refused to believe it. The mother he loved so much—had she never loved him?
Why?
Why is there only sadness in his life? Why?
"But why do you care so much for him?" the Duke sneered. "Do you see yourself in him? Are you both not failures of your families?"
I tightened my grip around Young Master's fragile body.
"Don't... talk about that," I whispered.
But he only laughed.
"Are you not a failure, abandoned by your own family? The only reason you're still alive is because of that b*tch."
"Don't call the Matriarch that!" I screamed. "She was a good person! Yet you her son doing this evil deeds"
The next thing I knew, his boot slammed into my face.
"Agh—!"
"Don't call her my mother!! She was nothing but a selfish wh*re!!! She is the reason I still can't awaken the Legacy!!"
He continued beating me, his rage growing with every word, but I refused to let go of Young Master. His face was motionless, his lips unmoving—but even now, just looking at him brought a small smile to my face.
Some time passed before the beating finally stopped.
"Hah... You're really stubborn." The Duke sighed. "I thought about killing you along with him... but even as a failure, your bloodline still has some worth. Let's make a deal. Or should I call it... mercy?"
"What is it? I will do anything for Young Master's life."
"But it may cost you your daughter. Are you willing to listen?"
My heart sank.
Did I really have to choose between my daughter and Young Master?
This was too much...
Too much...