The Attendant in the Horror Game C4

Chapter 4

The moment Jade confirmed the name of his “item,” he screamed a silent cry of despair in his heart. If Ian hadn’t been standing right beside him, it would not have stayed silent. As it was, he could only clutch his head in frustration, too embarrassed to vent in front of the boy.

Cleaning tools.

Out of all possible items—swords, daggers, bows—how in the world did cleaning tools become his “exclusive item”? The absurdity of it nearly made him choke.

And worse still—Beginner’s Cleaning Tools. The word beginner offended him on a spiritual level. Just how useless did this tool intend to be?

“Haa…”

But he had no choice. Maybe he should be grateful that cleaning tools even existed in this decrepit villa at all. With a long sigh, Jade made up his mind to go fetch them.

“Don’t worry, Young Master. I’ll bring them back. Cleaning’s kind of my max-level skill, you know?”

“…Max… level?”

Ian frowned faintly, his delicate features creasing in confusion. Realizing his slip, Jade slapped a hand over his own mouth and hurriedly corrected himself.

“I mean—I’m very good at it.”

“Ah.”

Ian nodded slightly, his round head bobbing up and down like a porcelain doll. Seeing him like this—so small, so seemingly pure—Jade almost couldn’t believe this was the same child who, according to the lore, had killed several grown men with his own hands.

“For now, please just sit anywhere. If I clean for two days straight, I think both your room and mine will be spotless.”

Speaking with forced cheer, Jade began descending the stairs. He’d only made it down three steps when his progress was stopped by a deep, unmistakable sound.

Grrrnnn—

Jade turned toward the source. The guilty party, of course, was Ian. There were only two people in the mansion, and Jade’s own stomach hadn’t made a sound.

But Ian, the culprit, merely turned his head away as if nothing had happened, his face so calm and indifferent that Jade almost doubted his own ears. Maybe it had been his stomach after all.

Scratching his temple, Jade watched as Ian’s pale face flushed crimson. His skin was so fair that even a hint of embarrassment showed vividly.

“Why don’t we eat before we start cleaning?”

Now that he thought about it, Jade realized he was hungry too. And judging by the state of the rooms—neglected for what looked like a century—cleaning immediately would be impossible anyway. A meal would be a better start.

After all, wasn’t sharing a meal the most basic way for humans to bond? Even with the fairy-like child in front of him—who just so happened to be a future murderer—eating together couldn’t hurt.

“Haha, um… Young Master, where do you keep the ingredients?”

“…Do I look like I have any?”

The curt response was sharp enough to sting. It was such a contrast to the boy’s angelic voice that Jade almost laughed. Still, it was the longest sentence Ian had spoken since Jade’s arrival.

“…Right. Of course not.”

Jade smacked his lips in disappointment. He recalled a passage from the setting book—“The young Ian often survived winter by digging up roots from the frozen woods.”

Well, it seemed there would soon be one more person joining him in that miserable diet.

Grrrnnn—

Another loud growl broke the silence, followed by a muttered curse so faint Jade barely caught it. For such a cold, noble-looking child, Ian had quite the temper. His pale cheeks flushed an even deeper red, like ripe cherries.

There was something oddly endearing about it. Hiding a grin, Jade descended the rest of the stairs. A new task had presented itself.

“I’ll go find some food.”

There wasn’t a single edible thing in the villa. That meant he’d have to go outside to look for it.

Saying it was easy—doing it was another matter. The blizzard outside looked like death itself. Through the frosted windows, all he could see was a vast expanse of white and whirling snow.

“What could I even find in that…”

Crossing his arms, he propped his chin on his hand, tapping his temple in thought. Hunting was out of the question—he had no weapon, no skill, and no experience. Gathering crops in the dead of winter? Impossible.

Then, suddenly—

>> System <<
Would you like to acquire an exclusive skill?

“Oh?”

A glimmer of hope lit Jade’s face. A skill? Finally, something useful!

In Night of Blood, players could unlock skill trees for survival—stealth, combat, even magic. He doubted he could learn the high-level ones, not being a true player, but anything was better than nothing.

>> System <<
YES or NO

Quickly, Jade turned his back so Ian wouldn’t notice his strange behavior. The boy couldn’t see the system screen anyway, but just in case, Jade didn’t want to look insane poking the air.

