A corpse.
Staring down at the body lying before him, Viscount Byrd's face was a mask of dark fury. He said nothing. He had no idea why this maid had suddenly darted out in front of him—but now, none of that mattered. She was dead. And what was worse, he was the one who had killed her.
"Good heavens!"
Thompson hurried to his master's side, and when he saw the body crumpled on the steps below, he blanched white with terror and let out a horrified shout.
"Master! You—you've killed her?!"
"That's enough! It wasn't my fault!"
Viscount Byrd scowled, growling the words through gritted teeth. He had no idea what in the world was happening in this cursed castle. Perhaps he should never have left his guest room—but now, he had no choice left. The corridors stretching out on either side were endless, swallowed by dim, flickering torchlight. Something was clearly very wrong with this place. And now, Viscount Byrd's mind was in utter chaos. One impossible thing after another had happened—and none of it could be a coincidence. Up until now, apart from his own retainer, he had not seen a single other soul in the castle.
Could it be that the young lord was trying to get his revenge?
Viscount Byrd thought about it, then shook his head. He was no master swordsman, but as a low-ranked knight, he had a keen sense of his surroundings. He could feel it—there was no one else nearby. No signs of life, no hint of another person's presence. In fact, he had not sensed the maid at all until she had suddenly darted out in front of him, as if she had materialized out of thin air.
True, he had killed someone—but she was just a common maid, a nobody. At worst, he could pay some compensation to hush it up later. But it was the *situation* that filled him with dread. He glanced down the staircase, and all he saw was pitch-black darkness. It was the dead of night, after all—no one in their right mind would be wandering the castle halls at this hour.
And now, Viscount Byrd faced an impossible choice: should he go find the young lord, or should he try to escape this castle at once?
As a nobleman, his pride demanded that he confront Black and demand an explanation. After all, Black was the master of this house—and he, Viscount Byrd, was his guest. To be subjected to such terror without so much as a warning was an unforgivable slight. But his instincts screamed at him to flee this castle immediately. He stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at the steps vanishing into shadow, and his mind went blank. The stories he had heard as a child came flooding back—the terrible tales, the horrifying rumors, the visions of rotting corpses. The doubts and fears he had thought he had banished returned to him, stronger than ever.
What should he do? Run? No—he could not run. To flee without a fight was the ultimate shame for a nobleman. Besides, Duskhold Castle sat atop a high mountain. To reach the village below, he would have to take that cursed mountain path. Venturing down it in the middle of the night was far too dangerous. Who knew what lurked in the forests lining the trail? Compared to that, the castle was almost safe by comparison.
Then there was only one option left: find the young lord.
With that thought in mind, Viscount Byrd straightened his cravat, let out a cold snort, tightened his grip on his sword, and began to descend the stairs slowly.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the silence once more.
As he passed the maid's body, Viscount Byrd could not help but glance at her again. To be honest, he felt a twinge of regret for his impulsive strike. She had been a pretty girl—dying like this was a terrible waste. What was more, he was a member of the prestigious Byrd family. If word of this got out, and if some scheming soul decided to make a fuss about it, it would stain the family's reputation. That was the last thing he wanted.
But there was nothing to be done about it now.
Viscount Byrd tore his gaze away, fixed his eyes on the steps ahead, and pressed his back against the wall as he continued his slow descent.
"Hmm?"
After rounding a corner, Viscount Byrd's eyes widened in shock. Where there should have been a corridor stretching out before him, there was nothing but a solid stone wall. It was adorned with decorative flowers and a mirror—exactly like the landing he had just passed. What in the world? This should have been the first floor! How could a wall have suddenly appeared out of nowhere?
Viscount Byrd frowned deeply. If he had still trusted his own memories before, he certainly did not now. He was absolutely certain that he remembered the castle's layout clearly—but in this cursed place, reality kept contradicting his recollection at every turn. He instinctively wanted to glance upward to orient himself, but he heard Thompson's footsteps echoing behind him. So he forced the thought aside and kept moving downward. No matter how terrified he was, he had to maintain his composure in front of his retainer. Otherwise, he would lose all semblance of his dignity as a master.
Rounding another corner, bright torchlight burst forth, chasing away the thick darkness. At the sight of that warm glow, Viscount Byrd let out a silent sigh of relief. So he *had* misremembered. This must be the real first floor after all. With that thought, he turned around—and then froze, his entire body going rigid with horror.
A maid's corpse was lying on the steps just a few feet below him. Her empty, lifeless eyes stared wide open, her once-pretty face caved in and twisted into a grotesque shape. A deep gash, running from her shoulder to her chest, was still oozing blood, which had soaked into the crimson carpet beneath her, blending seamlessly into the fabric.
This can't be happening!
