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Chapter 34
“Master! Where in the world…! Try over there!”
“Lord Othello! Where are you?”
The mansion was in an uproar before dawn.
Jin stepped out of his room, frowning, and asked the head maid,
“Othello’s gone again, hasn’t he?”
The head maid answered with a deeply worried expression.
“Yes, he’d been quiet for three days, but…”
Jin and Othello were both seven years old.
It had been a month since the Winchester family’s supernatural ability, Black Flame, had awakened in Othello.
The timing of such awakenings varied from child to child. Jin’s powers had awakened when he was just four.
The problem was, some children experienced extreme physical and mental stress during the awakening process.
Jin had only suffered a mild fever for three days. But Othello’s reaction was far more intense.
He began to wander the mansion in a trance-like state, sleepwalking with no awareness of his surroundings.
Worse, he would occasionally destroy things using the Black Flame that had manifested within him.
A week ago, one of the farms had been completely incinerated. Four days ago, six guards had been seriously injured.
“Lord Othello…”
Someone suddenly cut into Jin and the head maid’s conversation.
The young woman with red hair and blue eyes was Trisha Quelln.
Six months pregnant, she carried the half-sibling of the two brothers.
Though she wasn’t formally married, the maids referred to her as “Madam.”
“…Has he disappeared again?”
Jin didn’t respond to Trisha’s question.
The head maid, bowing her head, answered in his place.
“Yes, madam. A servant found the window broken. No one was inside the room.”
A brief silence hung in the air.
Jin turned his gaze and began walking down the corridor with a blank expression.
Trisha watched his retreating figure.
“It seems Young Master Jin plans to go out and search as well,” the head maid said.
Trisha thought for a moment, then looked out the darkened window.
— I wish you would just die, Othello.
— Unlike Jin, the heir, what are you even good at? You were born the same day, but why are you so different?
— That’s why I left early too. Think about it. Do you even have any memories of being loved?
The pond, clear and serene in the daytime, now looked pitch-black under a cloud-covered moon.
Othello’s bare feet, full of scars, slowly disappeared into the water.
His greenish-blue eyes were blank and hollow.
— I know why you torment that woman, Othello. Once she gives birth…
— You’ll be abandoned. That’s the fate of useless second sons.
— Who knows, maybe the third child will be better than you.
Ripples formed as the water reached Othello’s shins.
A meaningless smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
In the center of the pond, the hem of his deceased mother’s dress fluttered gently.
Her face was hidden, but the vision glowed softly in the darkness, almost like it was offering warmth.
— Even the maids and soldiers hate you. A foul-tempered troublemaker. You know they all whisper behind your back.
— You’re a disgrace to Winchester. A pitiful thing who can’t even reach the feet of your brother…
— Wouldn’t it be better to just die with me?
The black water had risen to his chest.
Just a little further and he could reach the hem of that dress.
As Othello, eyes void of life, took one more step forward—
“No.”
Someone suddenly pulled him back forcefully and held him tight.
“No, don’t!”
Amid the cold water, a soft embrace surrounded Othello.
A woman’s desperate voice rang in his ears.
“You’re a strong and wonderful child, my lord…”
The emptiness in Othello’s eyes began to fade.
“You’re someone precious.”
He looked up and saw Trisha.
The woman his father had brought home a few months ago.
The one who had become the most unwelcome presence in the household.
She was hugging him tightly.
Only then did he realize—he was standing in the pond.
Trisha, pregnant, had entered the icy water to embrace him and wasn’t letting go.
“I…”
“That’s why you mustn’t say those things.”
Only then did Othello understand: those cruel words he’d thought were his mother’s… had actually been his own.
The woman and the dress floating before him… they were just illusions.
Was it a cruel trial conjured by the Black Flame?
Then Trisha’s voice echoed again.
“Quellns can hear the voices of dreams. I heard Lady Winchester’s voice too.”
At those words, Othello looked at her blankly.
Lady Winchester. His mother.
Then, with a sharp glare, he snapped,
“Don’t lie! You’re just saying that to take my mother’s place!”
“The Star of Rockland.”
But her next words came without hesitation.
Othello’s pupils trembled.
His unstable Black Flame surged, reacting wildly to his emotions.
“Do you remember that music box?”
The Star of Rockland was a lullaby his mother had composed and placed into a music box, just for him.
Since her death, Othello had never played it again.
He could’ve attacked Trisha right then and there, but her eyes held unwavering certainty.
A conviction about Othello, who had always been so rude and violent.
“You can keep hating me. Call me a greedy woman trying to steal Lady Winchester’s place. But…”
Her lips moved gently.
“…Don’t have bad dreams anymore.”
Looking into her eyes, Othello finally lowered his gaze.
A droplet fell—plop—and rippled across the dark pond.
Othello swung his sword toward the rising sun.
There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
Since that day he entered the black pond, he’d played the music box every night before bed.
No more bad dreams. No more sleepwalking. The Black Flame had settled within him.
Trisha had died, and time had moved on swiftly.
Though his body was still that of a young boy, it had grown strong through long training.
If Trisha were still alive, his height would probably reach her chin.
As he calmed his breath, spun once, and then again halfway, Jin’s voice rang out.
“You’re already too much for me to handle with just swordsmanship.”
Othello turned to see Jin, seated and watching him intently.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and twisted his lips.
“You’re annoying, Jin.”
A very Othello-like response—Jin just chuckled softly.
Power had been determined since birth.
The bloodline chosen by the Black Dragon as heir possessed a strength others could not match.
Still, that didn’t mean Othello could never surpass him.
If he could master the Sword Aura—the art of embedding Black Flame into the sword—then even Jin wouldn’t be able to ignore him.
Among all past Winchester family heads, only four had ever reached that realm.
“What brings you here so early in the morning?”
“There’s been a report about what happened at the hunting grounds.”
Two days ago, in the summer estate within the Pashurit Mountains, there had been an accident.
A landslide destroyed a mountain lodge, nearly killing Sasha.
It had been Othello who brought her back from several dozen meters below.
Jin’s voice turned cold as he spoke to Othello, whose gaze instantly sharpened.
“Lack of evidence. No charges. No punishment.”
At those words, a deadly light flared in Othello’s eyes.
“I’m going to see Father.”
He dropped his sword onto the floor of the training ground.
From his body, a snake-like swirl of Black Flame rose, feeding on his rage.
As Othello turned away, Jin spoke again.
“There’s a reason they won’t punish Jestia.”
“Whatever it is, I won’t accept it.”
“Othello.”
At the sound of his name spoken in a low voice, Othello stopped in his tracks.
The dense presence of Black Flame filled the air.
“There’s no longer a need for punishment.”
Jin’s voice reached his ears.
The Black Flame in Othello’s eyes twisted violently.
Then, as he finally understood, his lips parted slightly.
“…She’s dead.”