He jabbed his finger at YES and waited with nervous anticipation.

Whatever it was, he’d take it. A skill that could summon food or locate herbs would be a godsend right now.

The next line appeared.

>> Exclusive Skill Activated <<
Lv 1. Identify Poisonous Mushrooms

…You’ve got to be kidding me.

Jade barely managed to keep the curse in his throat. His “exclusive skill” was to tell poisonous mushrooms apart.

His item was a mop, and his skill was… mushroom identification.
The system clearly had a personal vendetta against him.

This goddamn game really is mocking me.

Having played Night of Blood countless times in his past life, Jade knew just how incredible the player skills usually were.

In the original game, players used skills to counter supernatural events—possessions, cursed objects, monsters. They had combat arts, spells, and exorcism tools.

And him? He got mushrooms.

“Mushrooms…”

He muttered blankly, defeated. Sure, it could be useful—maybe. Food was scarce, and knowing which mushrooms were edible could mean survival. But still, it was painfully, insultingly mundane.

And in this endless snowfield? What mushrooms could possibly be growing?

Then again… the appearance of the skill did imply that mushrooms existed somewhere nearby. The system wouldn’t offer an irrelevant ability. Mushrooms were still better than tree roots.

Conveniently, a rusted trowel leaned against the doorframe.

“Well, whatever works.”

“……”

Ian gave him a look that could have frozen hell itself. Jade ignored it.

With no outerwear to speak of, he tore down an old curtain and wrapped it around himself like a makeshift cloak, grabbing the trowel on his way to the door. The freezing air seeped through the cracks before he even opened it.

“I’ll be back soon—holy hell, it’s cold!”

The moment he pushed the door open, a wall of icy wind slammed into him. But he had made a promise. He couldn’t back down now.

He might’ve been unlucky, but at least he was stubborn.

“Ahem. I’ll be back. I’ll find something, one way or another.”

Drawing a deep breath, Jade stepped outside into the blizzard. Behind him, Ian followed to the foot of the stairs, lingering there with a hesitant expression—not so much worry as suspicion.

Why did he look so distrustful? Jade simply waved cheerfully and grinned.

“If there’s nothing out there, we’ll just eat snow!”

Thunk.

The heavy door closed, cutting off the howling wind. Silence fell again within the villa.

Ian stood motionless, staring at the closed door, the echo of Jade’s voice fading into the cold.

“……”

The air felt heavier now, the chill sharper. The silence, usually tolerable, pressed down on him. Slowly, Ian padded to the nearest window and stood on tiptoe to peer out.

At twelve years old, Ian was much smaller than other children his age. Years of malnutrition had stunted his growth. Even on tiptoe, he barely reached the windowsill.

Through the frost-blurred glass, he could faintly make out Jade’s figure trudging into the snow, shovel in hand.

“There aren’t any edible mushrooms,” Ian murmured.

He knew because he had tried. Starving and desperate, he had dug through the snow many times before. But nothing survived this kind of cold. The few mushrooms he’d found had all been poisonous. That was why he hadn’t eaten in two days.

The Linwood family still sent supplies occasionally—but only once a month, and in small, pitiful quantities. Worse, the previous attendants had hoarded most of it, giving Ian only a few potatoes or scraps of stale rye bread.

Even for his small frame, it had never been enough to last a month. Hunger had become his constant companion, but fear was worse—fear that one day, the food would stop coming altogether.

Would any arrive next month?

He already knew the answer.

The Linwood family wanted him dead.

His father, the former Duke, had fallen ill when Ian was five. His uncle had moved into the estate shortly after, under the guise of “helping.” That was when the abuse began.

When his father died, his uncle used Ian’s frail health as an excuse to banish him here—to this frozen northern edge of the empire. His cousin, Cain, had already been adopted as the new heir.

Ian knew his fate. In this barren wasteland where life itself froze, he would die.

And though he was still a child, death didn’t frighten him. What troubled him more was the waiting.

His emotionless father had been the same—calm, detached, and silent.

“Be… back soon…”

Ian whispered the words Jade had said earlier, mimicking them quietly.

But somehow, when he said them, they felt entirely different.