An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 30: Lucinda the flaming Maiden(4)...

And yet, just as he was about to question the situation before him, a figure flashed by—moving with a speed that seemed to touch upon the impossible.

A broad back blocked his view from inside the carriage, and now he could no longer see what was happening. It was bad enough that Adler had ensured the carriage was soundproof, ever since he had heard what the people were saying about his young master.

The only reason he was even able to hear what the Maiden had said before was because the Butler had felt it important, but now with a nuisance on the way, he closed off all sound and perception; none but the Butler could know what was happening in the carriage.

But Krael let it go.

For when he had seen her eyes—the ones the Maiden had used to look at him—he recognized them.

The same eyes he saw in the mirror of his bath chambers every other time he wished to see his unnatural form of allure.

Eyes that believed themselves above it all, that saw nothing within their linear breath worthy of acknowledgment.

And somehow, he did not need the ravings to tell him why she had appeared before him.

The reason could be summarized in one word.

Showmanship.

She had probably felt insulted about his attitude and wanted to teach a lowly noble like him, how to respect hierarchy.

Quite unwise if you asked him.

As soon as he reached this conclusion, he closed his eyes, shutting himself off from the world beyond—as if it no longer concerned him.

And in a certain sense, it did not.

For what was about to unfold would require strength he simply did not possess, despite the mysterious changes happening within him.

-----

Outside the carriage, the moment the sister appeared before the door—almost as if intending to open it—Adler vanished.

No, he did not move.

He simply appeared at the door, as if he had always been there.

Reality had bent to express his will, and it was surprisingly easy for a butler serving such a lower noble.

For the first time, the Maiden, who had carried herself as though she were above all others, reacted.

Her eyes constricted into pinpricks, and had she not wished to disgrace herself further, she would have retreated explosively.

For the being before her—the one she could not even deign to call a man—was the most dangerous entity she had encountered in a long while.

And that was saying something.

A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind, but she quickly settled on one.

She flashed the butler a gentle smile—the kind that had melted hearts countless times before.

Her voice, as soft as shifting embers and as beautiful as the dawn, carried the weight of a question meant to stir.

"Why do you serve such a lowly count...? A man of your power could have gone anywhere, yet you remain here—a servant to someone who does not deserve it."

She expected a reaction.

A flicker in his gaze.

A sign of lust for her beauty.

A spark of anger at the insult to his master.

Anything—anything—that would prove she was speaking to a man and not something in between.

But all she received was the coldness of his peculiar white eyes.

And a smile—one that was polite yet broken, so jarring in its contradiction that she momentarily wondered what exactly she was dealing with.

The butler had a charm she had not encountered in a long time, his presence unsettlingly composed.

His skin was the healthiest shade of wheat-caramel she had ever seen, his hair a deep abyssal black, devouring all light that neared it.

Tied in a simple yet proper man-bun, his form was neat, his posture prim and precise, as though he disdained ever being improper.

His gloved hands remained folded before him, his all-black uniform immaculate, as if a single speck of dust upon it would be an affront.

And then, he spoke.

"I would prefer if the Temple did not meddle in the affairs of nobility."

His voice was no less phenomenal than hers—except he did not seek acknowledgment.

"And who I serve has never been the concern of a temple nun."

His words were not laced with aggression.

They were simply truth.

And that truth infuriated her. Forgetting the caution screaming at her in her very soul.

A flicker of red flashed in her wheat-brown eyes before disappearing just as quickly. None noticed it.

None but Adler.

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"Be careful how you speak to the devout, butler. And know your place."

Her voice took on a biting cold edge that had not been there before. The crowd, watching with bated breath, stirred restlessly.

Some clenched their fists, struggling to hold back the anger swelling within them. Others shivered.

'How could a servant speak to an emissary of the divine this way?' They all thought.

Adler, however, did not react.

His gentle smile remained unchanged.

And then, someone in the crowd could hold back no longer.

"Tell your master to get off his carriage and pay his respects to the Flaming Maiden!" A man's voice rang out, loud and brash, as if afraid others would not hear him.

"Yeah, tell that coward to come out and be useful for once!"

The call was met with more voices, more shouts, more venom.

"Tell him—!"

Adler's smile did not waver.

Though outwardly he acknowledged their words, inwardly... he was bored.

He had hoped they would at least have the guts to stone the Count's carriage.

Then, he would not need an excuse to slaughter them where they stood.

But even he was bound by the Count's rules.

For all his desires, there were things Adler could not do—no matter how much he wanted to.

But then—

Among the jeering voices, one spoke words that should never have been uttered.

"No wonder he's a disgrace to the late Count. His mother should have never given birth to such a waste!"

The man who had spoken did not realize the crowd had fallen silent.

He did not notice the shift in the air.

A voice in his head told him he had simply drawn everyone's attention.

Even urged him to speak louder, to ensure the puny Count heard every word; it was slippery like a river snake, soft in its tone, and yet sweet in its words.

'Speak louder!!...let the world hear your voice, let all mortals bow before your splendor, and let the arrogant count know that you do not fear him.'

"Yeah, and—"

"—Hrrghkk!"

Before he could say more, he found himself choking.

Somehow, at some point, he had swallowed his own tongue.

It had slid down the wrong pipe, lodging deep within his throat.

He wheezed and gasped, his hands clawing at his neck as panic overtook him.

Blood poured from his mouth, seeping into his lungs, and burning his insides like coal.

His cells fought for air that was refused to him; his eyes watered until blood was all they could bleed.

He wanted to scream—but he could not.

Then, as if he had momentarily slipped into another realm, his vision swam, and he saw him.

The man he had been shouting at.

He was turned away, wiping a silver blade with a black cloth, his motions casual.

And somehow, the blood on that blade—

was his own.

Before he could even register what had happened—

Darkness overtook him.

His body collapsed onto the cracked stone with a thud.

The entire square became a realm of silence.

But that was not the end...

For the man who had just lost his life...

Found himself somewhere far worse.

A place where his very soul screamed in horror.

And if there was such a thing as death for the soul—

He would have gladly taken his own head.

For this was not a place for anything living.

Or dead.