To His Hell and Back-Chapter 516: Face That Don’t Belong-I

Arabella made her way out of her room, the soft echo of her footsteps filling the quiet hallway. She had barely taken a few steps from her corridor when she found Esme standing there, almost as if she had been waiting specifically for this moment. Esme’s lips curled in a wide, prideful grin the instant their eyes met, a grin so self satisfied it bordered on taunting.

Arabella, however, refused to give her that satisfaction. She shifted her gaze forward and continued walking as though Esme were little more than a passing shadow. But Esme stepped forward, lifting her hand to block the path with the casual arrogance of someone who believed she owned every corridor she walked in.

"You are not allowed to see the maid yet, milady," Esme announced, her voice dripping with a forced politeness that couldn’t hide the venom underneath.

Arabella’s eyes lifted slowly, her expression sharpened by cold disdain. "If one sees the way you act," she replied, voice calm but edged with razor-thin insult, "they might assume you are the one marrying Morpheus in a matter of days."

Esme’s smile widened, not a pleasant one, but the kind that revealed just how amused she was by her own delusions. "I would not dare," she said, clasping her hands together once, as though applauding herself. She radiated a smug delight that felt almost childish. "But if the Lord did choose me, I wouldn’t question why. You aren’t the best woman to be with, after all."

The insult was blatant, and Arabella’s eyes narrowed, her expression darkening like clouds before a storm. "Is there any reason," she asked slowly, her tone carrying the weight of growing annoyance, "why you need to stop me?"

Esme tilted her head, feigning innocence that not even a fool would believe. "Well," she began, lips stretching in another confident smirk, "after hearing the third test, it felt a little... unbalanced. You want Lord Morpheus to trust you for four days, but shouldn’t you also give something up?" Her voice lowered, dripping with insidious delight. "Just for four days, don’t interact with that maid or step foot into the dungeon. If you manage that, I’ll even allow you to take one thing from me."

The proposal was delivered sweetly, but the arrogance behind it was unmistakable.

Arabella raised an eyebrow, tilting her head as her expression darkened with amusement— amusement that carried the weight of a predator eyeing its prey. "You mean," she said slowly, "that in exchange for me not seeing my maid... you would sacrifice something of yours according to whatever I choose?"

"Indeed," Esme laughed, lifting one hand outward in a casual, almost theatrical gesture. Her fingers shimmered with faint magic, and her smile stretched wider with every word. "I can even take an oath for it."

Arabella’s response was a soft hum soaked in disdain. Her gaze drifted lazily over Esme, as if appraising something of little value. "But I wonder..." she murmured, voice silky and cruel, "is there truly anything on you worth taking?"

The mockery in her tone left the latter’s face turn into hatred almost in a snap of a finger.

Esme’s laughter stalled, only for a fraction of a second, but the tension in her jaw betrayed the blow. Her grin returned, stiff around the edges. "I’m sure there is," she insisted. "Didn’t you see my power earlier? Strong enough to rival yours."

"Rival me? You praise yourself far too much, Esme," said Arabella in a chuckle response that only left her laughing alone. "But does that mean I could take whatever it is that I want? No matter what it is?"

Esme nodded eagerly, too confident for her own good. "It goes without saying. You may take anything— except my life, of course." She shrugged as though the offer were generous, not reckless. "But a limb or two? I could part with those."

Arabella slowly let her lips stretched into a smile. "Then anything but your life," she echoed, savoring each word like a promise.

Esme answered with a bold, cheeky grin, her confidence swelling at the thought that she held the upper hand.

"Anything but my life."

Arabella took a deliberate step back, allowing herself more space— not to retreat, but to command the surroundings the way a queen would before sealing an agreement. "Then we should take an oath," she said, her voice taking on a regal finality. "I will not interact with the maid named Cassandra. And you—" she gestured lightly with her hand, "you shall grant me one wish of my choosing, no matter what it is."

