A Guide to Raising a Villainess Chapter 94: Warm welcome

After receiving a letter from the duke asking to co imdiately, I set off for the Dickens estate in the afternoon.

The weather was surprisingly gloomy — heavy leaden clouds stretched across the horizon, and the few rays of sunlight struggled to break through them, casting the road in cold silver hues.

All the way there, I had a vague, uneasy feeling. It wasn’t anything specific — more like a slight but persistent feeling that sothing bad was waiting for ahead. I tried to dismiss these thoughts, convincing myself that they were just the result of fatigue and overwork, but the shadow of anxiety still lingered.

Well, all these thoughts remained just empty guesses anyway. Until I found out what exactly the duke wanted to tell , any anxiety would be pointless. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

Nevertheless, as soon as the carriage entered the estate, my strange premonition intensified. The first thing that struck was the unusual silence.

Usually, when I arrived, there were several guards standing at the gate, and soone from the staff would always appear in the courtyard to greet . But now there was not a single person here. The gates were wide open, as if they were already waiting for , but the grounds looked deserted.

I frowned. Even the birds seed to have fallen silent — not a sound could be heard except for the faint rustling of the wind.

The carriage stopped at the front porch. I slowly got out, leaning on the door, and paused for a mont.

I glanced around the courtyard. There was not a single soul here either.

Even Roger, who usually ca out to et , was nowhere to be seen. He always greeted first as soon as I crossed the threshold of the estate, but today his figure did not appear on the terrace or at the door.

"What the..." I muttered under my breath. "Where have all the servants gone?"

It was indeed unusual that I didn’t see a single maid or knight in the courtyard. Where had all these people gone?

The silence greeted with a deafening, almost physical pressure.

I slowed my pace, listening, hoping to catch so sound. But the only response was the quiet rustle of the wind blowing through the abandoned flower beds.

My excitent grew, turning into an oppressive sense of foreboding. My fingers involuntarily clenched the folds of my dress. And yet I moved on — now not so much out of curiosity as out of necessity.

I felt an unpleasant twinge in my chest.

Could it be... that sothing had really happened?

Finally, frowning, I decided to check everything myself.

Overco by an increasingly anxious premonition, I finally reached the front door and was about to enter the house. The massive oak doors were also unlocked, which again seed a little strange to .

Sothing inside told not to go in, but curiosity mixed with anxiety proved stronger. I gently pushed the door. It gave way with a quiet creak, as if reluctantly, and I looked inside.

The first thing that hit was a sharp, nauseating sll. It was heavy and sticky, as if it had perated the air. I couldn’t imdiately identify what it was, but it stung my eyes and made feel sick.

I couldn’t help but cover my mouth with my hand.

I took a few cautious steps forward. The floorboards creaked plaintively under my feet. The darkness inside the house seed to thicken, swallowing the last of the daylight that was coming in through the door I had opened.

And then...

I felt the toe of my shoe brush against sothing on the floor.

Stopping abruptly, I looked down — and the blood ran cold in my veins.

It was a corpse.

The maid, a young girl with dark hair whom I thought I had seen before in the courtyard, was now lying face down on the cold marble.

Her arms were twisted unnaturally, her eyes wide open, frozen in an expression of silent horror. And beneath her body, a thick, dark red pool was spreading.

I involuntarily took a step back, and the floor beneath my feet groaned plaintively.

A scream, ready to burst from my throat, stuck sowhere inside. I frantically covered my mouth with my hand, afraid that even a single sound would break the deathly silence.

And then I noticed another body.

Then another. And another.

Oh my God...

They were everywhere.

On the floor, against the walls, on the stairs — everywhere I looked, there were lifeless bodies. Knights, servants, maids — all of them seed to be frozen in poses as if they had tried to save themselves but had not succeeded.

The marble floor was completely covered in blood, and brown streaks ran across it, as if soone had dragged the bodies in a hurry.

I felt a wave of horror mixed with nausea rise in my chest.

My heart was beating sowhere near my throat, deafening with its own thumps.

My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely keep my balance.

"No... no, this can’t be..." I whispered, feeling my lips tremble treacherously.

The world around seed to begin to blur. The air trembled, the walls slowly receded into the distance, and the sound of my breathing grew louder and louder.

No.

No, it’s impossible.

It’s a dream.

Yes, just a dream.

I must be asleep and having a nightmare.

But the sll of blood, heavy, tallic, nauseating, was too real. It ate into my skin, filled my lungs, and made it impossible to breathe.

