Chapter 290 - Those Who Serve the Darkness
Sebastian Blake:
I got up from bed and put on my pants. Walking over to the window, I cracked it open, letting a bit of sunlight in.
"I wanted to sleep a little longer..." a feminine voice murmured behind me. "How about a quickie?"
I let out a small chuckle as I glanced at her naked body.
"I'll stop by later if you're still around," I said while she started dressing.
"You're gonna be away from my body for months. Won't you miss me? Or is that 'Alice' keeping you satisfied?" she teased with a smirk.
I laughed.
"If I touched her before the wedding, the Grand Duke would have me killed. I don't even know when I'll be able to take her to bed. It's an arranged engagement… it's gonna take a long time before she's willing to spread her legs for me."
She opened the drawer and pulled out her storage bracelet.
I tossed her a small pouch.
"Your payment," I said.
She caught the pouch, poured the coins into her hand, and started counting. "We've been doing this for so long that 'client' doesn't really fit anymore," she said with a mocking laugh.
I put on my shirt.
"I pay for exclusivity," I retorted playfully.
As I started putting on my boots, I smirked.
"We're almost there, my love," I said. "The black sheep son of the second heir… now engaged to someone from the royal family." The thought made me grin.
Claire moved closer, pulling me back onto the bed.
"I doubt that spoiled little princess will ever be better than me in bed," she whispered, challenging me.
I climbed on top of her as she tugged my pants down.
"I just need to fuck her on the first night to seal the marriage. After that, there's no turning back. But you… you'll always be my favorite whore," I murmured.
She leaned into my ear and whispered, "I'm excited… come give me a proper good morning between my legs."
***
I was walking through the corridors of my family's mansion.
"Good morning, Lord Sebastian," one of the maids greeted me.
I simply nodded in acknowledgment.
"Good morning, Master Sebastian," a butler said.
"Good morning," I replied.
My family comes from a long line of military officers, a tradition spanning centuries. For generations, we have served the royal family as their Sky Knights, a title that carries both prestige and responsibility. This deep-rooted connection with the monarchy secured our status and respect, but it was during the last great war that our family truly rose to prominence.
My father emerged as a hero during the Red Border War, an event that profoundly reshaped the kingdom's power structure.
The Red Border War was a turning point. Many described it as an era of chaos and destruction, but for others, it was an opportunity. Those who saw beyond the bloodshed managed to prosper. The war left behind a trail of vacant positions among nobles, military officers, and even within the royal courts. Men of great importance lost their lives, and their absence created openings for new figures to rise.
It was in this very scenario that our family rose even further. My father distinguished himself in several crucial battles. He solidified our name as an indispensable force to the kingdom. Since then, our family's name has echoed with even greater strength, a symbol of honor and military power.
As I walked down the corridor, my footsteps echoed against the cold walls. I spotted a group of maids carrying baskets and speaking in hushed voices, but my attention was drawn to one woman in particular. She was among them, discreet, yet even from afar, I felt my heart tighten.
"Good morning, Master Sebastian," they all greeted in unison, bowing.
"G-Good morning, Master Sebastian," one of them stammered, her voice trembling. She seemed unsure whether to meet my gaze or look away.
"Good morning," I responded briefly, continuing to walk. But my ears caught her hesitant footsteps resuming behind me, and almost instinctively, I glanced back. In that moment, I saw her back, slightly hunched, as if she carried the weight of something unseen. She felt my gaze and turned around, her eyes meeting mine. A timid, melancholic smile appeared on her face.
I immediately hardened my expression, erasing that moment as if it had never happened. I kept walking, not looking back again.
I did not treat her well. For years, I avoided any closeness. Liana was clumsy, awkward. She dropped plates, broke glasses, and her cleaning never seemed sufficient. I saw her as a walking mistake.
And yet, at some point, she had been my friend. When I was younger, she was the only one who talked to me, the only one who comforted me after my father's punishments. She always appeared at the right moments, bringing water at the end of my sword training or offering sincere advice when I was lost.
But over time, everything changed. One day, I stopped responding and began treating her as just another servant, forgetting the bond we once had. That happened after I discovered the truth: that clumsy maid was my mother.
My father told me when I was eight, in a blunt, matter-of-fact way. Since then, my relationship with her had been consumed by confusion. The shock of learning her identity was something I never fully overcame.
