Chapter 184 - 20: Nightmare

Chapter 184: Chapter 20: Nightmare

The man dragged him onto the carriage.

Outside, sitting in the driver’s seat was not a regular coachman, but a middle-aged man dressed in a sharp suit. After confirming the boy’s appearance and age, the man spurred the carriage forward, driving into streets soon to be swallowed by the night.

About an hour later.

Selas was roughly yanked out of the carriage. The men seemed to harbor deep hostility toward him—or perhaps the person who dispatched them possessed an intense hatred for him. Regardless, Selas didn’t even have a chance to resist before he was mercilessly thrown to the ground, his body bruised and battered along the way. His fragile joints collided with the hard marble floor, producing a dull thud.

Fighting back his darkening vision, Selas forced himself to look up. Through a blurry haze, he saw a woman in a dark red gown sitting elegantly on a plush chaise lounge. Before he could even make out her face, a heavy boot forcefully stomped down on the back of his head.

THUD!

His forehead smashed violently against the ground.

The plainclothes guard standing beside him kept his foot firmly planted on Selas’s head. "Who gave you permission to look directly at Lady Beaumont with those filthy eyes?" The heel ground into the back of his head a few times, as if crushing the child’s yet-to-mature pride.

The Countess watched from her high vantage point. Only when she felt her anger was sufficiently vented did she finally speak. "Alright, let him raise his head."

The guard moved his foot away, grabbing the boy by the back of his collar instead and hauling him up. A trail of blood meandered down Selas’s forehead, cutting across a face that bore a distinct resemblance to Count Beaumont. Seeing that face, the atmosphere in the drawing room instantly stagnated.

After a long moment, an elegant, light scoff drifted from the chair opposite him. "So, this is the child he’s been raising outside for five years..." The woman’s lips curved into a smile, yet her fingers gripped the armrest of the chaise lounge white-knuckled. Her light brown eyes blazed with furious fire. "Where is his mother?"

"She is already dead," Butler Alfr replied from the side. "The funeral was held just this afternoon."

The Countess’s voice was freezing, as though laced with crushed ice. "Did he attend?"

"The Earl did not attend," the butler answered. "In half a year, Caius will be attending Lien Academy. The Earl went to see the Dean of Lien Academy today to discuss a donation."

Hearing this, the Countess’s anger seemed to subside slightly. She smiled and asked, "Did he specifically schedule it for today?"

"No, he just happened to be passing by and ran into the Dean," the butler replied.

Forced to keep his head tilted up, Selas’s handsome yet tender face was etched with numbness. He could hear the underlying implication in the butler’s words. He realized the Earl had merely happened to be passing by and ran into the Dean, deciding to discuss the matter along the way. This meant that Count Beaumont cared absolutely nothing about his mother’s death.

If Selas could figure this out, so could the Countess. Her mood visibly improved, to the point where she was even willing to rise from her chaise lounge and walk over to Selas’s side.

"It seems he did not love your mother quite as much as you imagined," the Countess remarked.

Selas wanted to say it wasn’t like that. He had never once felt that man loved his mother. However, the thought of that frail and beautiful woman who was always waiting at home caused both words of agreement and refutation to lodge firmly in his chest. He refused to surrender to his... refused to surrender to his mother’s enemy.

The Countess sensed his resistance, but she couldn’t care less. Like a victor, she signaled for another guard to snatch the bundle from Selas’s hands.

Even when he had been thrown to the ground and had his head stomped on in humiliation, he had continued to clutch the bundle tightly. It was obvious that its contents were extremely important to him.

The guard grunted in acknowledgment and reached out to grab it.

Selas’s pupils contracted. Biting down hard, he refused to let go. But the guard cared nothing for his stubbornness. With a sharp SWISH, he drew a dagger. The razor-sharp blade pierced right past the boy’s hand and plunged deep into the bundle.

Unsurprisingly, the fabric was ripped apart. Soft clothing, silver jewelry, and all the little bits of memories he had painstakingly gathered from the corners of the villa spilled onto the floor—like a pile of deliberately knocked-over trash.

The Countess frowned, looking at the items with utter disgust and repulsion. She pinched a piece of clothing between her fingers. Her crimson fingernails formed a stark contrast against the plain cotton-linen fabric. Smiling, she looked at Selas. "Are these your mother’s belongings?"

Selas clenched his teeth, offering no response.

The Countess didn’t need his answer anyway. The beautiful woman curled her lips into a malicious smile. "So clean, plain... and so cheap."

Those three adjectives described the clothes, but they were even more so aimed at the woman who had sacrificed her entire youth.

The Countess took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the fireplace. It was January, the absolute coldest point of Taronia’s long winter. A roaring fire burned within the hearth, the crimson flames stinging Selas’s eyes.

He instantly realized what she was about to do.

The scrawny child lunged forward. The guard, not expecting him to suddenly put up a fight, nearly lost his grip on him. A jolt of lingering fear at his near-blunder gripped the guard’s heart. He clicked his tongue silently, increasing his pulling force more than tenfold.

Selas could even hear the crisp CRACK of his arm breaking. Yet, he paid no mind to the searing pain shooting up his limb. Like a cornered beast about to lose everything, he thrashed wildly and desperately clawed forward.

The Countess merely smiled at him and tossed the piece of clothing into the fireplace. Dancing tongues of fire licked at the fabric, swallowing the soft cotton-linen into their fiery bellies.

One piece, two pieces...

First the clothes, then the jewelry.

Finally, when every last memory was poured into the flames, Selas’s vision blurred once more. But this time, it wasn’t from physical pain.

Having finished all this, the Countess seemed tired. She waved her hand dismissively, gesturing for her subordinates to throw Selas out.

The guard was just about to comply when he ran into men sent by Count Beaumont at the door. After a brief exchange, the boy was handed over to this new group of men. They dragged him to the backyard of the Earl Mansion and tossed him into an abandoned attic.

After what he had just been through, Selas felt an overwhelming aversion to this place. Lady Beaumont loathed his existence, and he equally despised the half of his bloodline that belonged to the Beaumont family. Rather than being some illegitimate young master of the Beaumont family, he would much rather abandon this identity altogether. Whether it was being sent to an orphanage or wandering the streets of the West District... it was all better than rotting in this place as a prisoner with no dignity.

Selas endured the pain and pushed himself up from the floor. Just as he was contemplating how to escape, the door behind him was pushed open.

Count Beaumont walked in. Accompanying him was a stranger dressed in a white robe.

"This is him, sir." Count Beaumont stepped aside, completely exposing Selas to the white-robed stranger’s line of sight.

"He carries my blood. His mother was a commoner. He’s perfectly healthy and hasn’t undergone Magic awakening yet, but I’ve tested his Elemental Affinity. His Magic Talent is an A at the bare minimum.

"His birth time matches Caius’s exactly, with a margin of error of less than five minutes. He perfectly meets your requirements."

Count Beaumont’s voice was soft and completely devoid of emotion, as if he were presenting a flawless piece of merchandise.

Selas’s heart plummeted. He had no idea what they planned to do, but his instincts screamed at him to flee immediately. He lunged wildly toward the windowsill, only to slam face-first into an invisible wall.

The sole exit had been blocked off by Magic.

"As you can see," Count Beaumont said. "He’s quite restless. We’ll have to make our move now."

"No matter," the white-robed stranger spoke up. His voice was incredibly hoarse, like sandpaper grating against the ground, so utterly unpleasant that it grated on the ears. "Younger is... better. His adaptability to Demonic Qi will be higher. The modification... will heal much faster, too."

Amidst his fragmented evaluations, the stranger took a slow step forward, advancing toward Selas.