Even though Ascan was standing in the way, the middle aged woman was utterly unreasonable. She thrashed her entire body and shouted even louder.

“It’s Angela, right? You’re Angela, aren’t you? Hurry up and say yes!”

The middle aged woman screamed at the top of her lungs and caused a commotion. But with Ascan present, she could no longer approach me.

I couldn’t comprehend this sudden situation unfolding before me.

It was just as I was staring blankly at the middle aged woman with a puzzled expression.

Villagers who witnessed the scene hurried over and restrained the woman as if tying her down. Then, with apologetic expressions, they began to explain.

“We’re very sorry. Her daughter went missing not long ago, and she lost her mind. Whenever she sees a woman with black hair like her daughter’s, she behaves like this… If you’re offended, please allow us to apologize on her behalf.”

Ascan stared coldly at the middle aged woman who had caused the disturbance toward me. Had the villagers not intervened at the right moment, who knows what might have happened.

Before Ascan could speak, I hastily replied.

“It’s alright. I didn’t know she had such a tragic story.”

Ascan turned to look at me with a slightly displeased expression as I readily forgave her.

Soon after, his gaze shifted to my wrist, which the middle aged woman had grabbed moments earlier. It was bright red from how tightly she had held on.

Seeing that I readily accepted their apology, the villagers looked visibly relieved and said,

“Thank you for your understanding. Perhaps it was because you were covering your face that she reacted so strongly.”

I absentmindedly smoothed the gauze covering my face with my hand. I had only concealed my identity, never expecting something like this to happen.

All the villagers’ eyes were now fixed on my face. Though they didn’t say anything, their curious glances made it clear they wondered why I hid my face, so I quickly improvised an excuse.

“Oh, I have a scar on my face.”

Only then did the villagers nod as if they understood.

“Oh dear, such a pity for someone so young.”

“If you have a facial scar, it’ll be hard to find a husband.”

Since my current identity wasn’t Lady Brellof but a maid, I wasn’t treated with the same respect as when I was a noble. I had expected this, but Ascan’s gaze sharpened.

Afraid he might intervene, I nervously grabbed his arm and hurriedly pulled him in another direction. Then I bid farewell to the villagers.

“We plan to stay in the village for a while, so see you again next time.”

“Take care.”

Even as we walked away, the middle aged woman continued staring at me, calling out the name Angela.

Learning that she’d lost her sanity due to her daughter’s disappearance, I felt a pang of sympathy.

Once we reached a spot slightly away from the villagers, Ascan looked at my reddened wrist with displeasure and asked,

“Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing. It looks bad now, but it’ll calm down soon.”

“I’m upset. How dare they lay hands on my woman…”

A flicker of anger passed through Ascan’s eyes as he muttered quietly.

But contrary to the tense atmosphere, I found the situation somewhat amusing. I didn’t entirely dislike how excessively he worried about me.

“Why make such a fuss over something so minor? Don’t worry about it. Right now, we need to focus on investigating Harrison the steward.”

Ascan stared at me incredulously and opened his mouth.

“What’s so funny that you’re grinning like that?”

“You’re worrying about me, so I can’t help but smile. What am I supposed to do?”

At my words, Ascan frowned. Suddenly, as if reaching the limit of his patience, he shot me a glare with reddened eyes and said,

“Where do you even learn to say things like that? You’re driving me crazy.”

Now, I could tell just by his expression—he desired me intensely.

And since I too had come to understand the joy he gave me, my heart pounded fiercely, thump thump, under his heated gaze.

It was just as we stood there, staring at each other as if time had stopped.

“Excuse me! You’re the people from the trade guild, right? I’m here to guide you around the area—is now a good time?”

From afar, a villager approached us and called out.

Snapping back to my senses with difficulty, I quickly distanced myself from Ascan. Now wasn’t the time for sweet moments—we needed to focus on investigating Harrison.

Clearing my throat unconsciously, I addressed Ascan.

“Shall we go then, Master?”

At the word “Master,” Ascan’s expression changed subtly.

Then, as if resigned, he turned toward the villager. The longing visible on his face moments ago had vanished.

“You’ve come at just the right time. I was just looking for the right person—I’d like to ask you for a favor.”

His phrase “just the right time” somehow sounded to my ears not as “good timing” but rather “bad timing.”

