Chapter 37 – The Child Who Fell Down the Stairs
Brook had no idea what was happening.
A groan escaped his lips—the light that suddenly flooded his vision was so bright it felt like his eyes were burning.
“What… what is this!?”
He forgot that he wasn’t supposed to make a sound and instinctively covered his eyes, shouting.
Then he saw something that made his face twist in shock.
From the back of the child he had just attacked, a blinding light was shining out.
The light wrapped around her body in a circle, leaving behind a strange, glowing after-image.
And then something unbelievable happened.
The after-image began to move—
tracing the child’s earlier movements, as if time itself was being rewound.
Brook stood frozen, staring.
The pale-yellow, whitish glow ran backward through the past few seconds, exactly like a recording played in reverse.
When the glow reached the bed again, Brook snapped back to his senses and lunged toward it, sword raised.
But—
Cre-eak—
The sound came not from in front of him but from behind.
He whirled around—
the target was already escaping through the half-open door.
He looked back toward the bed.
The light had vanished.
“Damn it!”
Cursing under his breath, Brook immediately chased after the child.
But there was a problem.
“L-Lady Annelia!”
The noise must have been too loud.
Two servants in nightclothes had come out of the room at the end of the hall—probably the maids’ rest area.
The injured child was still running straight toward them.
Brook hesitated.
Should he keep pursuing?
Or give up?
He had never failed a mission before—
but he had also never encountered something this strange.
“…No choice, then.”
He readied himself to sprint again—
but right then, the little girl suddenly stumbled.
Her small body tilted sharply to the right.
Brook’s expression hardened as he realized what direction she was falling in—
straight toward the central staircase.
“No! Lady Annelia!”
The maids screamed.
In the next instant, the child tumbled down the long marble staircase.
Thud, thud—
Heavy sounds echoed through the mansion.
She rolled all the way to the front entrance and finally lay still, like a discarded doll.
Brook bit his lip hard.
The main door was half open—
and standing just beyond it was Wendel Abner, who hadn’t been seen at all during the party.
‘I have to withdraw.’
The mission had failed.
Now that Wendel had returned, staying any longer would only make things worse.
‘At least they didn’t see my face.’
Deciding it was best not to cause further chaos, Brook quickly turned back, leapt out the open window, and vanished into the darkness—
already worrying about how he would report what had happened.
Still, there was one small comfort:
the target might already be dead.
Those stone stairs looked merciless, even to him.
** * * * **
“…What—”
Wendel froze, unable to believe his eyes.
Annelia lay crumpled on the floor below the staircase.
“Ah… ahhh!!”
Behind him, Anne Clarke screamed.
Just two minutes earlier, Wendel had arrived safely at the mansion’s rear gate.
He’d been heading past the main entrance toward the annex when a maid’s scream rang out.
He had opened the front door on instinct—
and then froze completely.
Right before his eyes, Annelia’s small body rolled down the steep stairs,
leaving streaks of blood on every step.
“Lady Annelia!!!”
Miel and Soya came rushing down the stairs, panic-stricken.
From the first-floor corridor, Butler Roger appeared in his nightclothes, his face turning deathly pale.
“What on earth happened!”
A loud voice thundered from the left—
Duchess Sharon Abner.
Wendel turned his stiff neck toward her.
She was still in uniform, clearly having run from the annex the moment she heard the commotion.
Her normally neat hair was disheveled across her forehead.
“What… what is this…”
Sharon froze in place.
Miel and Soya reached Annelia, trembling, and stretched out their shaking hands.
A faint, weak voice broke the silence.
“…It’s… fine…”
Their hands froze mid-air.
The child had slightly lifted her head.
Her large ivory-colored eyes moved in small, jerky motions, trying to focus.
Across her back was a deep, terrible wound—
so bad that no one could even speak.
Her breathing was shallow and ragged, her chest rising only slightly with each faint exhale.
Then her small lips moved again.
“…It’s… okay.”
This time the words were clearer, but no one could answer.
Blood from the cut on her forehead ran down to her nose.
“It’ll heal… soon. I… was making… medicine…”
Everyone knew immediately—
these weren’t the words of an injured child.
“Not… very… good at it…”
Her little legs twitched once, then went limp again.
“I can… do it… alone. Don’t… need help…”
A horrible silence followed.
Only her unfocused eyes trembled slightly, seeing something no one else could.
“At… night… I won’t… be noisy. So… so please…”
Blink—
Her big eyes fluttered once more, then slowly closed.
Annelia lost consciousness.
** * * * **
“Do you think this makes any sense!?”
A furious roar shook the underground chamber.
The terrified guard flinched.
Crash!
The glass in Sharon Abner’s hand shattered with a sharp sound.
Blood dripped from her clenched fist, but she didn’t even notice.
“A hired killer broke into my mansion—into the main house!—and you still can’t tell me who it was?”
“…”
“The blood… the whole main hall is covered in blood!”
Her lips trembled too hard to keep speaking.
Butler Roger stepped forward, his face white.
“Your Grace, questioning the guards won’t help right now.”
A heavy silence fell.
“It was a professional assassin,” he continued.
“The sentries at the gate could never have noticed. They didn’t stand a chance.”
The soldiers bowed their heads, guilt etched on their faces.
They all knew the child, at least a little—
the five-year-old who always bowed politely to them whenever she passed.
Sharon’s expression collapsed into despair.
Roger was right.
The intruder had come prepared.
No ordinary guard could have stopped him—
especially since Wendel, who usually sensed threats first, had been away tonight.
“That damned bastard!”
For once, Sharon cursed outright and slammed her fist on the desk.
Blood smeared across the wood from her injured hand.
“What coward sent an assassin into my home!”
Her violet eyes flared with a deep, angry red glow.
“And to target her of all people—!”
A wave of dizziness hit her; she shut her eyes tightly.
Roger’s voice shook as he spoke again.
“Your Grace… dawn is breaking. You know anger won’t solve this.”
The fury in Sharon’s eyes blazed once, then dimmed.
She turned toward Wendel, who had been silent all this time.
“That woman.”
He looked up.
“Where is Anne Clarke right now?”
That was why he had left the mansion earlier—to bring in the woman they suspected of being tied to Annelia’s mysterious past.
Anne Clarke was supposed to be locked in the underground cell beneath the east wing.
“She must know something,” Sharon said grimly.
Wendel rose to his feet, and Sharon followed.
They both hurried down the corridor toward the east-wing prison.
But when they arrived—
the cell was empty.
The lock hung twisted and broken, swinging loosely from the latch.
