"Come closer. Hurry."

Maphel’tan crooked a finger toward the prisoner inside the cell. Bound in chains, Berdan gave no response. His expression remained composed, merely a little stiff.

Maphel’tan’s lips curved with interest. Berdan was Yohan to the life. It went beyond appearance—even his reaction to shock matched Yohan’s exactly.

Yohan had always worked to conceal his emotions. No matter the crisis, he rarely let his agitation show. The false Yohan before him was no different. Even after suddenly coming face-to-face with a Demon, Berdan remained as calm as he could. His power, Mimic, had absorbed his target’s personality as well.

Berdan, the false Yohan, slowly spoke.

"... Now I understand why you ordered everyone out of the mansion at night, my lord."

Maphel’tan chuckled.

"All right. Let’s hear your theory."

The false Yohan spoke with an impassive face.

"Watcher of the Abyss, you are a Demon disguised as a human. When a certain condition is met, you return to your Demon form. I believe that condition is probably sunset."

Yohan had always told them to vacate the mansion when the sun went down. Until now, the reason had been a mystery. That had changed. Before Berdan’s very eyes, Yohan had turned into a Demon, revealing his true nature at sunset.

Berdan had no way of knowing the exact time, but he could make a rough guess. It had been early evening when the knight arrested him, so the sun must have set by now.

If his guess was right, there was only one answer: Yohan turned into a Demon at night. He drove the servants out of the mansion every evening to keep them from seeing him that way.

Maphel’tan nodded.

"Well, you’ve got most of it right."

The one thing Berdan had missed was that Yohan was a half-demon. Of course, that was not something he could have deduced. No half-breed whose race changed between day and night existed in this world.

The false Yohan replied calmly.

"Which means some of it is wrong."

"I’m a half-demon."

A puzzled look crossed the false Yohan’s face.

"A half-demon..."

Maphel’tan cut him short.

"We’ll discuss that later. First, I have a few questions for you."

The false Yohan studied Maphel’tan’s expression, then spoke in a subdued voice, as though steeling himself.

"I will answer honestly, but I have one request. Allow me to serve you from this moment onward."

Maphel’tan let out a disbelieving laugh. The false Yohan had begun scheming. There was no way Maphel’tan could miss that shift—not when Berdan now had exactly the same disposition as him. He felt as though he were looking at himself in a mirror.

'Well, look at that.'

The false Yohan had clearly realized that Maphel’tan was interested in his power, Mimic. That meant he would not be killed. Instead, Maphel’tan would bind Berdan to his service. The false Yohan had already worked that much out.

With his survival assured, what mattered now was what came afterward. Berdan did not want to live as Maphel’tan’s slave. He wanted better treatment.

If he volunteered to become a servant, Maphel’tan would surely take him as a subordinate rather than a slave. He might even grant him a measure of freedom. Berdan intended to secure at least some standing, then plan for the future.

'What a tiresome bastard to deal with.'

Desperately clawing for any advantage, scheming behind a mask, trying to outmaneuver his opponent. A truly unpleasant bastard.

'I suppose I’m only insulting myself.'

Maphel’tan clicked his tongue.

"Deactivate your power."

He no longer wanted to speak with "Yohan."

The false Yohan considered briefly before replying.

"If I have offended you, I apologize."

Maphel’tan’s expression twisted.

"This is your last chance. Deactivate your power."

His voice was chillingly bleak. His red eyes gleamed menacingly.

The false Yohan swallowed a groan.

"... Understood."

He peeled the skin from his face. Mimic ended at once, revealing a bald young man with a shifty face.

Berdan threw himself flat on the floor. Maphel’tan’s rigid expression relaxed a little. His displeasure vanished.

Maphel’tan spoke.

"Now we can finally talk. I have a few questions."

Berdan could not even meet his eyes. His voice shook.

"I-I’ll answer honestly, sir."

"Is the marquisate of House Leonar truly behind you?"

The marquisate of House Leonar was the kingdom’s oldest knightly house.

"Yes, sir. They approached me first and offered me the job. Said they’d pay for any kind of information on House Miyatro."

Maphel’tan considered this for a moment. The House Leonar he knew despised underhanded dealings. They valued nobility of character and justice above all else, and rarely resorted to political intrigue.

The Shield of the Kingdom, steadfast as stone. That was House Leonar’s epithet and its reputation among the public. Yet that very shield had played a dirty trick on Yohan. Maphel’tan could scarcely fathom why.

He spoke.

"Is Marquis Leonar personally involved?"

Still prostrate on the floor, Berdan answered.

"I couldn’t say, sir. His noble lordship would never meet the likes of me... Truth is, I’ve never even seen his face."

Marquis Leonar loathed the underworld with a passion. He would not so much as spare the back alleys a glance.

"Who gave you the job in person?"

"I don’t know his name or who he was, sir. Just a man in a mask."

Maphel’tan frowned.

"You fool. Then couldn’t he have been falsely claiming to represent the marquisate?"

Berdan shook his head rapidly.

"H-he showed me the marquisate’s aura as proof, sir. As you know, only their knights can use that distinctive silver aura."

