The coffee house where Helena, Philip, and the witch planned to meet was a three-story building. The third floor was occupied by the landlord, the first floor operated as the coffee house, and the second floor—once an old inn—was currently under renovation.
How did the three of them know that?
Simple. They had torn through the ceiling from the attic and entered the second floor, and several hours had passed without the innkeeper coming downstairs to check. That’s how.
“All the ones who were lurking around earlier seem to be gone.”
Philip leaned out of a second-floor window and peered down below.
At his mutter, a voice like scraped iron answered coldly.
“…This is such a mess. Every time I get entangled with your family, nothing good ever comes of it!”
Marina Colleone.
She sat on a bare bed frame with no mattress, rolling her eyes in open irritation. Her already naturally curly hair had puffed out like Medusa’s from crawling through drainpipes just to get here—it was a mass of tangled frizz from the humidity.
‘A woman who could be mistaken for a witch…’
Helena sat on the opposite wall, glaring at her with narrowed eyes.
“You should be grateful you’re still breathing, all thanks to my son! Didn’t you see those freaks with their gleaming blades earlier? And yet you’re still full of complaints toward your lifesaver?”
Marina scoffed, clearly unimpressed.
“You said those men bore the sigil of the Duke of Orléans, didn’t you?”
It had been Marina who first noticed the assassins.
Of all times, she hadn’t brought any of her usual underlings. So she had dragged Philip and Helena into the coffee house bathroom and warned them about the men watching them intently.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I think they’re wearing armor under their clothes, and they’re definitely armed.”
“But why would you tell us this?”
“Because if you die, I’ll never find my damn ledger!”
“Sweetie… I told you, I really did lose it…”
“Don’t lie, Helena! Look—those bastards even had this button on them…”
Marina showed Helena a crest-engraved button. Helena’s face twisted. Philip tilted his head.
“That’s the crest of the Duke of Orléans…”
At that moment, there was a sharp bang on the bathroom door.
Helena immediately grabbed Philip’s arm.
“We have to get out of here—now!”
“Wait, why? I thought your families were in-laws with the Orléans house?”
“Why exactly is the Duke of Orléans hunting you down, hmm?” the witch snapped. Helena turned her head away awkwardly. The witch sighed in disgust.
“See? You clearly did something. Now then—let’s ask the real question. Which one of us three do you think nearly got killed by assassins because of the others? Option one: an innocent loan officer from the South who just came to the capital to reclaim her money. Or option two: a scam-artist family who not only didn’t pay their debts, but also stole someone’s ledger and
lied
about losing it!”
Marina pointed a long, black-polished fingernail at Helena and Philip. Philip clutched his chest as if she’d physically stabbed him.
“Mom… I’m scared…”
Helena, on the other hand, remained shameless, scoffing with practiced arrogance.
“Aah, I know the answer! Option one?”
Marina lunged for her, nearly exploding in rage.
“You lunatic—!”
But Helena didn’t budge an inch. She regretted hiding the ledger… but—
“I had my reasons too, Marina. You’re hiding something from me too, aren’t you?”
Ravel Dew.
The secret of the Bluebeard.
✵
✵
✵
“Mother…!”
Helena still remembered that moment as vividly as if it had happened only seconds ago.
It wasn't because the sight of that damned insect of a man bleeding and crawling on the floor was shocking.
"You... y-you ungrateful wench! Where do you think you're going?! And you dare try to take my daughter with you?!"
The one who clung to Helena's leg until the bitter end—
Her third husband.
Bluebeard.
Just like her first and second marriages, her third was not of her own will.
She had once stolen a few goods from a merchant caravan just to survive with Philip. She was caught and thrown into a dungeon, nearly dying there—until the caravan master took an interest in her.
“Marry me, or leave your son behind. I enjoy watching gladiator fights...”
He was going to throw a child into the arena?
Of course, Helena chose marriage.
What was marriage, anyway? Nothing worth resisting.
She used to think marriage meant something. That it was a happy ending, like in fairy tales. After all, no story ever talked about how marriage could ruin your life.
Stepmothers were always just evil. And girls ruined by them always ran away, went on adventures, returned victorious, defeated the witch, and lived happily ever after.
She thought that if only she didn’t have a wicked stepmother or an abusive husband, she could live a normal life, like everyone else.
Until her first marriage.
Beaten every day—
At first, she was angry, asking herself why she was being hit.
Then she began to wonder if she deserved it, if she had done something wrong.
Eventually, she stopped feeling anything. Guilt and submission became second nature.
Those who have lived such a life… can recognize others who’ve been through the same.
“You really do take after me, don’t you?”
It’s instinctual.
You just know.
Emeline.
My beloved Emeline.
“I’ll take care of things here!”
“What do you mean, take care of—?!”
Emeline’s bloodied hands trembled. But only for a moment.
Then she began to run—to save Philip.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her crimson hair flowing like fire, her eyes firm, her fists clenched.
You are just like me.
From the moment you looked at me with those wounded eyes—
“Hello, Helena.”
You were my daughter.
“Urrgh...!”
Helena looked down at the worm that still clung to her ankle.
The ending.
What she had to do now was simple.
With the foot that hadn’t been caught, Helena stomped down on Violod’s wounded side.
“AAAGH!”
