Chapter 15
Rain fell on the day of Mother’s funeral.
Beljeon remembered that day with piercing clarity.
The heavens unleashed a torrent, drenching all creation.
Yet none of the men of House Basilian shed a tear.
The empty coffin was filled to the brim with flowers—
Mother’s favorite blooms, arranged in a silent cascade.
Beljeon stood motionless, staring at the coffin.
As he gazed, lost in the sight, a small tug came at his sleeve.
“Brother.”
Ishuel looked up at him, eyes brimming with unease.
“Where’s Mother?”
“…”
“I can’t see her. I’ve been looking since yesterday, but she’s not here.”
“…”
“Brother…”
Beljeon turned his head away in silence.
He felt the faint pull of his little brother’s grip on his sleeve but pretended not to notice.
He lacked the courage to explain this moment to a child.
Truth be told, Beljeon himself had not yet come to terms with it.
After a while, Ishuel gave up trying to get his attention and wandered off.
Beljeon heard his brother’s voice, chattering now, as he approached Karha, who sat hunched in a corner.
“Karha, find Mother for me.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“No scent.”
“Why’s there no scent?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about the baby, then? Mother said there was a baby in her belly. Can’t you smell the baby either?”
“I said I don’t know. Go away.”
“Ugh…!”
Ishuel kicked Karha with a thud.
On any other day, Karha would have leapt up and struck back, matching Ishuel blow for blow.
But today, Karha was subdued, curled up like a wounded cat, small and still.
“Father!”
Ishuel ran to Kierne next, his small steps pattering at first, then slowing.
He studied Kierne with anxious eyes.
“Why are you like this? You’re not even using an umbrella… The ground’s all wet from the rain.”
“…”
“Father, get up.”
Ishuel reached out with the hand not holding his umbrella and gently tapped Kierne’s arm.
The small hand brushed cautiously against the rigid figure, but Kierne didn’t stir, as if turned to stone.
He remained slumped, unmoving.
When no response came despite Ishuel’s lingering presence, the boy returned to Beljeon, his voice heavy with defeat.
“What’s everyone doing…?”
Beljeon bit the inside of his cheek, hard.
A sharp pain bloomed, and the metallic tang of blood spread across his tongue.
Gripping his umbrella tightly, he approached his father.
Kierne knelt before his wife’s coffin, soaked to the bone, a pitiful figure under the relentless rain.
His face was ashen, black hair plastered haphazardly to his skin, and his red eyes stared blankly, unfocused, sunken into darkness.
Beljeon recalled the final words his mother had entrusted to him.
He turned them over in his mind—dozens, hundreds, thousands of times—until they were worn and frayed.
Then, he held his umbrella over Kierne’s head.
“Pull yourself together.”
Even as the rain ceased pummeling his body, Kierne showed no reaction.
It was as if he felt nothing at all.
Raindrops clung to his hair, sliding down his cheeks, pooling at his jaw before dripping—plop, plop—to the ground.
Beljeon shouted, his voice raw.
“You can’t do this! You’re the Count of Basilian…!”
He couldn’t collapse like this, as if he’d be buried alongside the flowers.
Not as the Count of Basilian.
Not as the serpent who ruled the Black Forest, bound by duty and responsibility.
Breathing heavily, Beljeon whispered, “Mother wouldn’t have wanted this…”
No answer came.
Only the clamor of the rain filled the silence.
Then, a low chuckle broke through.
At first, it was so faint, mingled with the rain, that Beljeon thought he’d misheard.
But the laughter grew louder.
“Hahaha!”
Kierne’s shoulders shook as he laughed.
Startled, Beljeon stumbled back, leaving his father exposed to the downpour.
Without the shelter of the umbrella, Kierne laughed wildly, his voice rising into a manic crescendo.
The blood-charged laughter lingered long.
“Hah… haha…”
When at last the laughter ceased,
Kierne staggered to his feet.
Standing before Mother’s coffin, he ran a hand through his disheveled, rain-soaked hair.
Sweeping the wet strands back to reveal a smooth forehead, he smiled brightly.
His once-dull red eyes now gleamed like shattered ruby fragments, dazzling in their intensity.
“You’re right. I am the Count of Basilian.”
A chilling premonition sent a shiver through Beljeon’s body.
The sense that something had twisted irreparably wrong filled his mind.
But the fall had already begun.
There was no way to stop it.
Kierne reached into the coffin and gathered an armful of flowers.
