Chapter 22: The Ninth Person  

The experience of transmigration, combined with the eerie peculiarities of this castle, had already planted a faint suspicion in Rosie’s mind that this world undeniably harbored supernatural forces.  

She looked at the man whose half-face was now completely “burned,” frowning slightly.  

“You mean the mastermind orchestrated all this to complete some ritual and gain power?”  

Herman gave a light chuckle.  

“In the realm of occultism, every illogical behavior and unnatural action has its explanation.”  

“Although…”  

Herman closed the iron box, his gaze lowering to the girl.  

“…due to the Church’s suppression, unofficial Contractors are usually cautious, and the general public knows little about them.”  

“But in aristocratic circles, it’s no secret.”  

“It’s surprising that Miss Moulton doesn’t know about Contractors.”  

Is he testing me?  

Rosie’s heart skipped a beat, but her expression remained impassive, giving him a glance that feigned disinterest.  

“Compared to these weird and dangerous things, a leisurely tea party is far more appealing.”  

If her eyes hadn’t sparkled at the mention of Contractors, he might have believed her.  

Herman didn’t call out the viscount’s daughter’s poor acting, merely nodding.  

“If Miss Moulton is interested in Contractors, I can explain in detail once we escape safely.”  

“For now, let’s deal with the immediate problem.”  

Though a grand, mysterious world was slowly revealing its tip to Rosie, making her itch with curiosity, she knew her priorities.  

She listened quietly as Herman continued.  

“Since the mastermind is likely a Contractor with supernatural powers, facing them alone would be too dangerous for you, Miss Moulton.”  

“So, the one voted to stay must be me—in the open, while you stay in the shadows. We cover each other for the best outcome.”  

Herman offered his revolver to Rosie.  

“You’ll need to play the part of a half-mad murderer.”  

Rosie frowned, then relaxed, looking up at him.  

“You mean I act half-crazed to cover up inconsistencies, using my unstable demeanor and gun to force others to follow my vote?”  

“And the scapegoat, the one I’ve ‘captured’ with no ability to resist, is you?”  

“Exactly.”  

Herman nodded approvingly, continuing.  

“As long as I’m the one voted out tonight, we’re set.”  

“We don’t need to worry about tomorrow’s vote—this will be the final battle.”  

Herman’s gaze shifted to Rosie.  

“To that end, we need a meticulous plan and to share all the information we have without reservation.”  

“Miss Moulton, have you discovered anything unusual?”  

Discoveries?  

Rosie furrowed her brow slightly, reflecting on everything since her “transmigration”—every detail up to the moment she stood at the corridor’s end, staring at the painting of the girl.  

The painting? The girl in the painting?!  

Shocked by the portrait of “Rosie Moulton,” she nearly forgot the painting outside!  

Rosie took a deep breath, looking at Herman gravely.  

“Besides the eight of us, there’s a ninth person in this castle who hasn’t shown themselves.”  

“A ninth person?”  

Herman frowned, asking, “Who are they?”  

“Hannah’s personal maid.”  

“Janice Herbert.”  

…  

The castle, first floor, dining hall.  

In an instant, the situation reversed completely.  

Dennis Sandek was held at gunpoint by Rosie Moulton, with Herman Rhys, whose combat skills were no less formidable, by her side.  

Range is justice—this was the truth.  

Dennis didn’t seem panicked.  

He adjusted his soft felt hat and straightened his sleeves, disheveled from the earlier struggle.  

Rosie didn’t stop his movements.  

After standing beside Herman, she turned her arm, shifting the gun’s aim from Dennis Sandek to the dining hall door.  

Soft footsteps echoed on the floor, accompanied by a faintly familiar female voice.  

“Rosie, I never thought you’d point a gun at me.”  

Pale flames suddenly ignited in the air, and amidst swirling fireballs of varying sizes, a woman’s face emerged from behind the door.  

Her face was slightly round, her nose dotted with faint freckles, and her light blue eyes, illuminated by the firelight, carried a hint of coldness.  

Hannah Carter, a woman presumed dead, reappeared before everyone’s eyes.  

Rosie’s expression was complex but unsurprised, clearly prepared for this moment.  

From their reunion, to meeting Dwight Nell’s group and heading to the locked dining hall together, to translating the ancient text on the parchment and her proactive sacrifice in the first vote—Hannah Carter had been guiding the events from start to finish.  

Her “death” had turned the so-called sacrificial ritual from a theory into reality.  

It forced everyone to follow the ritual’s rules, plunging them into a vortex of suspicion and betrayal.  

The girl who died in the dining hall, her head severed, was none other than the personal maid Hannah mentioned during their first encounter to avoid raising “Rosie Moulton’s” suspicions—Janice Herbert.  

Even as a transmigrator, Rosie couldn’t help feeling a pang of sorrow.  

Since arriving, Hannah had been the one she trusted most.  

Even after her “death,” Rosie had vowed to catch the killer and avenge her.  

Until just moments ago, she clung to a faint hope that the person emerging from the door would be Janice, not Hannah.  

Some fragmented details from her awakening now clicked into place.  

Why would a noble like Rosie Moulton go out without a single bodyguard or maid?  

Who could have knocked her out and brought her to the castle without harming her?  

Only her closest confidante, her best friend, the one she trusted most—her dearest companion.  

Rosie even vaguely guessed why her portrait appeared in the castle.  

Nine frames, representing the nine people in the castle.  

Janice Herbert was beheaded, and Rosie Moulton “died” the moment Lin Yu transmigrated into her body.  

Their paintings remained because their deaths had “trapped” their souls within them.  

Rituals, contracts, secrets, the supernatural.  

Would she, too, one day lose herself in one contract ritual after another, becoming ruthless in pursuit of supernatural power?  

Rosie didn’t know.  

She raised her revolver, her misty blue eyes growing more resolute.  

The future was for the future Rosie to handle.  

For now, she had one thing to do—put a bullet in the woman before her!  

In her heart, she softly said, “Rest in peace, Rosie Moulton.”