The dining room of the Laval Viscount’s manor was bathed in the warm yellow glow cast by crystal chandeliers.
Silverware gleamed on the long dining table, yet it failed to dispel the thick, unsettling atmosphere hanging in the air.
Bernard de Laval, the Viscount of Laval, sat at the head of the table, his fingers unconsciously tracing the slender stem of a tall wine glass.
Usually a witty noble who could turn even bankruptcy crises into amusing business anecdotes, tonight he was visibly on edge.
Unlike his worried father, Allen was in an unusually good mood.
Not having to struggle for survival at the academy or deal with Feng Aotian lifted his spirits so much that he even had the leisure to tell his father urban legends.
“Father, do you remember the old oak woods east of Saint Nora Academy? They say there’s a treasure left behind by ancient heroes hidden there…”
Everyone knew urban legends in the game were true.
Allen, familiar with the Original Work Starshine Romance, knew that the old oak woods indeed concealed a treasure.
However, this treasure was the exclusive weapon of the heroine, Livia von Stern; others couldn’t use it even if they found it.
If it could be sold for money, Allen wouldn’t have lived in poverty in every playthrough.
“Ah? Oak woods? Treasure? Oh, yes, there is such a legend…”
Bernard forced a smile in response to Allen’s idle chatter, but sweat beads kept forming at his temples, and he repeatedly raised and lowered his handkerchief, as if trying to wipe away an invisible stain.
Anxiety.
From time to time, he glanced toward the usual spot where the Housekeeper would stand, but tonight the loyal old Housekeeper was absent for some reason, deepening Bernard’s unease.
Standing silently beside the massive cloisonné-painted cabinet was Marianne Durand.
She observed the unusual behavior of father and son with sharp eyes.
As the head maid of the Laval family, she commanded the other servants with precise and efficient movements.
Yet her gaze was like invisible threads, tightly wrapped around the father and son seated at the dining table.
It was all too strange.
Master Allen—the sullen, harsh son who regarded his father’s care as an insult—now smiled brightly and even took the initiative to ease his father’s tension with conversation.
The prisoner.
And Master Bernard—the doting father who always said “If money can’t solve it, then it’s no problem”—looked like a man awaiting judgment.
What on earth had happened?
Or had they sensed something?
A stone thrown into the calm lake of Marianne’s heart stirred the silt beneath.
“Miss Marianne?”
A young maid holding a silver tray of fragrant pan-fried eel looked at her cautiously.
“This dish…”
Marianne snapped back to reality, suppressing the unease swelling inside her, and resumed the elegant composure of a head maid.
“Serve Viscount Bernard first, in order. Don’t pour too much sauce; His Lordship’s stomach has been uneasy lately.”
Her voice was steady, betraying no emotion.
Only she knew how tumultuous her heart was beneath that calm surface.
“Marianne Durand, you’re fired.”
Allen’s words echoed relentlessly inside her mind.
This devilish young master had promised to compensate her and set her free.
Why?
Could the so-called “Divine Revelation” really be true?
Did he genuinely want to change?
The thought barely surfaced before it was shredded by deeper hatred.
Impossible!
Countless days and nights of humiliation and trampling had etched this pain into her bones, fueling her cold will to survive.
Her hatred for Allen was a vine growing in darkness, tangled and thickened over years.
It could not be severed by a few light words of “all debts settled.”
But deep in her memory, a pair of eyes appeared at the most inopportune moment—
When Marianne pushed Allen into the icy lake, through the churning, murky water, what she saw in his eyes was not the expected terror or rage but a near-relieved calm.
In Allen’s gaze was even a trace of absurd guilt.
Suddenly, Marianne realized this devilish young master had deliberately handed her the chance for revenge!
Why?
Why was it her who wanted to end her life?
He—the perpetrator—wanted to leave this world before her?!
That look was like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing the flames of Marianne’s revenge and leaving only overwhelming shock and guilt.
It was that moment of clarity that made her dive in and drag this tormentor—who nevertheless gave her family a glimmer of hope—ashore.
