Chapter 1 - Ashen Memories and the Tragedy of a Fallen Noble

The grand Blanchard estate, perched atop a hill, shimmered softly in the morning light as the early dew began to dry. The gray stone walls surrounding the mansion had long stood as a symbol of the family's unyielding legacy, while the lush gardens and statues bathed in the afternoon sun created a picturesque scene. But on this day, an ominous, almost suffocating presence loomed over the estate, as if darkness had descended upon it.

A thick morning fog still clung to the ground, obscuring the estate in a ghostly veil. Inside, the mansion buzzed with frantic activity. The usual tranquility of the corridors had been replaced by an uneasy silence, broken only by the hurried footsteps of a servant rushing down the hall.

"The Count! The Count is bleeding and has collapsed!"

A desperate cry shattered the silence. The other servants gasped in horror and ran towards the source of the commotion—the grand study at the heart of the estate. The heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar, and as they stepped inside, they were met with a sight so horrifying that it stole the breath from their lungs.

Behind an ornate desk, sprawled across a lavish crimson carpet, lay Count Blanchard. A grotesque dagger with a deep red hue—known as 'Blood Requiem'—was embedded in his chest. Blood seeped from the wound, soaking into the carpet and creating a macabre contrast against the room's luxurious decor. The once-refined study, lined with towering bookshelves and antique furniture, now reeked of death.

But more haunting than the crime scene itself was the figure of a young woman, collapsed over the Count's lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably. Selena Blanchard. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her face as pale as a ghost as she clung to her father's still form.

"Father... Please, answer me..."

Her hands, stained crimson with his blood, trembled as she gently shook his body. His lips moved faintly, struggling to form words. Then, in a voice so weak it barely reached her ears, he whispered his final words.

"You... are not..."

His fingers twitched slightly in the air before falling limp. His final breath had been drawn. Selena instinctively reached for the dagger, pulling it from his chest in desperation. But she did not realize then—this was the fatal mistake.

The doors burst open with a thunderous crash as guards and servants stormed in.

"The Count...!" "Look! The Lady—she's holding the dagger!"

Selena turned to face them, still gripping the bloodied weapon. Her wide, bewildered eyes met their horrified gazes. Her hands, her dress, the floor—everything was soaked in red. The scene before them was undeniable.

"Lady Selena, what have you done?!" "Drop the knife, now!"

The weight of their accusatory stares crushed her. She had only wanted to save her father, but to them, she was the murderer. The truth was irrelevant. To them, she was guilty.

And so, the beginning of her downfall had arrived.

Days later, a shocking trial unfolded in the noble court. The revelation that Count Blanchard's own daughter was the prime suspect in his murder sent waves through the aristocracy. The eastern noble society buzzed with scandalous whispers.

"She refused to inherit the title, and now she's killed her father?" "I heard they often quarreled. It was only a matter of time." "She had every reason to kill him—money, power, status."

Speculation and condemnation poured in from every direction. Witness testimonies painted a damning picture: servants spoke of an argument between Selena and the Count that night, and most damningly, her fingerprints had been found on the Blood Requiem dagger. Witnesses swore they saw her standing over the body, weapon in hand.

Selena pleaded for justice, but her cries fell on deaf ears. The court had already decided her fate. It was almost as if this entire tragedy had been meticulously orchestrated, every clue perfectly aligning to cast her as the sole culprit.

"Selena Blanchard, you are no longer the heir to House Blanchard." "You are a traitor. A murderer."

The aged judge's voice rang with finality. Selena's breath caught in her throat. Her father had never forced power upon her. He had never despised her. And yet, none of that mattered now. Evidence and lies weighed heavier than memories of kindness.

By law, the punishment for murder was execution. But just as the verdict seemed set in stone, a voice broke the heavy silence.

"Is there a need for execution?" A young nobleman's voice was calm yet commanding. "She has already been marked as a traitor. Wouldn't exile be a far more fitting punishment?"

It was Leon Blackwood, heir to the powerful Blackwood family. The room fell silent. The judge exchanged glances with his peers before nodding.

And just like that, the decision was made. Selena was stripped of her title, her wealth, and her name. She was to be cast out.

"Killing her would stir unnecessary trouble. Let her live in disgrace."

A few days later, on a dreary, rain-drenched morning, Selena stood at the city gates. Barefoot and battered, her once-elegant figure was now reduced to that of a miserable outcast. Bruises from her unjust punishment still marred her skin as she gazed ahead at the endless road beyond.

Above, nobles watched from the walls, whispering and sneering.

"The Blanchard family? It no longer exists." "How pitiful. One moment, she was a noble lady, and now look at her."

Ignoring their jeers, Selena stepped forward, her feet sinking into the cold, muddy ground. Her dress, soaked and tattered, clung to her frame, but she did not falter.

She still held onto one thing—the Blood Requiem. The very dagger that had sealed her fate. They had tried to dispose of it, but she had reclaimed it. Its cold metal was now a symbol of something far greater than betrayal.

As she crossed the threshold of exile, her father's final words echoed in her mind.

"You... are not..."

It was as if he had tried to say, "You are not the killer."

But it was too late. The world had already passed judgment.

Selena clenched the dagger tightly. The truth behind her father's death would not remain buried. She would find the real culprit. And when she did...

The Blood Requiem would be returned to where it belonged.

She walked on, barefoot in the storm, her fury burning brighter than the cold rain pelting down upon her. The noble court had cast her away, believing she would never return.

But they were wrong.

This was not the end of her story.

This was only the beginning of her revenge.