Among the nobility, it is common to hire commoners as surrogate mothers. They bear heirs without forcing noble families to share their wealth or status with another lineage. After birth, the mother's fate usually depends on the noble's whim. Some are paid to disappear. Others, rarely, are elevated to the status of wives or, at most, concubines. In my case, my father chose to keep her around as a servant. Perhaps as a personal trophy, perhaps as a passing whim.
When I learned that this woman, always so kind to me, was my mother, I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know if she was happy or sad about my existence. Maybe she stayed in that house just to see me. Or maybe I was just a convenience—an opportunity for stable employment, where she had a roof, food, and a salary. Maybe that was all: just a job.
The only time I dared to investigate her was during the months my father forced me to learn about our family's finances. I checked the financial records of all employees, and of course, I looked at hers. That was when I discovered that almost all of her salary went toward paying for medical treatments at a hospital—for her mother. My grandmother.
When I learned that, something inside me broke. I felt deceived. My mother hadn't had me because she wanted to. She had me because she needed the money. And all the smiles she had given me throughout my life suddenly felt false. I was nothing more than a means to an end.
Some days, I wake up hating her, a rage burning in my chest. On others, I wake up confused, lost between resentment and guilt. But no matter how I feel, I hate all commoners. If she hadn't been a commoner, maybe she would have had me out of love, not necessity. If she had been a noble, maybe I would have grown up with a real mother.
"Good morning, Lord Blake," a guard at the door greeted me as he opened it.
"Are they downstairs?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. They have all been gathered since early morning," the guard informed me as he opened the door leading down to the underground chamber of the mansion.
I began descending the stairs, and the door closed behind me.
As I made my way down, I clung to the identity I had built for myself. I was the pride of House Blake, and that servant was nothing more than the womb that bore me—she was nothing.
After centuries of serving merely as military pawns, House Blake had climbed the highest ranks. And through me… we had become, indirectly, part of the royal family. I had secured an arranged engagement with Her Highness Alice, daughter of Grand Duke Ryan. This was a reward granted to us thanks to my father.
I had fought tirelessly to be nearly perfect. I had dedicated myself as a vassal soldier to the royal family, obeying their every command without complaint, training soldiers, forming squads, and even personally acquiring magical beasts for them.
As soon as I reached the dungeon, I could hear their voices deep in discussion.
"It's just going to be another routine meeting…" I murmured to myself, forcing a confident smile.
I reached for the door handle, but before I could touch it, an overwhelming pressure crushed down on me, paralyzing me instantly.
"What do you think you're doing?" A woman dressed in black walked toward me at a leisurely pace.
The pressure lifted as suddenly as it had appeared, and I turned my gaze to her. She stared at me expectantly, waiting for an answer, and I knew better than to hesitate.
"I was heading to my father's meeting room… I was informed that my presence was requested," I said.
She looked at me with amusement, flicked her wrist, and a black dagger materialized in her hand. In a single swift motion, she pressed the blade against my lips.
"W-what are you doing?" I stammered, feeling a raw, primal fear coil around my throat.
"Your father's meeting room?" she repeated mockingly. "Your presence was 'requested'? We didn't request anything. We demanded it. Do not overestimate yourself, human."
She grabbed my hair, tilting my head back slightly, and then slowly removed the dagger from my lips.
"I apologize, Lady Sindra," I said, immediately dropping to my knees.
She pointed a single finger at me, and the crushing weight returned—only this time, it was even worse.
It felt as though an immense force had pinned my body to the ground. My eyes felt like they were bulging out of their sockets. I couldn't withstand it any longer and collapsed further, unable to bear the sheer magnitude of it.
She watched me with a cruel smile, keeping her finger pointed in my direction.
"You are not even worthy of kneeling before me. This position suits you better," she mused, then finally withdrew her hand. The suffocating pressure vanished.
"Get up, fool," she ordered.
I forced myself to my feet, every muscle screaming in protest, my legs trembling from the strain.
"Look me in the eyes," she commanded.
I obeyed, locking onto her gaze—her glowing pink eyes. Her face was beautiful, but her skin had a grayish hue, covered in markings that resembled black lightning scars.
A smile spread across her lips, and that smile terrified me more than anything else.
"I wonder what sound your throat will make when I rip out your vocal cords?" she mused playfully.
"P-pl-please," I began to plead.
She burst into laughter, then met my gaze once more, her eerie pink eyes gleaming with amusement.
"I'm just messing with you, boy. Now hurry up—you're delaying our meeting."
She pointed to the door, which swung open on its own. Without hesitation, I stepped inside.