Marianne’s fingers curled unconsciously into her palm.
The Crimson Spiral Cult’s “Blessing” lay dormant within her; the power of the Pseudo Crest was like a poisoned sting embedded in her flesh.
She had gained power but still couldn’t deliver the final blow to the unconscious Allen.
Was it the pitying gaze of the Housekeeper, who treated her like his own child, that bound her hands?
Or the Housekeeper’s thunderous whispered words later that shattered her understanding?
“Child, don’t blame yourself too much…The young master privately instructed me to look after you…The medicine I gave you for your wounds was actually bought on his orders. He said you still have a younger brother to raise…”
Lies.
Lies!
It had to be the Housekeeper’s kind lie to comfort her!
That devil, who took pleasure in her suffering, could never care!
Yet this lie was so clumsy and meaningless.
Why would the Housekeeper tell such a lie?
Guilt twisted around her heart like poisonous vines, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
While Allen lay unconscious, the underground altar of the Crimson Spiral Cult smelled of blood, the agony of the Pseudo Crest’s implantation tearing her soul, the cult leader’s fanatical sermons and hypnotic whispers…
These images repeatedly seared Marianne’s nerves.
When she pushed Allen into the water, that surge of brutal pleasure nearly swallowing her sanity—did it really belong entirely to her?
Was there perhaps a faint trace of something unspeakable guiding and amplifying it?
She had fallen so deep she forgot the girl under the starry sky in the border village—the girl who clumsily used her barely awakened emblem power to heal her wounds, who spread her arms to shield her from bandits—
She had broken her promise to Livia von Stern.
She had fallen into an abyss, covered in stains that could never be washed clean.
A person like her…was unworthy of seeing the sun again, let alone being with Livia.
So when Allen woke, she chose to confess, as if awaiting final judgment.
She was tired of lies, tired of hatred, tired of herself.
Since becoming a cultist, death was her only release, the last barrier protecting her family.
Yet Allen did not punish her.
He merely planned to fire her and was even willing to compensate her for “emotional damages.”
She had dreamed countless times of such a scene, but when this belated “mercy” finally arrived, it hurt more than any punishment.
If…if only it had come sooner…
Before her soul was utterly tainted by hatred and the power of the dark god…
Too late.
It was all too late.
There was no turning back.
The banquet dishes far exceeded Allen’s expectations.
Honey mustard eggs were tender and appetizing, the golden foil oxtail soup rich and mellow, red wine-braised wild rabbit tender and flavorful, truffle-stuffed roasted pheasant exuded a commanding aroma…
Course after course of delicacies flowed in endless succession, silver platters overlapping, their fragrances rising in the candlelight.
This spectacle was worlds apart from the shabby Laval family Allen remembered—living off scraps at the academy cafeteria, his father even shamelessly “visiting” other noble houses just to mooch meals.
In his mouth, Allen clearly understood tonight’s grandeur was merely the last flicker of a declining family’s glory.
He should have advised his father to be frugal.
But the shadow of death hung over Allen’s heart.
Life was fleeting; every day alive must be lived as the last.
After all, filial duty is easier when the child is the one wasting the family fortune.
His father would bear the burden of bankruptcy first.
He might as well enjoy being the prodigal son before talking about reviving the family!
Whether he lived to see that day was another matter.
When a servant placed a particularly fragrant portion of truffle-stuffed roasted pheasant on his plate, Allen lifted a piece with his fork and savored the scent of earthy top-grade truffle, the freshness of game meat, and the complex, rich spiced flavors—pepper’s sharp heat, cinnamon’s warm sweetness, clove’s pungent bite—all perfectly fused in a luxurious symphony on his taste buds.
Allen sighed in satisfaction.
This was the life a villainous young master deserved!
At the academy, he had endured countless glares while scavenging food.
To eat such a lavish dinner at home was pure bliss.
Yet amid this satisfaction, a cold, discordant feeling slithered like a serpent, quietly tightening around his nerves.
Allen’s suspicious nature flared up again.
Starshine Serenade was set in a fictional medieval European society…
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