A short and stout man attired in the garb of a black - clad servant emerged outside the secluded mansion, carrying an object reminiscent of a lunchbox in his hand.

  Among the group of people standing guard outside the mansion, the man in butler's livery retrieved a pocket - watch from his inner pocket, perused it briefly, then took the item from the newcomer's grasp. Subsequently, he pivoted and entered the tranquil mansion.

  It was mealtime.

  Yet, as he pushed open the massive, brown - painted door, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of blood wafted into his nostrils.

  Those present here were all counted among Hormit's trusted confidants. They not only oversaw the management of this place but also possessed considerable prowess.

  A sense of foreboding welled up within him, and the man quickened his pace, calling out loudly, "Young master, it is time for your meal."

  Receiving no response, the butler - clad man felt his heart sink deeper with each passing moment. He prayed fervently that his young master had not met with any misfortune.

  Alas, he beheld the familiar figure lying prone in a pool of blood.

  It is over... This was the solitary thought that flashed through his mind.

  ...

  Within the opulent manor of the Punk family, a luxurious motorcade accompanied by twenty knights made its way into the estate. The servants who were engaged in their tasks nearby promptly stepped forward to pay their respects.

  This was the motorcade of Count Punk.

  The dark mage, having assumed the guise of Hormit, hastened forward, imitating Hormit's customary demeanor to offer a greeting.

  The motorcade came to a halt, and the knights neatly arranged themselves into two columns. Count Punk, accompanied by his wife and third son, alighted from the vehicle.

  The erring third son of the Punk family hung his head low, with purplish - blue bruises still visible at the corner of his mouth.

  Both Count Punk and his wife wore expressions of profound gloom.

  "Esteemed father, how did your journey fare?" the faux Hormit inquired obsequiously.

  Count Punk cast a cold glance at his third son and proceeded towards his residence without uttering a word.

  Evidently, this encounter with the elven delegation had not yielded any favorable outcomes.

  The false Hormit heaved a sigh of relief; this lack of communication was for the best, sparing him the worry of exposure.

  However, his relief was premature.

  Count Punk summoned all the family members to the grand hall, seemingly intent on convening a thorough family meeting.

  "Those insatiable elves!" Count Punk paced restlessly back and forth in the hall, venting his pent - up anger from the days of litigation with the elves. "They ought to be sold off to the slave market! Demanding gold coins is one thing, but to ask for ten tons of magic - energy stones as compensation? Such audacity! Nearly all the family wealth I've painstakingly amassed is on the verge of being squandered! Why don't they simply demand your life, Filco?!"

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  Filco was the name of Count Punk's third son.

  Anticipating his father's ire, Filco could do nothing but bow his head deeply. Any utterance at this moment would surely incite his father's wrath.

  "What are you lowering your head for? You must have been quite proud when you went to seize the elves, were you not?!" Count Punk strode forward a few steps and kicked Filco to the ground.

  During the days of the lawsuit, he had felt the impulse to eliminate this useless son on more than one occasion.

  In court, he had exerted every effort to shift all the blame onto his third son. However, those long - eared adversaries on the opposing side were not so easily swayed, insisting that this matter must have been instigated by the entire Punk family.

  After all, targeting a mere useless noble scion would not yield much in the way of value.

  Witnessing Filco being kicked and berated on the ground by Count Punk, the other siblings remained deathly silent, as if afraid to even breathe.

  Had the real Hormit been present, he would surely have trembled with fear, consumed by guilt.

  The false Hormit, for his part, was far from comfortable. He was filled with such ire that he longed to give Hormit a sound thrashing.

  How dare he make him endure this torment in his stead.

  The dark mage's volatile temper was barely contained.

  "From this day forward, should any of you cause me further trouble and expect me to clean up the mess, I shall banish you to the countryside! And do not even contemplate returning!"

  Count Punk gasped for breath, his expression fierce as he issued the warning.

  "As for you, Filco, you shall be sent to Fynal, which has recently endured the ravages of demons. I shall purchase a plot of land there, and you will spend your time reflecting on your actions."

  Upon hearing that his father intended to send him to such a desolate place, Filco could no longer remain silent. He pleaded with tears and snot streaming down his face,

  "Please, father! I am your son! You cannot treat me thus! I beg you!"

  But Count Punk merely regarded him with disgust and instructed several servants to carry him out.

  Subsequently, Count Punk commenced expounding on the new family rules he had formulated halfway through his journey.

  The false Hormit had never been more eager to depart from a place than at this moment.

  Just as he was on the verge of reaching his limit of endurance, an alarm spell set up outside the manor suddenly detected a familiar presence.

  It was the servant who should have been at Hormit's secluded mansion.

  Taking advantage of the moment when Count Punk's gaze shifted, the false Hormit conjured a temporary simulacrum that would not endure for long and then vanished, turning invisible.

  Outside the manor, the servant who was stealthily making his way back to the estate along a narrow path suddenly collided with a figure.

  Looking up, he beheld Hormit's guardian mage.

  "What has occurred?" the dark mage demanded, his voice laced with annoyance towards Hormit.

  The servant quivered and stammered, "Master Mage, Young Master Hormit... he... he is dead..."

  "What?!" The dark mage's eyes widened in an instant, and a burst of green light shot forth. The servant before him was transformed into a skeleton by his glare, collapsing to the ground with a clatter the next moment.

  The dark mage paid no heed to the skeletal remains on the ground and instead hastened towards Hormit's secluded mansion at the fastest possible speed.

  On the other side, Count Punk, who was delivering a stern admonition, noticed that his eldest son had remained motionless in the same position for an extended period. Filled with doubt, he called out a few times, only to watch in astonishment as Hormit faded into an illusory shadow and disappeared without a trace.

  He was left utterly bewildered.

  At that moment, a figure garbed in a resplendent robe materialized beside him and informed Count Punk, "This is a false form. The Hormit who was here moments ago was also an impostor. It was likely Soth who assumed his appearance."

  Soth was the name of Hormit's guardian mage.

  Sensing an ominous omen, Count Punk roared at the assembled group in the hall, "Go and find Hormit at once!"

  ...

  A slender figure was dashing through the pitch - black, dense forest.

  Pernas had lost all sense of time, knowing only that she must not halt. The farther she distanced herself from that mansion, the better.

  The inky - black jungle was, without a doubt, a place of profound gloom and terror.

  For the blond - haired maiden, this was a dual torment, both physical and mental.

  Her dress had been torn to shreds by the branches, and her face was marked with tiny scratches.

  Occasionally, the howl of wolves echoed from the distant hilltops, intensifying the panic that welled within her.

  It will be alright. It will be alright... She repeated these words in her mind, seeking solace in their repetition.

  Just as she paused to rest, preparing to resume her flight, that familiar voice finally sounded once more:

  "Pernas, are you still there?"

  The blond - haired young lady caught sight of the strange object at a glance. Overwhelmed with ecstasy, she snatched it up, clasping it tightly in her hand, and wept silently, her hand covering her mouth.