ILIOTS 01

Chapter  01

. Giles Hessen

On a private estate in Solzburg, where lily-of-the-valley and solstice-flowers bloomed beautifully, a car gleaming like a black beetle sped down a well-paved road.

Once, only luxury cars carrying Beldame nobles could have traveled this way. Sitting in the back seat, Giles imagined nobles in tuxedos or organza silk dresses, laughing and chatting as they passed along this road.

But times had changed. The Beldame nobility no longer existed. This very car had once belonged to them. Now, the nobles had fallen, their wealth confiscated by the Ipswin revolutionaries, who used it all to arrest and trample them. The car Giles rode in had also been seized.

There were four people in the car. Aside from Giles, the other three were his subordinates. Their chatter filled the car noisily. Giles did not join in. He had never been close to them.

At first, they had balked at serving under him.

“No matter what, fighting under a Beldame’s command… isn’t the contradiction far too great?”

When they neared their destination, the driver pointed beyond the window.
“There it is! That mansion!”

The others leaned over to see.
“Wow, they really built that place fancy.”
“How many rooms do you think it has? I bet half of them were never even used. Just vanity, wasting money. That’d make a fine school later.”
“Even if we croak in the end, just seeing a house like that makes it feel worth it. How many people ever get the chance to live that way even once?”

Giles could feel their eyes on him. He too gazed at the mansion—a beautiful, old Beldame-style estate. Of course, its former residents were long gone.

The revolutionaries had seized this region ages ago. They dragged out the nobles, stripped the mansion bare, and carried away everything inside. To look at it now was deceiving; in truth, it was little more than a ruined shell.

And yet Giles and his unit had returned to inspect it. Their orders were to determine if the property was suitable for use in the new era. If it could serve as a government office, it would be preserved. If not, it would be demolished without mercy. Just like the once-glorious Beldame nobles themselves.

The Beldames had once invaded foreign lands and lorded over Ipswin, enriching themselves at the expense of its people, the true owners of the land, who lived like slaves.

But after their defeat in the Great War, Beldame weakened. Focused only on defending their own homeland, they abandoned Ipswin, leaving their nobles vulnerable. The Ipswin people seized the chance and rose in revolution.

Two years later, the revolution was winding down. The Beldame nobles had been executed or driven out. There was hardly a Beldame left in Ipswin.

Giles was the lone survivor of his kind here. Once, long ago, he had lived in such an estate himself, pampered as the son of a wealthy landowner. Now he was merely an officer of the Ipswin revolutionaries to whom he had surrendered.

“Permission to ask something, Captain?”
“Go ahead.”
“Those mansions… Is it true the bathrooms are as big as our living rooms? My buddy swore the noble’s bathroom was larger than his whole house.”

A loaded question. They all knew Giles came from noble blood. Even when he offered them his fortune and weapons, suspicion had lingered. He only earned their trust by jailing and executing his own kin.

“How should I know?” Giles said.
“You’d be the only one among us with firsthand experience, sir. We only know the kind of small family privy where four people share.”

Though their superior, he had to answer carefully. His revolutionary merits could not erase his lineage.

“It’s been too long. I barely remember.”
“Wasn’t that just yesterday for you?” the driver muttered.

Before the air soured further, Petersen, seated in front, cut in.
“Aw, who cares? Gold toilet or silver toilet, it’s ours now anyway. Don’t mind him, Captain. Robin here’s cranky ‘cause his girl chewed him out after he drank too much last night.”
“That never happened!”
“Save it. Better think of a bribe for Rosia so she’ll forgive you. Your moping face is dragging down morale.”

Robin shut his mouth.

Their car pulled up the mansion’s driveway. The iron gates hung broken, useless. The garden, once manicured, was overrun with weeds. Up close, the house’s neglected state showed clearly.

Giles stepped out.
“Search for anything of use. I’ll look around and draft my report.”
“Yes, sir.”

They split up and entered.

The main hall’s state was pitiful. Once-polished marble floors were dull and littered with leaves. A crystal chandelier lay shattered, nothing but trash.

The house was gutted—no furniture, no beds, not even bathtubs. Not a pen remained. Its very emptiness emphasized its sheer scale. As his men said, it could hold many students if converted into a school.

As Giles opened doors and wandered through, he found one carved with ornate patterns. It was shut tight, unlike the others. Inside sat a grand piano, remarkably intact. Likely the sole surviving furnishing.

He brushed dust from its lid. The keys beneath were all in order, surprisingly well-tuned. Revolutionaries had left it—it was too heavy, too fragile, and too frivolous for their cause.

Giles could play a simple sonatina or two, but chose not to. In a time when everyone knew his heritage, why flaunt it? His duty was to hunt down nobles, not play piano.

He turned away and opened a smaller door. Its unoiled hinges creaked ominously. Inside were broken instruments, neglected in storage. Clearly, the former owners had loved music. Worthless now.

But then his eyes caught on a large instrument case, like one for a contrabass. Slowly, he approached. The zipper was open. For some reason, he felt compelled to look inside.

He lifted the lid.

It wasn’t a contrabass.

A gaunt black-haired woman was curled up inside, trembling.

Shocked, Giles froze. He hadn’t expected to find a person here. Through her curtain of hair, a pair of blue eyes peered up at him. She wore only a thin white chemise, little more than underwear. Her thin legs bore scars of old beatings.

Giles exhaled.
“Who are you?”

The woman said nothing, breathing shallowly, clutching herself defensively, never breaking eye contact.

“What’s your name?”

At last she spoke, her voice hoarse from disuse.
“Lily.”

“What were you doing here?”
“…”
“Were you one of the household?”

“The… the people who lived here—what happened to them?” she asked instead, trying not to tremble.

“They lived with me… They beat me… So they were taken away, weren’t they? For hurting people? They were punished, right?”

“Who beat you?”
“The Count. And Countess Marianna… all of them.”

“You’ve been here ever since?”

Surely the nobles and their servants had all been dragged away. Why would a purchased girl stay hidden in this ruin?

“I was hungry,” Lily said. “I lay here so I wouldn’t faint. It’s warmer than outside. I thought I was going to die.”

“…I’ll take you somewhere with food.”

“No!” she suddenly cried, terror flaring in her eyes.
“I can’t go outside. Please.”

“There’s nothing here. Everything’s been seized for the revolution. You can’t stay.”

“How do I know who you really are? You might sell me off somewhere else.”

“I can show you my identification.”
“I still don’t want to leave.”

Her refusal seemed less about mistrusting him and more about fearing the outside itself.

Looking at her face, Giles recalled something. He had once interrogated the owners of this mansion.

‘The records list five family members. Confirm this last name. Is she family?’
‘…Yes.’
‘But we only arrested four. Where is this girl?’
‘She’s already dead. Of course you couldn’t find her.’
‘Aaagh! It’s true! She wasn’t even my daughter! Worthless wretch—we locked her away to die. She had no food or water for months. You’ll find only a corpse. Please, believe me…’
‘The youngest mistress was actually the master’s child by a servant. Called “mistress,” but no better than us.’
‘She was always weak, clumsy… Beaten often, barely fed.’
‘It’s been months since I last saw her. She must be dead by now. No one can live without food.’

Giles had ordered the mansion searched again.

Later, word came.
‘We found a woman’s body. In the closet.’

It was too decayed to recognize, but it matched the noblewoman’s testimony. The case was closed.

Yet Giles still remembered the girl’s portrait: black hair, blue eyes. Painted prettier, happier than she could have been, but portraits always lied.

Something had been staged.

“One question,” Giles said quietly, staring down at Lily. The silence pressed in.

“Are you Eloise Bismarck?”