The Butler's Deception

The Salvatore family's villa.

Not far from there, a group clad in purple hoods was approaching.

Ten knights on foot, one knight on horseback, and an ornate carriage.

Creak!

Someone inside the carriage ground their teeth.

It was a large man wearing the finest equipment among them.

His gaze was fixed on a letter in his hand—a worn piece of parchment with red letters scrawled on it.

The contents written there were as follows:

+

Vernon Valentine is dead.

Do you wish to reclaim the corpse?

If so, seek out the Villainess's butler.

Her butler is the only witness.

-Moonlight.-

+

It had appeared when he woke up.

Stabbed into the ground right next to his head, with a dagger engraved with a moon pattern.

There was no time to figure out what was going on.

-Get moving, you idiot!

The family has allied with the Demon God Cult.

It means everyone in the Valentine Family now harbors demonic energy within them.

-If that falls into the hands of the Imperial Family or the southwestern bastards, the Valentine Family will be annihilated!

That.

Even if he had died foolishly, how could they refer to their son's corpse as "that"?

Clark quietly closed his mouth.

His father descending into madness, his siblings falling into corruption—

It was all their own doing.

"We've arrived, my lord."

"I heard."

He stepped out of the carriage.

Though he rarely used carriages, ever since allying with the Demon God Cult, he always rode in one.

"Go and announce it. The eldest son of the Valentine Family seeks an audience with the Young Lady of the House of Salvatore."

"Yes, sir!"

Clark raised his head.

It had seemed clear before he boarded the carriage, but now that he was out, it was overcast.

"Damnably dark."

The sky, and himself as well.

"But someday…."

Clark reached out toward the sky.

He tried to grasp the ray of light that wasn't obscured by the clouds.

Just before his hand could touch that light—

"Count Salvatore has invited you inside."

At the bodyguard knight's words, he lowered his hand.

Right,

I can't hold the light just yet.

"Let's go."

Clark quietly took the lead.

Dense shadows followed at his heels.

3.

It was a peculiar sight.

"I greet the Young Lady of the House of Salvatore."

Frey and Clark were from factions more hostile than cats and dogs—the Imperial Faction and the Ducal Faction.

"The honor is mine to meet you."

Clark offered a polite bow, and Frey lifted her dress in response.

Though still young,

Their demeanor was so proper that they could serve as models for nobility.

"The tea has a pleasant aroma."

"The garden was personally tended by my mother. The petals are all the more fragrant for it."

It was a textbook display of etiquette.

Though their words were hollow, their conversation never faltered.

The knights on Frey's side, as well as the bodyguard knights Clark had brought, began to relax.

At the same time, a heavy silence settled as they drank their tea.

The atmosphere grew so heavy that it rendered their prior conversations meaningless.

It was the butler who broke the silence.

"Young Lady, for a moment…"

The boy with black hair and eyes bowed toward his master.

"Yes, yes, I understand."

After hearing something from him, Frey slowly rose from her seat.

"It seems there is an urgent matter I must attend to, so I will need to excuse myself briefly."

"Please, take your time."

"I feel uneasy, as though I am being rude to our distinguished guests."

"It is quite alright."

Even as he responded, Clark's gaze remained fixed on the butler.

He sensed it.

That there was something about this butler.

"Then, I shall take my leave for a moment."

With that, Frey left the room.

Under the pretense of protecting her, everyone except Yuri followed her out of the parlor.

Silence descended once more.

"Clark Valentine."

Once again, it was the butler who shattered the silence.

And audaciously so, daring to utter the name of a noble despite being a mere butler.

"How insolent!"

Without hesitation, a man drew his sword and pressed it against the smiling butler's neck.

It was Clark's bodyguard knight, Diallo.

"How dare a commoner insult a noble!"

He had to be punished.

For the crime of disgracing his master, such punishment was only fitting.

Yet, something felt off.

Despite having a blade at his throat, the butler showed neither fear nor anger.

Instead, the butler shouted.

"You are the one being insolent!"

Normally, Diallo would have beheaded him without hesitation, but this time was different.

Having spent his life serving various wealthy nobles, Diallo could tell.

He could recognize it.

The posture, the aura, the tone, and even the choice of words—all of it belonged to a noble.

The butler shouted once more.

"How can you judge based solely on appearances?"

"…What, what is this?"

"Fool! Do you still not understand?"

Could it be that he was a real noble?

If so, why would he act as a butler?

"Apologize at once!"

The commanding voice carried the weight of authority Diallo had heard countless times in his life.

This man was undoubtedly a noble!

He immediately sheathed his sword and bowed deeply.

"I apologize! Please, forgive me!"

But what he received in return was mockery.

"You fell for it."

In an instant, the butler closed the distance and struck the back of Diallo's neck with force.

Crack!

A chilling sound echoed as the knight's eyes rolled back, his neck twisting as he collapsed unconscious.

"…He's not dead, is he?"

The butler had misjudged his strength, hitting harder than intended.

It was Clark who eased his concern.

"He's alive, so don't worry."

Clark remained as composed as ever.

Maintaining his previous posture, he sipped his black tea, now adorned with additional petals.

Wetting his lips, he casually asked.

"Where is my sibling—"

"Hey."

The butler interrupted him.

"Stop bluffing."

Hissss…

A suffocating and murky killing intent, far too intense to belong to a mere butler, filled the air.

Swish.

In an instant, the butler disappeared from sight.

"What is this…!"

Clark was stunned. He was a mid-level Sword Expert, capable of tracking even a falling leaf with precision.

Bang!!

Yet, his face was slammed into the table.

The pressure and killing intent radiating from behind him—he had been caught off guard by a mere butler.

The butler whispered into Clark's ear.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

"…So you're saying it was pure chance that you subdued me."

Whip!

Before Clark could finish his sentence, his vision spun. The butler had grabbed him by the hair and turned his head to face him.

"What nonsense are you spouting?"

The butler, his eyes glowing red like his master's, clenched his fist.

"You're getting hit twice."

"Ah."

Only then did Clark understand.

It wasn't a proverb—it was literal.