Watching the group of frenzied adults, the man on the ground opened his mouth, wanting to speak, yet not daring to interrupt.

  Perhaps their argument had grown too heated, for it seemed to disturb the massive beetle. The entire room began to tremble as a dreadful chittering cry filled the air.

  At once, the faces on the walls fell silent, forcing down the agitation surging within them.

  When the shaking finally ceased, the bald man spoke in a hushed voice. “I found no trace of outside interference. It’s highly likely that something went wrong with that werewolf…”

  “What!?” Several faces turned to him in shock.

  “A mere fifth-tier werewolf! Ten fourth-tier enforcers equipped with the advanced weapons we provided—how could they possibly have failed to subdue him?!”

  “Perhaps the werewolf possessed some kind of powerful artifact.”

  “Then what are we to do now? We’ve lost five bishops in a single stroke, and the task remains unfinished. If this continues, our sect will fall into decline—who knows when we’ll rise again.”

  The room erupted once more into angry shouts. Such an outcome was impossible for them to accept.

  The era was no longer what it once was—kingdoms across the land now brutally suppressed religious orders. For a fledgling faith like their Cult of the Old God, survival itself was a struggle.

  This operation had consumed nearly all of their remaining resources, and with everything lost, the blow was nothing short of fatal.

  “I refuse to accept this! No matter what—it’s a debt that must be repaid! Aahhh—!”

  “Even if our church is destroyed, that damned werewolf will be buried with us!”

  Hatred was already forged between them—it would not end until one side lay dead.

  Battersea, the Main City.

  Within a noble’s private manor, Pelnes paced restlessly about a lavishly decorated chamber.

  She could not stop worrying about Laila’s safety.

  As for Bonnie, the two had always been somewhat estranged, and though Pelnes didn’t feel particularly close to her, the years of acquaintance still made the thought of her misfortune deeply unsettling.

  “Those two idiots! Utter fools! Why would they risk their lives for that detestable man?!”

  The golden-haired young lady muttered bitterly as she twisted a silk scarf between her fingers, pulling it tight in agitation.

  She couldn’t help but picture that infuriating commoner’s face in her mind, which only stoked her anger further.

  What she truly felt, however, was jealousy—jealousy of Laila and Bonnie’s closeness to him. They had known him for so short a time, and yet… they already shared such a bond.

  Would they worry for me like that, if I were in danger? The thought flickered through her mind, leaving her both resentful and uncertain.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  At that moment, a maid’s voice called from outside the door. “Miss Pelnes, guests have arrived. Madam Ania and Lord Raubern request your presence.”

  “I understand.” Pelnes replied softly, tidying her appearance and steadying her breath before stepping out.

  This manor belonged to her uncle—Lord Raubern, the man the maid had mentioned.

  Most of their family’s holdings lay near Dud Town, where they had long resided. But after recent events, they would likely lose everything.

  Fortunately, Lady Ania had already transferred most of their assets beforehand, enough to purchase a fine villa in the main city later on.

  Following the familiar corridor, Pelnes soon spotted her mother and uncle waiting by the entrance to receive their guests.

  “Ah, my little angel—how are you feeling?” Raubern turned and smiled warmly, pulling the golden-haired girl into a gentle embrace.

  “You spoil her too much,” Lady Ania said with mild reproach, though her tone had softened from its usual severity.

  “I spoiled you the same way when you were her age—have you forgotten?” Raubern teased without restraint.

  “Enough of that. Our guests have arrived,” Ania replied curtly, unwilling to lose her maternal dignity before her daughter.

  Raubern turned toward the road just as several luxurious carriages rolled up the drive. His expression shifted to one of solemn courtesy.

  Pelnes stuck out her tongue playfully, then composed herself beside her mother, adopting the refined poise expected of a noble lady.

  The carriages came to a halt. At the driver’s call, an elderly man with deep-set wrinkles and dressed in regal attire stepped down, smiling amiably.

  “Viscount Raubern—how long it has been! I trust you’ve been well?”

  “Count Punk! What an honor to have you visit my humble estate. Truly a delightful surprise!”

  The two nobles exchanged pleasantries with exaggerated warmth, as though they were old friends.

  “Mother…” Pelnes whispered, clutching the edge of her mother’s gown. Her voice trembled with unease—memories she would rather forget resurfacing in her mind.

  “Don’t be afraid, my dear. I’m here,” Lady Ania said softly, patting her daughter’s hand in reassurance.

  The visit had come without warning. The mother and daughter had only recently arrived in the city when Raubern received word of Count Punk’s intent to call upon them.

  It was difficult not to read into the timing.

  Yet, the Punk family was one of the great houses of the capital—their invitation could not be refused.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my lord? I must confess, I’m entirely unprepared.”

  “Oh, nothing of consequence. I merely remembered that I still had an old friend here, and thought it rude not to call upon him after so long,” the Count replied with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  As the two men exchanged meaningless courtesies, another figure stepped from the carriage—a middle-aged man.

  At the sight of him, both Pelnes and Lady Ania felt their hearts sink.

  “My eldest son, Homet. I believe you’ve met before,” Count Punk introduced.

  Homet greeted Raubern with a polite smile and bow, then turned to the ladies. “It’s been a long time, Pelnes.”

  “Get away from me! You make me sick, you filthy bastard!” the golden-haired girl screamed suddenly, her composure shattering as she spat the words and fled the scene.

  “My apologies, Count Punk,” Lady Ania said sharply, her tone devoid of warmth before she hurried after her daughter.

  A flicker of anger crossed Homet’s eyes—being insulted so publicly was an affront—but he masked it with a stiff smile, pretending nothing had happened.

  “It seems Miss Pelnes still holds quite the misunderstanding about me,” he said with forced levity.

  Raubern’s smile was rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it nearly cracked. He longed to throttle the shameless man before him, but could only maintain his fa?ade.

  “For a girl of six or seven, that incident would indeed be a hard shadow to forget,” he said, his tone carefully measured, though the words carried a pointed edge.

  A reminder—of the vile thing Homet had once done.

  “Ah, Viscount, you misunderstand,” Count Punk replied smoothly, his eyes crinkling with feigned amusement. “That matter was the doing of one of our servants. My son merely happened to pass by, and was mistaken for the culprit. I had that servant executed upon our return.”

  Raubern nearly laughed aloud in disbelief. So many witnesses had seen what truly happened—there was no mistaking it.

  He opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remark, but the Count leaned closer and spoke in a lowered voice.

  “Surely, you understand how things work among nobles, don’t you? My son simply chose the wrong target—and besides, he didn’t succeed, did he? Why hold on to it? My boy truly cares for that young lady. If she were willing to marry him, I assure you, she would live a very fortunate life indeed.”