Even as the sound of bones crunching rang out, she didn’t stop.
Violod soon passed out from the pain.
Helena looked down at his limp body, then tore the hem of her underskirt.
Rip—
Tears, once halted, flowed again.
“You damned bastard. If you can still hear me, listen well. There’s only one reason I’m letting you live. My daughter…
sob
my daughter… will suffer deeply if you die. She’ll be crushed by the guilt of having taken a life. And I will never allow that. Do you hear me, you worthless scum?”
Helena exhaled heavily.
“Live… but don’t live like a human. Live like a corpse.”
She whispered into Violod’s ear.
“Stay buried in the filth just like you are now—don’t repent, don’t change. Just rot.”
“…You bastard.”
Having roughly stopped the bleeding, Helena leapt from the window to head toward the prison where Philip was held. Her landing was a disaster, but she didn’t feel any pain.
She gathered herself up on the canopy she landed on and began to run.
Then, a voice rang out behind her.
“Fire!”
Marina shrieked,
“If you walk out that door, I swear I’ll rip out your daughter’s heart and devour it!”
“You’ll have to get through me first! And really, Marina—do you think eating a few hearts is going to smooth out all those wrinkles?”
The two women glared at each other, spiritual pressure crackling in the air like rival sect leaders on the verge of combat.
Caught between the tempest, Philip let out a long, heavy sigh.
Marina’s violet eyes gleamed with killing intent as she pulled something from her robes—a small glass vial filled with a shimmering purple liquid.
Philip’s eyes widened in horror. He tugged on Helena’s sleeve.
“Mother… Just admit you were wrong. Please…”
Both Helena and Philip had turned pale. Marina, watching their stricken expressions, scoffed coldly.
“You remember what this is, don’t you? It’s the concentrated poison mist produced during the refining of invisible ink. One drop of this in the air, and it won’t just be your precious ledger that dies—you both will perish instantly.”
Helena and Philip exchanged glances.
Marina wasn’t bluffing. If she released that poison into the air, neither of them would survive the encounter.
Marina, however, was immune—either due to years of contact with those toxic fumes or, perhaps, because she truly was, as rumors claimed, the last living descendant of the witches long purged from the cultivation world.
As Marina toyed with the cork stopper, Helena’s expression grew increasingly tense. But the witch didn’t stop.
From the very beginning, she hadn’t believed Helena’s story. She had wanted to extract the truth—even if it meant torturing her. But thanks to the appearance of those suspicious cultivators, she’d had to flee the coffee house, buying Helena a sliver of time.
Now, that time had run out.
Marina stepped closer, spiritual energy coiling around her like a serpent.
Helena drew a deep breath, her qi trembling with resolution.
“…Fine. I lied. The ledger—I didn’t lose it.”
Marina’s amethyst eyes narrowed, and even her wild curls seemed to settle, as though her entire being had stilled.
…She really is a witch,
Philip thought with a grimace as he glanced out the window. The shadows that had lingered earlier had completely vanished.
Marina stared at Helena with a cold sneer of disdain.
“I knew it… Where is it?! And don’t you dare try to lie again.”
Helena spoke with resigned weariness.
“It’s at my manor.”
“Lies.”
“Why would that be a lie?!”
“When has anything from that mouth of yours
ever
been true?!”
“It’s true this time. I… I tore out a page I wanted to show my daughter, and the rest is hidden safely in the estate.”
Helena let out a long sigh, the weight of her karma pressing heavily against her chest.
“WHAT?!”
Philip, still by the window, shouted in shock.
…You didn’t know?
Marina’s gaze darted between the stunned Philip and the shameless Helena, who had even managed to deceive her own child.
But more than that—
“You
tore
it?!”
That ledger wasn’t just any ledger—it was a sacred artifact in the world of debts and secrets!
Marina clutched the back of her neck in disbelief.
In all her years as a high-level cultivator of the loan sect, no trio had provoked her wrath like Helena, Emelin, and Philip. Truly, they were heaven-defying troublemakers!
“I needed to confirm something from it…” Helena muttered, licking her dry lips.
“And where’s the rest of the damn thing?!”
Marina roared, grabbing Helena by the collar.
Philip rushed to pull them apart.
“Madam, please, let’s all calm down—”
“Madam?! Do I
look
like a madam to you?!”
She seethed, her aura flaring like a storm about to descend. Helena scoffed.
"Then how's our son supposed to call you
Big Sister
? Do you not own a mirror or do you just cultivate without one?"
"Don’t call me
darling
! Ever!"
Just as Marina and Helena began growling at each other again like rival sect sisters on the brink of a duel, Philip suddenly gave up trying to mediate and shot to his feet.
"Then why don’t we just return to the manor and verify it? Let’s go now! Who knows when we’ll next get a chance to sneak out of the sect grounds?"
He pointed beyond the window. As he said, the darkening alley was completely empty—no soul cultivators, no spies, no one.
“……”
“……”
Marina and Helena locked eyes. Helena pointed at the hand Marina still had clutching her collar. Marina released her with a shove and glared sharply at both of them.
"If the ledgers are missing from the manor, your corpses will be found at the bottom of the southern cliffs—with your spiritual cores harvested and your meridians shredded!"
"Ooh, how terrifying…"
Helena muttered under her breath.
Chapter 88