The Attendant in the Horror Game C40

Chapter 40

From the endless northern snowfields to the southern emerald plains, the empire’s lands stretched wide and far. A mighty nation fortified by military power, diplomacy, and trade—this was the Bilheim Empire.

At its center lay the imperial capital. Towering spires pierced the sky, the golden palace shone brilliantly at the heart, and broad avenues paved not with dirt but with brick cut straight through the plaza.

In the center of that plaza stood a massive statue, surrounded by rows of opulent shops. It was a sight impossible to see anywhere but Bilheim.

The empire was years ahead of its ally nations in development. And the family that ran Bilheim’s greatest trading conglomerate was none other than House Linwood.

The Linwood Trading Group operated two major guilds: the Armament Guild and the Trade Guild.

The Armament Guild supplied armor, battle gear, swords, spears, and even large-scale war weapons to the Imperial Army. Everyone from the Imperial Guard to high-ranking nobles wielded Linwood-made blades.

But the Trade Guild was the true source of the Linwood family’s wealth. Its trade routes extended far beyond the empire into other continents, and every merchant vessel entering or leaving the empire passed through Linwood-controlled routes.

Linwood carriages and ships crisscrossed every corner of the continent. There was even a joke that there was no land where the Linwood flag didn’t fly.

With the wealth these two guilds generated, House Linwood amassed staggering power—enough that it reached far beyond the empire and into allied nations.

They moved the empire’s economy through trade, and strengthened the empire’s military power through arms.

Naturally, anyone bearing the Linwood name coveted the position of head of the family.

As with any large family, there was never a day without internal strife. Linwood brothers and even distant relatives were always at odds, desperately seeking weaknesses in one another.

“I truly love this place.”

Malderic Linwood murmured contentedly as he leaned back in a high-backed chair, holding a teacup. He visited the headquarters of the Trade Guild—located near the main Linwood estate—every day from morning to evening. It was his way of reminding everyone that he would soon be the master of this place.

The headquarters building was a massive five-story structure—second only to the main estate in size and splendor. The bustling workforce and the tall, ornate ceilings always gave Malderic a sense of security.

“So, you’re telling me the brat is still alive?”

Malderic, sitting with one leg crossed and Victor standing before him, tapped his foot lightly as he asked. The seat he occupied now should have belonged first to his deceased brother, and then to Ian. But he was the one sitting here now. That was all that mattered.

“Yes. They say his health isn’t good, but I couldn’t confirm it myself.”

“Of course he’s sickly. What else would that weak brat be good for in the northern wastes? That boy was useless since he was a baby. He’s not even worth worrying about.”

Malderic smirked. In his mind, the image of his nephew was that of a helpless insect—something easily crushed.

Yes. The day he would take over House Linwood was near. How long he had waited for this moment, how much he had prepared. Just imagining it sent a thrill through him.

Malderic had lived in his older brother’s shadow all his life. Despite sharing the same blood, his brother became Duke and family head, while he received only land as inheritance.

Of course, the land he inherited was vast. He had jewels, servants, and more wealth than most nobles could imagine. As a Linwood by birth, riches naturally followed.

But human greed had no end. He couldn’t be satisfied with land and gold.

The Linwood business rights were passed only to the eldest son. Malderic had always felt wronged by that.

What use was wealth he was born into? True power lay in influence—the kind that made even the emperor bow his head.

He never realized the truth: he wasn’t excluded from succession because he was the second son, but because he lacked the competence to lead.

In his youth, Malderic had been deeply envious of his brother. His brother was respected in politics and society alike. Malderic was tolerated only because he carried the Linwood name.

His brother was handsome and dignified. Malderic, on the other hand, was short, balding, and possessed of a dull brownish-blonde hair that lacked luster. And his hairline receded more each year.

Their personalities were opposites as well—his brother cool and reserved, Malderic hot-tempered and loud. No wonder people avoided him except when necessary.

And so he blamed everything on the position of family head. Power—everyone loved his brother because he held power. Malderic believed this wholeheartedly, abandoning reason and sinking deeper into delusion.

Finally, the opportunity came. The day his brother died, Malderic knew it was his time.

There was much to do. Using Ian’s young age as justification, he submitted a petition to the Noble Council to claim guardianship. Then, he had his own son adopted into his brother’s lineage.

His son, Cain, was now eighteen—a legal adult. Even if Malderic somehow failed to become family head after Ian’s death, Cain could inherit as the adopted heir.

Despite his usual carelessness, Malderic had planned this for years. He sent away the loyal steward under pretense of retirement, reassigned the knight captain to the far south, dismissed long-time guild managers, and forged and destroyed his brother’s will.

Step by step, everything was falling into place.

“You’re not worried?”

“About what?”

Malderic flicked his ear with one hand and shook his teacup carelessly, spilling tea onto his large belly.

“He’s lasted longer than we expected.”

“Ian? That useless kid? What’s there to worry about?”

Malderic scoffed.

The twelve-year-old wasn’t even worth his attention. The real obstacle was the imperial family.

The imperial court was wary of the Linwoods’ growing power. They seemed almost pleased that the position of Duke remained vacant.

Everyone knew Malderic hungered for the title. He couldn’t kill Ian outright—not yet. It would draw attention immediately.

He needed to secure his position first. A helpless little brat left to rot in the north was hardly his concern.

“For a brat…”

But Victor disagreed.

Two attendants had already disappeared, and the current one hadn’t finished the job either. It disturbed Victor. A child who was expected to die within a month had survived nearly a year.

“And that attendant you sent recently—”

“Oh, that petty thief.”

“Why didn’t you hire a professional?”

Victor’s voice lowered. There was something deeply suspicious about the new servant.

He wasn’t sent to serve Ian—he was ordered to kill him. And yet after three months, there had been no news from the north.

A simple task—kill a child—should have brought the assassin his promised reward. But instead, there was nothing. Victor found that unacceptable.

“Professionals are a headache. They try to blackmail you after the job’s done. They don’t know their place and demand more. Petty thieves are easier. Stupid, too.”

“You don’t even know his true background. This isn’t like you.”

“A thief is less likely to scheme. Bold types always think too much. Petty ones are easier to handle—and easier to dispose of later.”

“But—”

Even so, the man had lasted nearly three months in the north.

The north was not a place where the weak survived. And the attendant looked like someone who would struggle simply to stay alive.

That was exactly why Malderic chose him. Once the job was done, the thief would be easy to eliminate. Professionals were a bigger problem.

“Relax, Victor. The emperor is itching for an excuse to attack us. Everything has to look natural. You get it? Natural.”

Both adoption and guardianship required approval from the Noble Council and the imperial family. No one openly opposed him—most nobles bought Linwood weapons, after all. And the imperial family received generous donations.

But nobles were masters of smiling while concealing malice. Many were simply waiting for Malderic to make a mistake.

“I’ll go to the north myself again.”

“Why bother? He’ll die anyway.”

“It bothers me. You need to cut dangerous sprouts early.”

“You worry too much. That’s your problem.”

Malderic clicked his tongue, swirling his teacup lazily.

Maybe it was excessive worry. But Victor felt unsettled. The servant’s eyes were what bothered him. He seemed obedient enough—but never once showed fear in Victor’s presence.

Victor had seen that look before. In men too stubborn, too resilient, too hard to kill.

“I’ll go.”

“Fine, fine. Do as you want.”

Malderic waved his hand dismissively.

“Send someone else, though. You’ve got work to do.”

“Yes.”

Victor bowed. In his mind, several names passed by—candidates who could be sent north in his stead.