Unaware of his underlying meaning, the villager waved his hands dismissively and replied,

“Don’t mention it. Please follow me this way.”

Thus, we were guided around various parts of the village. At first, I hadn’t noticed, but missing posters for Angela were plastered everywhere.

In the photo, Angela was a beautiful woman with black hair and a gentle expression.

Somehow, the image of the middle aged woman desperately searching for her daughter moments ago surfaced in my mind, leaving me unsettled.

Several days passed.

Ascan and I sat facing each other in the inn we’d chosen as lodging, reviewing the facts we’d gathered from the village.

Most of it matched the contents of Orland’s letter. Since Noxia had already assigned people to investigate Harrison, there were hardly any discrepancies.

The new discovery was that Harrison had personally built the house where he lived.

It wasn’t unusual for a retired steward to build a home for his remaining years. But since he might be the true culprit behind Charles’s death, even the smallest detail couldn’t be overlooked.

Right now, we had to cling to even the tiniest clue.

Knock knock. Carlton entered the room following the sound of knocking.

Carlton had been absent for a while under Ascan’s orders, searching for the architect or laborers who had constructed Harrison’s house.

I was the first to look at Carlton and ask,

“Did you find anything?”

“Yes. I met one of the laborers—he said it was odd that Harrison installed a large furnace in the basement of the house. He also had them build a doghouse, saying he’d keep a dog.”

“A furnace and a doghouse?”

I sank into thought with a puzzled expression.

Installing a furnace in the basement wasn’t exactly normal, but I could accept that. What I couldn’t accept was that nowhere in our investigations had we found any mention of Harrison owning a dog.

Yet he built a doghouse in the basement?

Why?

Considering the possibility that the dog Harrison kept might already be dead, I carefully reviewed the documents Noxia had investigated and Orland had enclosed with his letter.

But even there, there was no mention that Harrison liked dogs or had ever kept one.

‘Something’s strange here.’

My sharp intuition caught onto something.

It was one of the few suspicious points found in Harrison’s otherwise flawless daily routine—impossible to ignore.

‘A murderer who might have killed Mother, a furnace, and a doghouse…’

Could there be no connection?

Unconsciously, I stood up and paced restlessly, lost in thought.

That was when it suddenly hit me.

The middle aged woman searching for her missing daughter whom I’d seen recently—and her daughter’s face on the missing poster.

‘Come to think of it, she mentioned black hair…?’

The commonality between me and the missing Angela was our black hair. And Charles, who had died, also had black hair.

Realizing this, goosebumps spread across my entire body.

One terrifying possibility dawned on me.

I looked urgently at Ascan. Sensing something was seriously amiss, he asked seriously,

“What’s wrong?”

“Could it be… have there been any other disappearances of women with black hair around Harrison the steward’s residence so far?”

“Black hair? Are you saying this because of the daughter who went missing recently?”

“Yes. Her daughter had the same black hair as me.”

Even after my explanation, Ascan still looked confused. To clarify, I quietly added one more sentence.

“Our mother… also had black hair.”

Only then did Ascan’s pupils widen—he’d grasped the meaning behind my words.

If Harrison truly was the murderer who killed Charles…

Would he really have stopped after just once?

If he’d continued committing murders, what would that mean?

The worst possibility crossed my mind—could Angela’s disappearance be Harrison’s doing?

With a hardened expression, Ascan looked at Carlton and said,

“Immediately find out if there have been any other missing women around the place where that bastard lives.”

“Understood.”

Still looking confused, Carlton nonetheless bowed his head upon hearing Ascan’s order and quickly disappeared outside.

I sat down in my chair, my face pale white.

Praying desperately that my intuition was wrong.

Harrison was humming a tune inside his house. He was currently using a soft handkerchief to carefully wipe Charles’s photograph clean.

Once in the morning after waking up, once again before sleeping at night.

For over twenty years, he’d looked at Charles’s photo twice daily, ensuring not a speck of dust settled on it.

It was an important ritual marking the beginning and end of Harrison’s day.

“Charles, you’re still as beautiful today. I wish you’d whisper in my ear, like in my dreams, that you love me. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Harrison gazed at Charles in the photo, recalling the time they’d spent together at Brellof Mansion.

Charles was an extraordinary beauty with lush black hair and mysterious orange eyes—a woman impossible for anyone to ignore.