Viscount Byrd gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He would recognize that corpse anywhere—it was the very same maid he had killed on the landing upstairs just moments ago! But she should have been lying on the platform *above* him! This could not be some elaborate prank. There was simply no time for anyone to have moved her body all the way down here. Then… had he misremembered again? That was impossible!
Heavy breathing sounded behind him. Viscount Byrd did not need to turn around to know it was Thompson. Clearly, his retainer had seen the body too—and he was terrified. Perhaps he had also remembered the terrible rumors about this castle. After all, he had grown up by Viscount Byrd's side and had heard all those same chilling stories. So what now?
Faced with a situation that defied all logic and reason, Viscount Byrd was at a complete loss. He wanted to turn back and check the body upstairs—but what would be the point? Even if he confirmed that the original corpse was still lying on the landing above, how would he explain this identical body here below? And what if the first body was gone when he got there? What would he do then? Viscount Byrd had no idea where he was anymore. He was not even sure if he was still inside the castle at all.
Damn it all!
At that moment, a surge of blind rage exploded within him.
I am a nobleman! I am a member of the Byrd family! How dare this cursed castle try to scare me? No! You won't break me!
With that thought, Viscount Byrd marched forward again, his steps heavy with resolve. He did not spare the maid's corpse another glance, pressing onward and downward. He had made up his mind—no matter what, he would find an exit. There *had* to be an exit somewhere!
Ten steps… fifty steps… a hundred steps…
Viscount Byrd had lost count of how many stairs he had descended. His legs burned with exhaustion, but every time he rounded a corner and reached a new landing, he saw the same sight—the maid's corpse, lying on the steps just below him, exactly as it had been before, motionless and cold. A change was coming over Viscount Byrd's mind. He was tired—so tired. He could not remember how many steps he had taken, but he knew it was far more than any normal staircase should have. He felt like a rat trapped in a circular maze, running endlessly, chasing a finish line that would never come.
And with each passing moment, Viscount Byrd's mood grew more and more agitated, more and more unhinged. That pent-up fear and frustration finally reached its breaking point when he saw the maid's corpse yet again.
"It's you again!!"
This time, Viscount Byrd did not stride past her body. Instead, he let out a roar of fury, stormed over to her, raised his sword high above his head, his face contorted into a mask of feral rage.
"Fine! You want to follow me? Then I'll see how far you can keep this up!!"
A flash of cold steel cut through the air.
The sharp blade sliced through the maid's neck with ease, severing her head cleanly from her body. Viscount Byrd bared his teeth in a snarl, then lifted his boot and kicked the disfigured skull hard. It bounced down the stairs like a ball, vanishing into the endless darkness below.
"Come on! You worthless bitch!!"
Viscount Byrd raised his sword again, screaming in a frenzy, and drove the blade into the girl's lifeless body. He stabbed and hacked wildly, carving deep gash after deep gash into the corpse.
"I'll cut off your head! Cut off your hands! Cut off your feet! Let's see if you can follow me then! Let's see if you can keep haunting me…!!"
Viscount Byrd screamed like a madman, venting all his accumulated fear and rage, completely losing all sense of reason. Under his relentless assault, the corpse was soon reduced to a mangled, bloody mess. Splatters of blood stained the walls around him. And then, suddenly, he heard a soft sound coming from the stairs behind him.
*Thud… thud… thud…*
Rolling down the steps, a twisted, disfigured head came to a stop right at Viscount Byrd's feet. It lay there, exactly as it had been before he had cut it off, without a single scratch.
At the sight of it, Viscount Byrd froze, his sword still raised high above his head. He stared down at the head at his feet, his eyes wide with terror. Those empty, lifeless eyes stared back at him, expressionless—and in their glassy depths, he saw nothing but his own reflection, filled with abject horror.
"Thompson… go see what's down there."
Fighting to keep his voice from trembling, Viscount Byrd gave his final order. All this time, to maintain his dignity as a master, he had insisted on walking in front. But now, he wanted nothing more than to hide behind someone else.
Silence.
No one answered. The heavy breathing still sounded behind him—but there was no reply.
"Thompson! Did you not hear me?!"
Viscount Byrd spun around, his voice cracking with anger—but then his words died in his throat, and his eyes went wide with shock. The figure standing behind him this entire time was not his retainer at all…
"Master?"
Watching his master's rigid back, the loyal retainer frowned in confusion. Ever since they had seen that maid's corpse, his master had been standing frozen at the top of the stairs, as if his soul had left his body. He had been like this for a long time now. What was wrong with him? What was he thinking about?
Thompson felt a growing sense of unease.
"Master! What's the matter with you? Please say something!"
Overcome with terror, Thompson reached out and grabbed Viscount Byrd's shoulders, forcing him to turn around and face him. And then, as if he had seen something truly unspeakable, he let out a bloodcurdling scream, stumbled backward, and collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head as he lost consciousness completely.