They say the worst kind of silence is the kind that waits.
That was the kind that hung over the manor the next morning.
Not the quiet of peace. Not the hush of rest. But the brittle, bracing stillness that fills a place before something breaks.
And I wasn't about to be the one who cracked first.
[New Task Assigned: Knife Familiarization]Objective: Practice 100 basic swings before sunriseReward: +1 Dexterity / Unlock: Knife Mastery I (Locked until 100% Completion)
I slipped into the cellar before dawn. The other servants were still snoring or coughing in the dark. I had just enough room between the crates of dried meat and a wall stained with mold.
The blade Tarn gave me wasn't sharp. It was made for vegetables, not people. But it fit my hand like it belonged there.
One. Two. Three.
I moved in silence, mimicking the arcs I'd seen in movies and the old construction safety videos back in Seoul. It was clumsy at first. Wild. But by swing twenty, I started to find rhythm. Purpose.
[Progress: 23/100]
By swing forty, my hands were sweating.
By seventy, I heard footsteps upstairs and froze, breath caught in my throat.
They passed. I resumed.
By swing one hundred, I wasn't thinking anymore. Just... moving.
[Task Complete: Knife Familiarization]Reward Acquired: +1 Dexterity / Knife Mastery I UnlockedDexterity increased to 5.
A strange warmth bloomed in my wrist and elbow joints. The blade felt lighter now. Like it knew what I wanted to do.
"Not bad for a cook's knife," I muttered.
Scamperton peeked out of a crate, sniffed the air, and chittered once before vanishing into a pipe.
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome."
—
The morning routine kicked in like a hammer.
Bran was in a foul mood—more than usual. He stormed into the kitchen barking orders, slamming ladles, and making a younger boy cry when he spilled oil near the oven.
"You think crying helps, you runt? Wipe it up before I make you drink it!"
Even Maela looked on edge, though she didn't say anything. That alone told me something was off.
I spent most of breakfast prep chopping greens and refilling water jugs. Kyle, as usual, followed me around like a ghost with too many questions.
"Why'd you help me yesterday?"
"You were getting punched. I don't like punching unless I'm the one doing it."
He laughed too loud. Bran's head snapped toward us.
"Quiet."
We obeyed.
But even Bran's shouting couldn't hide what was wrong.
The nobles weren't eating.
That was the first sign.
Only half the usual trays were ordered upstairs. No sweet cream, no glazed meats. Just bread and broth.
Then came the second sign.
The guards.
Three of them—house enforcers in green-and-gold cloaks—marched through the lower hall, eyes cold and hands on their hilts. One of them kicked over a barrel of potatoes for no reason.
A warning. For nothing. To no one.
Something was stirring.
—
After midday, I was ordered to deliver firewood to the west wing.
Not unusual. But odd for me to do it alone.
I hauled the small cart through the stone halls, avoiding scullery gossip and noble footsteps. Most of the time, we weren't allowed near the west wing at all. It was for the "blooded branch," as they called it—direct kin of House Vexley.
No servants lived there. No animals. Just velvet, glass, and secrets.
When I reached the door, I knocked once, waited, then pushed through.
Empty hallway. Silent.
I moved down the corridor carefully, stacking firewood near each hearth like instructed. The rugs were thick, the air warm, and the walls lined with framed maps, portraits, and an enormous painting of a pale woman with a fox fur draped across her shoulders.
Her eyes were the kind that followed you.
Then I passed an open door.
Just a crack. Enough to see inside.
I paused.
It was a study. Or maybe an office. Gold trim along the ceiling. Mahogany shelves. Ink quills. And in the center, two men speaking quietly.
One was Lord Varian Vexley.
The other was a merchant—or maybe a broker. Balding, sweating, clutching a heavy ledger.
I shouldn't have stopped. I really shouldn't have leaned in.
But I did.
"The bodies have to go somewhere, Varian," the broker hissed. "You can't keep shoving them in the ravine. People are noticing."
Varian's voice was cold. "Then find somewhere quieter. The forest. The eastern marsh. I don't care how far you dig—just make sure no more wash up in the river."
"They're just kids!"
"A debt paid in flesh is still a payment. House Vexley doesn't forget what it's owed."
I stumbled back.
A floorboard creaked underfoot.
Silence.
My blood froze.
"Did you hear that?" the broker whispered.
"Probably one of the rats," Varian said.
A pause.
"…Or not."
I didn't wait to find out. I slid down the corridor like a shadow, left the rest of the firewood behind, and didn't stop until I reached the pantry stairwell, heart hammering in my chest.
Kids. Bodies. Debts in flesh.
They were killing the servants.
—
That evening, I peeled in silence.
Maela didn't press. Tarn didn't speak.
But I knew something had shifted in my eyes. I could feel it. Like my thoughts were coiled tighter. Sharper.
This wasn't just cruelty. This was method. Systemic. A machine built on fear and blood.
Later, in the dim corner of the pantry, Kyle approached me again.
"Reed… you okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how easy it is to disappear in a place like this."
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
I met his gaze. "Nothing. Just... don't wander off alone at night."
His face paled.
I was planning already.
Not escape—yet.
But sabotage.
—
That night, after lights-out, I returned to the hollow brick behind the stables. This time, I brought a scrap of charcoal and an old cloth.
Inside the hollow, I started my first map.
Crude. Lines and marks. Servant quarters. Pantry. Firewood stores. West wing access.
Every crack mattered now.
Because I wasn't surviving anymore.
I was preparing.
[New Passive Objective Activated: Mapping the Manor]Progress: 1%Bonus Unlock at 25%: Hidden Passage Routes
The system was catching on.
"Good," I whispered, stuffing the cloth back inside. "Keep up."
When I turned to leave, Scamperton was sitting on a rock, munching what looked like a stolen prune.
He squeaked at me.
I nodded once. "We're gonna need allies soon. Think you can find more rats?"
He blinked.
Then disappeared into the grass.
That night, I dreamed of chains snapping.
And I woke up with a smile.