At first glance, the Mordred estate appeared perfectly normal—nothing like the ominous rumors suggested.
The chilling tales spoke of ghosts appearing even during the day, of constant, eerie screams echoing through the halls...
But in reality, aside from the thick fog that made the castle seem sowhat dark, it was just a typical lord’s mansion. Servants moved about their tasks as if nothing was amiss, contradicting the rumors of restless spirits.
There was, however, one peculiar detail.
"Sister, I have a question."
"What is it?"
"Hmm... I've been working here for about three months now, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the lord or his family. Did they leave on a trip or sothing?"
The Mordred family.
Even the servants—the very people employed by them—had never seen their masters.
A relatively new maid voiced her curiosity, but in response, the senior maid simply remained silent.
Her half-lidded eyes barely flickered.
"......."
"Sister?"
"Don’t be curious about that."
"Huh...?"
"I an it. Don’t even show the slightest curiosity. Don’t wonder where they are. Don’t wonder what they do. Just don’t think about them at all."
"W-wait, what...?"
The senior maid was usually kind.
She answered every question patiently, always treating others with warmth.
But now, for the first ti, her eyes turned cold as ice, making the younger maid flinch.
"I’m saying this for your sake. Never speak about them carelessly. You might end up... catching their attention."
"What...?"
"Curiosity isn’t always a good thing, dear."
"Sister...?"
The young maid still looked confused, but the senior maid only gave her a bitter smile.
She didn’t explain any further.
The next morning—
"I told you not to be curious, didn’t I?"
The senior maid sighed, her expression filled with regret.
Drip. Drip.
"H-heeheehee..."
A woman was laughing.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, her body convulsing like soone suffering from a seizure.
No matter how many questions they asked her, she only laughed strangely, as if completely disconnected from reality.
She had lost her mind.
Yet another maid driven insane.
The senior maid rubbed her forehead, clearly exhausted.
"Haa... How many does this make now?"
Sixty-six.
That was the number of victims this year alone—servants who had succumbed to madness.
Still, if there was any silver lining...
"At least it's fewer than last year."
It was a slight improvent, wasn’t it?
***
Appearance isn’t everything.
It’s a phrase adults often say, a profound truth ant to remind people that true charm cos from within, not from outward appearances.
And yet...
"S-Santa, you don’t have to push yourself too hard."
"H-here, have sothing to eat while you work."
"W-would you like to join for dinner? A-at my place, if possible...."
...Seeing things like this, he couldn’t help but wonder if appearance really was everything.
‘Was life always this easy?’
He found the overwhelming kindness of everyone around him utterly bewildering.
It wasn’t just that people were nice to him—it was as if they were desperate to be nice to him.
‘The world really is unfair.’
What kind of life did handso n lead?
Under his hastily made alias, Santa Rihan, he let out a hollow laugh, but his fists clenched involuntarily.
He had to fight the growing urge to resort to violence.
Why?
‘Damn it, I’m not into that!’
...Because the one who had invited him to dinner wasn’t a woman.
***
Entering Mordred’s domain, Wales, had been surprisingly easy.
Despite how Simon had warned him about how secluded and dangerous it was, the people here were unnervingly friendly toward outsiders.
"So, you ca all this way looking for work? Well... with that face, life must have been tough for a commoner like you."
"Poor thing..."
"The work might be rough, but go to the lord’s castle. You’ll find a job there."
‘So, appearance alone is enough to justify anything, huh?’
All the ticulously crafted fake docunts and cover stories he had prepared turned out to be completely unnecessary.
The locals accepted him imdiately—no questions asked.
It almost made him regret spending days preparing his disguise.
‘Guess my pri years still work in my favor.’
His so-called "transformation" was nothing complex.
He had simply compressed his bones and muscles, using the principle of bone-shrinking and muscle control.
He hadn’t actually transford or disguised himself—just reverted his body to a more slender, youthful state.