The aura wielded by House Leonar’s knights was distinctive even in color. Those silver waves were conclusive proof of affiliation with House Leonar.

Maphel’tan clicked his tongue.

"Whatever the case, you know next to nothing about this affair."

Trembling, Berdan bowed his head low.

"I-I’m sorry, sir. Please, just spare my life."

He had not a single piece of useful information. Apart from his Mimic ability, there was no reason to keep him alive.

Maphel’tan regarded Berdan with an irritated expression.

"One last question. Why did you send those scum to the mansion?"

Not long ago, some novice thieves had broken into the mansion under cover of darkness.

"I wanted to find out what happened in the mansion at night, sir, so I sent in some riffraff first to test the waters."

Berdan had intended to watch how things went and sneak into the mansion himself once he knew it was safe. But the scum he sent ahead had never returned. They had vanished from the world entirely, swallowed by the mansion.

Something was certainly happening inside. Only now had the secret come to light. A Demon lived in the mansion.

Maphel’tan sighed.

"Every answer is exactly what I expected. Apart from your power, you have nothing to offer."

Berdan shrank into himself.

"I-I can be useful, sir. If you spare me, I’ll find some way to—"

Maphel’tan cut him off.

"Enough. Stay here and keep quiet for now. I’ll decide what to do with you later."

Because of Berdan, every detail about the mansion had become public knowledge. More ridiculous scum might target it, just as they had last night. Maphel’tan found that exceedingly irritating. Berdan would have to pay for it, one way or another.

Maphel’tan turned away. Now that night had fallen, he had to defend the mansion.

'What a fucking situation.'

Maphel’tan left the dungeon. Berdan remained trembling, his gaze fixed on the floor.

* * *

A rustling sound woke Haman.

"Ugh..."

Agony assailed him the moment he awoke. His entire body ached as though it were being torn apart. Every muscle screamed, and he could barely open his eyes. His side throbbed too; perhaps a rib was cracked. It was all from Berdan’s beating.

The moment Berdan’s face came to mind, Haman screamed.

"N-no! No! Don’t!"

The severe trauma overwhelmed him. He began struggling desperately, his screams and thrashing echoing through the mansion.

A group of people heard the commotion.

"What the hell! You said nobody was here!"

"Let’s get out of here! Hurry!"

"Grab everything! Move!"

"You there! What’s taking so long?"

Voices erupted all at once. Hurried footsteps rang out. An unexpected uproar spread through the quiet mansion.

Only upon hearing all that noise did Haman come to his senses, breaking free of the trauma. His eyes flew open.

An unfamiliar ceiling... No, it wasn’t. He had been here many times. After the Count hired him, Haman himself had spent over a month repairing and cleaning this old mansion. The guest room he lay in was familiar too.

Memories of the previous day slowly surfaced.

["Baron Miyatro sent me here. You’re Haman, the butler, correct?"]

A knight had appeared, arrested Berdan, and rescued Haman. Haman had been taken straight to Baron Miyatro’s mansion. After that, he had lost consciousness.

He groaned and murmured,

"I-I survived—"

His words broke off.

"What’s taking so long!"

"If you’ve got everything, let’s get out of here! Hurry!"

"You idiots! Get moving!"

Urgent voices overlapped with the sound of running feet.

Haman’s eyes widened.

"Don’t tell me!"

Thieves had broken in. A whole group was robbing the mansion.

There were countless protocols for situations like this. As the Academy of Court Service’s top graduate, Haman had always committed them to memory. Now he could remember none of them. His mind had gone blank.

Only a single sentence remained in his mind.

—A butler’s duty is to protect his master’s property with his life and uphold his authority without wavering.

Haman sprang out of bed. Dragging his battered body out of the guest room, he began to run.

He spotted dark figures and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Stop! Stop right there!"

The fleeing men immediately looked back, then exchanged glances.

"Just one little shit?"

"Looks like it."

"Shall we finish him off and loot some more?"

The thieves had not yet searched the entire mansion. Several stopped. Haman charged at them, shouting.

"How dare you! Do you know whose house this is? Put down what you stole and get the hell out!"

The thieves smiled viciously. One drew a dagger from inside his clothes.

"Come here, then. I’ll stick you nice and clean."

He snatched Haman and wrapped an arm around him from behind. He intended to hold him there and stab him in the belly a few times.

Haman struggled.

"Let go! Let go and get out!"

The thief raised his arm. The deadly blade drove toward Haman’s belly. Just before it touched his skin, an explosive report rang out.

The arm gripping Haman fell limp. He looked back. The thief’s head was gone. A fountain of blood was spurting from where it had been.

The other thieves backed away.

"W-what...!"

"What the hell! What is it!"

Another explosive report rang out. Someone’s head burst in an instant. Blood bubbled up from the severed neck.

It happened again and again. All six thieves lost their heads.

Haman stared at the scene, utterly dazed. He dropped heavily to the floor, his pupils wide.

"W-what in the world..."

A chilling voice reached him.

"You’re quite an interesting fellow."

Haman whipped his head toward the voice. He could see nothing. Overwhelming terror began welling up inside him.

"H-huuuh!"

Something strange smacked him on the back.

"Your first task. Hang all the corpses on the front gate."