"With the exception of my life," Esme completed smoothly. She flicked her finger, and at once a scroll materialized before them.

A dark purple aura spiraled around it, humming with an unmistakable magical weight. The glow cast eerie shadows along the walls, making the parchment feel almost alive.

Isaac, standing behind Arabella, stiffened. Even he who wasn’t too familiar with trickeries, could see the truth immediately, that Esme had prepared this in advance.

She hadn’t stumbled upon this negotiation. She had planned for it.

And that realization filled the hallway with a different kind of silence, one that warned Arabella that this was no spontaneous challenge.

This was a trap set with care, a trap Esme was certain Arabella would step into.

"And if one breaks the oath," Esme added lightly, almost singing the words, "they will lose their sight for good."

Arabella let out a soft, amused chuckle. Esme clearly thought she had played a hidden trump card— a little twist meant to intimidate. But Arabella only looked entertained, as though she were indulging a child who thought herself clever.

Without hesitation, she reached for the quill that floated toward her. The pen’s feather shimmered faintly, responding to the magic of the oath, and Arabella’s fingers wrapped around it with a graceful certainty. She lowered it to the parchment and signed her name in calm, fluid strokes, as though the threat of blindness were nothing more than a foolish addition that wouldn’t ruffle her feather even for the slightest.

Esme followed suit, her smile sharp and triumphant as she scribbled her name. Once finished, she rolled the scroll with a practiced flick of her wrist and placed it into Isaac’s hands.

"Then I shall leave this with you," she said sweetly, the way one might hand off an unwanted trinket. "I have no more use for it, after all."

She turned, her steps light as she began walking away, almost humming with victory.

"Esme."

The single word halted her instantly.

Arabella’s tone had shifted, not mocking, not sharp, but unexpectedly civil. The kind of voice she used only when she had something to truly talked with someone, not to threat or even mock again.

Esme arched a brow, her expression morphing into exaggerated politeness as she slowly faced her again. This was unusual and it had all the reason to make her suspicious. After all, Arabella had not spoken a single gentle word to her since the moment they met.

"What may I help you with, milady?" Esme asked, politeness dripping from every syllable, though the false sweetness couldn’t hide the twitch of caution beneath her smile.

She waited, eyes narrowed just enough to show she was bracing herself, because when Arabella was suddenly calm, suddenly courteous...

...it was almost always the calm before a storm.

"Have we not met before?" She asked Esme who looked back at her face with doubt.

"We have met before?"

"So you don’t remember," Arabella hummed, "Years ago, I feel as if I had seen you before. Your face is so familiar to me, you see."

At this, Esme’s face suddenly darkened as she held her own face. Then wariness took over her face, one with doubt and skepticism but also curiosity that perked her enough to fall for Arabella’s words.

"You have seen this face?" Esme asked but the way she asked about her own face made her to wonder why it seemed as if the woman was in disbelief... as if the face she has wasn’t even her own face.

"I think I did back then long ago when I was really young. You look slightly different now but I suppose it’s because back then your hair was far shorter and you look almost like a young boy than your current elegant appearance," Arabella crossed her arms, "You really don’t remember? Odd but that would explain."

"Explain what?" Esme snapped.

"You don’t seem to remember me and what’s even more odd is how even though you cannot leave the castle of the sorcerers, back then we met in my village," Then Arabella pursed her lips in a thought. "But I’m sure I didn’t see the wrong face. I know it’s your face that I have seen before. Unless that person is somewhat of your family member or... perhaps you even stole her face?"

Although it was an aim in the dark, Arabella seemed to have truly shot something as Esme’s face turned wildly pale.

"No.. that can’t be... he said that this face is..." Esme held her own face, touching to it, "He loved this face.."

"Morpheus loved that face?" Arabella echoed but Esme flinched, as if regretting she had slipped and immediately raised her face, flinching and in an attempt to hide the truth, she stepped backward and shook her head.

"You’re lying... it must be a lie.."