Clutching the sodden, drooping blooms, he spoke with unsettling cheer.
“So, surely I can bring a dead person back to life, can’t I?”
It was the moment of his fall, the genesis of his madness.
After Mother’s death, the Count of Basilian had utterly lost his mind.
Beljeon had watched the entire descent, step by step.
He saw how a man who appeared perfectly sane on the surface could fracture and unravel within.
And in the end…
“I’ve finally found a way to bring your mother back, Beljeon.”
Even to the point of tampering with forbidden forces.
Beljeon made a resolve.
He would keep his wits about him, no matter what.
Forcing a soul at rest back into the world was something Mother would never have wanted.
He was trying—desperately—to stop it, but it was no easy task.
The Count had even gone so far as to seek out a child to offer up for the Fairy Queen’s Crown,
a sacred relic of the Hilderd Holy Empire.
To think he’d use it as a sacrifice for dark magic to resurrect the dead—it was madness beyond reason.
If discovered, House Basilian would face immediate ruin.
The innocent child complicit in his scheme would be executed alongside him.
Yet Beljeon could find no way to stop the Count.
The new “sibling” he’d brought home was disturbingly convincing, clouding Beljeon’s judgment.
Worse still, his two younger twin siblings were siding with the Count’s deranged plan, making it all the harder.
“…”
Pressing his temples hard, Beljeon glanced out the window.
In the garden, he saw the child walking with his younger siblings.
Unlike the austere Serpent’s Keep in the east, the townhouse in the capital had a well-tended garden.
The child fit perfectly among the flower-filled grounds.
Beljeon’s gaze drifted to the golden hair glinting in the sunlight,
then to the delicate features and pink eyes.
If Mother had given birth to a younger sister, she would have looked just like this.
Lost in thought, staring at the child, Beljeon suddenly recalled the words the little one had spoken to him, lips moving softly.
“I like it here.”
“I like Papa.”
There was no trace of deceit in the child’s claim that the Serpent’s Keep and the Count of Basilian were good.
Beljeon had briefly suspected mind control, but the clarity in those eyes ruled it out.
What could possibly be good about this?
To him, everything felt utterly repulsive…
“Looks like you’re starting to grow fond of your new sibling, aren’t you?”
Beljeon pulled his gaze from the window.
“Perhaps you could stop skulking around like a thief and make your presence known, Count.”
“Haha.”
Kierne let out a low chuckle.
Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he gazed at the child playing in the garden with a soft, affectionate look.
The satisfaction in his eyes betrayed the success he’d achieved at the imperial palace.
Beljeon couldn’t help but sneer.
“So you’ve finally dragged an innocent child into your vile scheme.”
“Harsh words. Call it devotion.”
Beljeon ended the conversation there.
Continuing would only exhaust him further.
Instead, he shifted to another topic.
“What are your plans now?”
“For what?”
Beljeon answered sharply, though he knew the Count was feigning ignorance.
“You’ve publicly declared your attendance at the Little Saints’ Prayer Assembly. Are you planning to fully step into the light?”
House Basilian had never left the shadows of the Black Forest.
Not once had the serpent risen above the surface, always coiled quietly beneath.
This could be the first moment it stirred awake.
“From now on, House Basilian will have no choice but to stand in the open. Expanding our influence actively might be a wise choice.”
Already, eyes were turning toward Basilian.
The recent kidnapping at the Serpent’s Keep was proof of that.
The abductors had been interrogated mercilessly, but no mastermind was uncovered.
They were merely pawns, sent from that place, discarded after use.
The layers of deception were so intricate that the true orchestrator remained hidden.
It was evidence that the forces watching Basilian were of high rank.
Thinking of the kidnappers, Beljeon added slowly,
“…Including that place. We’ve kept it hidden until now, but isn’t it time to reveal it to the world at the right moment?”
At the mention of Basilian’s other buried secret, Kierne gave a light laugh.
“I’ll think about it.”
But his gaze remained fixed on the child in the garden.
It was clear he was thinking not of the future of House Basilian, but of the dead.
Beljeon’s mind flashed back to the funeral, to Kierne, who had seemed ready to collapse and be buried with the flower-filled coffin.
“…I will,”
Beljeon’s voice boiled with fury as he glared at Kierne, spitting out each word.
“Protect this house, Count.”
It was the mission Mother had left him.
Beljeon would safeguard House Basilian.
By any means necessary.