Harrison had known since she was young that Charles would grow into stunning beauty.

In many ways, she was the perfect woman for him.

“How much effort I put in… If only that bastard Orland hadn’t interfered, we’d still be living happily together…”

From the very beginning, Harrison harbored ill intentions toward Charles and approached her mother.

Fortunately, it was a household with only mother and daughter, so there were many opportunities to help. He repaired broken items in their home and supplemented their insufficient living expenses.

Initially, Charles’s mother repeatedly declined, but worn down by poverty, she eventually accepted the money Harrison offered.

─Steward, I’m truly grateful. I’ll repay this kindness even after I die. Charles, you must thank him too.

At the time, young Charles looked blankly at Harrison and bowed her head.

─Thank you, mister.

Even now, Charles’s adorable, innocent face from back then remained vivid in his eyes.

Charles’s mother wasn’t the type to easily ask others for help. Though not noble, she came from decent lineage, which was why she eventually became Orland’s wet nurse.

But her luck with husbands was terrible. Her husband, addicted to gambling, died leaving behind debts she had to keep repaying.

Unable to ask anyone for loans, she suffered silently—until Harrison extended a helping hand she couldn’t possibly refuse.

For many years, Charles’s mother regarded Harrison as her benefactor, never dreaming he concealed dark intentions beneath his kindness.

Thus, Harrison watched with satisfaction as Charles grew beautifully nearby, finally confessing his true feelings just before her coming-of-age ceremony.

─You said you’d repay my kindness, didn’t you? How about giving me your daughter in marriage?

Though phrased delicately, it was a demand for repayment of all he’d given.

Charles’s mother seemed terribly shocked.

─N no, how could you… Charles is only twenty. But you, sir…

─What does age matter? I’ll love and cherish Charles. Have you already forgotten your promise to repay me even after death?

Charles’s mother was already trapped. The kindness she’d received from Harrison over the years was too great for her to bluntly refuse.

So she secretly arranged Charles’s marriage without Harrison’s knowledge. When he later found out, he was furious.

─Repaying kindness with betrayal? How dare you stab me in the back like this! Try pulling a stunt like that again, and you’ll see what I’m capable of!

It wasn’t a problem that could be solved merely by repaying the borrowed money. As steward of Brellof Mansion, Harrison wielded power and had provided multifaceted assistance.

If he wished, expelling Charles’s mother from the household would be effortless.

If that happened, the debt-ridden mother and daughter would lose their livelihood and end up homeless.

Just a little more pressure and waiting, and Charles would surely fall into his hands. She was a dutiful daughter who wouldn’t ignore her mother’s troubles.

But of all men, it had to be Orland who stepped forward.

─Charles, I have no intention of letting you go to another man.

─What are you suddenly saying?

─I like you. No, I love you.

Orland was unlike clumsy rivals. He was a nobleman—and moreover, the young master of the Brellof family Harrison served.

Harrison could only bite his fingers and watch helplessly, inwardly praying desperately that the class difference between noble and commoner would break their marriage.

But unluckily for him, the wedding took place, and Charles became mistress of the Brellof household.

Harrison felt his blood boiling, yet he couldn’t show it outwardly. He knew Charles’s single word could change his fate.

Sometime along the way, Charles too seemed to sense something strange and began avoiding Harrison. But perhaps due to the kindness received, she never spoke of it.

Thus, he lived silently through long years.

During that time, Harrison, gazing at beautiful Charles whom he could never possess, began to unravel somewhere inside.

Should he say he’d realized the way to own her forever?

Thud. Harrison finally placed Charles’s photo—polished until it gleamed—onto the table. Then he grinned, revealing white teeth.

It was a grotesque smile.

“Alright then, shall I go see Charles?”

Humming a tune, he headed toward the basement of the house. The place equipped with a large furnace and barred enclosures resembling dog kennels.

There, imprisoned, was a woman with black hair—Angela.

With tear-streaked face, Angela shouted at Harrison,

“Ah, mister! Why are you doing this to me? If you let me go now, I won’t tell anyone. Please, send me back home!”

“What are you talking about, Charles? This is our private sanctuary.”

“Ch Charles? I’m Angela, mister!”

No matter how much Angela cried and screamed, Harrison didn’t hear her.

Still smiling, he opened his mouth and gazed at Angela.

“Charles, my very own Charles.”