The Duke's household was in uproar—not because of Lana's rumored suicide. A maid's death was hardly scandalous enough to shake the foundations of Velmora.
No, the storm was brewing elsewhere.
Word had slipped out. Whispers swirling through the servants' quarters, making their way into the grand halls.
Kael had revealed enough to spark wildfire.
His second brother, Aerik, was now the center of every whispered accusation.
People said Aerik had a hand in Kael's poisoning. That he had tried to kill his own blood to claim the Duchy.
From the lowest scullery maid to the highest-ranking noble, the county buzzed with rumors.
Gossip became certainty.
Letters slipped into pockets. Eyes glanced sideways. Alliances quietly shifted.
Kael sighed, folding the crumpled newspaper and setting it gently aside.
The headlines screamed accusations. The portraits in the hallways seemed to watch him with knowing eyes.
But despite the uproar, Kael himself still didn't know the full truth.
'Which brother had paid the maid to poison him? Aerik? Or someone else hiding in the shadows?'
The question lingered, heavy and unanswered.
Kael's gaze drifted toward the window.
Outside, the sky was a dull gray—matching the uncertainty that now settled over the entire Duchy.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and whispered to himself:
"Well… people guessed the truth.
Even if I don't know all of it yet."
Kael sat alone in his room, the muted light from the gray sky filtering through heavy drapes.
The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint creak of old wood settling.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, voice low, almost to himself.
"Aerik is not even in the county right now..."
That absence had made it easy for people to pin the blame on him.
"But when he comes back..."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"There will be no avoiding a direct confrontation."
He leaned back against the chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest.
"Well... I can't remain passive."
His eyes darkened with resolve.
"The system's mission isn't just about surviving."
"It's about capturing the Duchy."
The weight of that goal settled over him, heavy but clear.
The heavy wooden door creaked open suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Renald stepped inside, followed by ten young maids, each standing nervously in a neat row behind him.
"It's been a day, young master," Renald said with a slight bow.
"As a noble, you cannot remain without attendants. You may select from these maids the one you wish to serve you."
Kael slowly turned his head toward them, eyes tired but sharp.
He didn't glance at any of the maids.
Instead, his voice came quietly, almost cold.
"I don't want any of them."
Renald's brow furrowed, but Kael continued without hesitation.
"They will all remember Lana."
His voice softened, almost bitter.
"And her promise... the name reversal."
At the mention, Renald's expression shifted—something unspoken flickered in his eyes.
A subtle tension hung in the air.
Kael watched Renald closely, waiting.
The room felt heavier somehow, as if the past lingered just beneath the surface.
The maids shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, their silence heavy with discomfort.
Renald cleared his throat, stepping forward with a measured hesitation.
"Young master… you must choose. The Duke will be displeased otherwise. A noble must act like a noble."
Kael didn't respond immediately. Instead, he slowly stood, the creak of the bedframe echoing in the stillness.
He walked over to the tall window, looking out at the sprawling estate beyond, his thoughts churning.
'I can't trust anyone in this house', he thought grimly. 'Any of these maids could be working for my brothers.'
Without turning back, he spoke quietly but firmly, his voice carrying the weight of decision.
"Fine. Take me to the slave market. I'll choose from there."
Renald's mouth opened, then closed. He stammered,
"B-but, Master, that—"
Kael slowly turned, his eyes locking onto Renald's with a sudden, chilling coldness.
His face, for the first time, showed no trace of the boy who'd cried the night before.
No softness.
Only a stark, emotionless gaze.
"You dare to defy me?"
The room seemed to freeze. The maids swallowed hard, stepping back instinctively. Renald's breath hitched, the weight of the moment pressing down.
After a tense pause, Renald bowed his head slightly, voice low and respectful,
"As you wish, young master."
With that, he turned sharply and slammed the door behind him.
Outside, the corridor was quiet—except for the soft, shaky breath of a maid.
"What… was that?" she whispered.
"It was like looking at a monster," another replied, her voice trembling.
"The third son… he's not the boy we thought."
The maids stood in a small cluster, their posture tense, as though they were afraid the cold stillness might follow them.
"That… that wasn't how he used to be," one of them murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He used to avoid even raising his voice."
"He looked through us," another added, clutching her apron. "Like we weren't even people."
A third maid gave a shiver. "Did you see his eyes? Like there was nothing left."
Renald stood slightly apart from them, his expression unreadable. But then he spoke, low and steady.
"I think…" he began, "it's Lana's death."
The others fell silent.
He looked down the hall, thoughtful.
"She was close to him, once. And now, she's gone—leaving behind only guilt. And promises she never fulfilled."
A maid swallowed hard. "You mean… the name reversal?"
Renald didn't reply.
He only nodded, slow and heavy.
The maids exchanged uneasy glances.
And then, silence.
None of them dared say it aloud, but the thought lingered between them:
Whatever had woken in the third son after that night—it wasn't going back to sleep.