But apparently, that was enough to leave an impression on others.
Even Simon and the twins had been shocked.
"P-please teach how to do that! I don’t care how painful it is!"
"U-uh... mister? No, wait, brother?"
"Tina!?"
Even after all that, Simon had passed out the mont he experienced Bone Compression firsthand.
Ihan shook his head.
"...I did it because he asked, but is he awake yet?"
Was he really that weak?
‘I deal with this constantly, and he fainted from just one session.’
Crack. Crunch.
No one else could hear it, but Ihan could hear the screams of his own body.
Forcefully compressing his form ant that his body was constantly trying to revert back, causing an excruciating inner struggle.
It was pure self-inflicted torture.
If he hadn’t already endured the agonizing pain of the Fairy’s Blessing (Rebirth tamorphosis), maintaining this state would have been nearly impossible.
Even if he could endure the pain, the real issue was how long he could sustain it.
‘If my focus wavers even a little, I’ll snap back imdiately.’
It was like carrying a lit fuse—one wrong move, and it could all go up in smoke.
And yet...
"You split firewood so well! And your cuts are so precise!"
"Well, I’ve done a lot of different jobs, so I picked up a few skills here and there. It’s nothing special."
"Nothing special? This is amazing!"
...These people, completely oblivious to his struggle, wouldn’t stop hovering around him.
Why was everyone so damn interested in him?
‘Can’t they all just get lost?’
It wasn’t even about the risk of being exposed anymore.
It was just...
‘Do these people even do their own work?’
They kept interrupting him, and that was what annoyed him the most.
Since he was pretending to be a new hire, Ihan had to play the part properly.
In any workplace, a rookie who actively seeks out work is seen in a positive light.
So, Ihan took the initiative—cleaning at dawn, helping the maids with laundry, and repairing broken furniture using his woodworking skills.
By the fourth day, he had already earned a good reputation as a diligent, hardworking servant.
But there was a problem.
No matter what he did, people kept following him around.
Even today—
"Why is a man’s skin so smooth?"
"Oh my, but he does have so muscle, at least."
"Here, eat sothing while you work."
"......."
People constantly watching him, following him, talking to him—he could barely stop himself from sighing.
The fact that he couldn’t actually sigh was even more frustrating.
‘Should I have just worn a mask instead?’
For the first ti, he felt an urge to revert to his original form.
‘Damn it, this damn parasitic pretty face is the real problem...’
Sure, his looks had their uses, but the constant attention was suffocating.
And worse—
So of the ones showing interest in him were n.
Which only made his murderous urges flare up.
‘Damn barbaric dieval era...’
Given the era’s cultural norms, there were plenty of "those types" around, and dealing with them was beyond infuriating.
Even so, Ihan endured it all.
He focused on his work.
Vowing that once his mission was complete, he’d crush the jaws of those creeps.
And then—
"Uh..."
"Ahem."
"W-we should get back to work."
The servants around him suddenly scattered.
They had spent all day loitering, doing nothing, yet now, they hurried away, acting like they had important business.
It was strange, but Ihan already knew why.
Over the past few days, there had only been one reason people reacted this way.
He subtly glanced to the side.
A small figure flinched.
"......."
She probably thought she was hidden, but to anyone watching, it was painfully obvious.
Peeking out from behind a tree, a young girl stood there—her distinctive pink-bronze hair making her unmistakable.
Ihan considered ignoring her, but he wasn’t the type to ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ pretend children didn’t exist.
"Is there sothing you need, my lady?"
"!!?"
"Would you like to give an order? Or perhaps you have sothing to say?"
He put on his kindest expression.
He wasn’t particularly fond of children, but he could at least be polite.
"......."
"My lady?"
"......."
"...?"
Yet, despite his efforts, she remained silent.
‘Yeah... I really don’t get along with kids.’
It was a realization he had already suspected, but now it was painfully obvious.
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