"Damn it!" I whispered almost silently, feeling my legs buckle.

I had to press my palm against the wall to keep from falling.

I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Maybe I was going crazy...

I stood in the middle of this silent slaughter, unable to even move.

I tried to call out to soone — Duke Dickens, Roger, anyone who could explain to what had happened here. But my throat tightened treacherously, my voice was hoarse, and no sound ca out of my mouth.

I could only continue to stand rooted to the spot, covering my mouth with my hands, as if afraid to make the slightest sound.

And then...

Sowhere above, on the second floor, in the midst of this dead silence, footsteps sounded.

Slow and distinct.

I shuddered. I looked up sharply, toward the source of the sound.

A man was slowly descending the stairs.

One step.

Then another.

And finally, I saw his face.

Roger.

My heart skipped a beat.

A wave of relief, so intense that I almost fainted, washed over .

He was alive!

At that mont, I felt a real sense of relief.

Amidst all the commotion, Roger was alive! And he seed to be unhard... At least, that’s how it appeared to at first glance. But then...

"Roger..." I wanted to call out, but the words never left my lips.

He continued to descend, slowly, step by step.

And as he got closer, sothing disturbing gradually rose inside without my realizing it. At first, I couldn’t understand why I had this feeling.

Finally, he stopped on the last step and looked at . It was at that mont that I realized sothing was wrong.

"Ah... Lady Weinstein," he said quietly, with an intonation that sent a chill down my spine. "You ca after all."

At first, I couldn’t even respond. I just froze, unable to utter a word.

"Roger?" I finally managed to say, feeling my lips barely obey .

He smiled.

But that eerie smile on the guy’s face made feel uncomfortable.

The corners of his lips curved, his eyes narrowed slightly, and suddenly his face seed strange and unfamiliar to .

A chill ran down my spine.

I involuntarily took a step back, trying to understand what was happening and suppress the trembling that was coming over .

Nevertheless, I forced myself to speak — my voice was trembling, but I still tried to sound as loud as possible:

"Sir Roger... what does all this an?"

He didn’t answer right away. At that mont, the light from the window slid over his figure, and then I noticed that there was blood on Roger’s clothes.

A lot of blood.

Dark, almost black stains covered his sleeves and the front of his shirt, and fresh brown marks remained on his face — on his cheek and chin — as if he hadn’t even tried to wipe them off.

I gasped.

"Are you... are you hurt?" I asked, feeling a wave of anxiety rise inside . "What happened here?"

But before I could finish, he interrupted , speaking with the sa cold politeness, as if everything that was happening was normal:

"I apologize," Roger said, bowing his head slightly, "for not being able to give you a more welcoming reception. I should have t you personally at the gate. It was my mistake."

His voice sounded almost apologetic, but at that mont it seed completely out of place.

"Sir Roger..." I said, feeling my lips tremble treacherously. "This... everything around... the blood... and..."

"Ah, you an this?" He said calmly, with a slight, almost absent-minded smile, as if it were a trifle.

"Don’t worry, Lady Weinstein."

He bowed his head slightly, and light flashed across his blue eyes, making them frighteningly bright.

"I was just... practicing my art."

I froze.

"What...?" I whispered. "What did you say...?"

"You see, inspiration ca so suddenly, and I just couldn’t let the mont pass."

My heart was pounding so hard that I felt pain in my chest.

"And to make up for such an... unpleasant misunderstanding," the guy continued, lifting his chin slightly, "I have prepared a small gift for you."

"A gift?" I asked, barely realizing what I was saying.

"Yes," Roger said, and an even broader, strangely solemn smile appeared on his face. "This painting," he added, making a slight gesture with his hand, "I painted it especially for you."

I raised my eyebrows, trying to comprehend what he had said.

"..." I couldn’t utter a word.

"Lady Weinstein," Roger continued, taking a step closer, "I sincerely hope you enjoyed my gift."

I watched him intently as he took his last step and descended the stairs. All this ti, the guy was holding sothing in his hands, but the light was dim, and because of that, I couldn’t see what exactly he was carrying.

My heart was beating so loudly that I could feel it pounding in my temples.

Roger approached and finally slowly raised his hand, revealing his "creation."

I glanced at it and my breath caught in my throat.

My vision darkened.

The world around seed to spin, and my legs gave way beneath .

Empty blue eyes, cold and motionless, like pieces of ice, stared straight at .

At that mont, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and scread in agony.

It was the head of Duke Dickens.