The Attendant in the Horror Game C49

Chapter 49

“Are you really going to do this?”

“Myaang!”

“You didn’t even look at it when it was in the storage room!”

In truth, ever since hatching, Soondol had not once shown interest in its box. It had remained abandoned in the storage room.

“Myaak…! Kaak!”

But now Soondol had opened the lid, climbed inside, and sprawled out. Its tail hung over the edge of the box, swaying left and right in satisfaction.

“All right, all right.”

“Mya…”

If the rightful owner didn’t want it sold, he couldn’t possibly pawn it off. No matter how desperate he was for money, he wasn’t heartless.

Besides, Soondol was the one who had to remain by Ian’s side once Jade left. With such a heavy responsibility waiting for him, Jade had no desire to take away something the creature wanted.

“I won’t sell the box. Should I put it back in the storage room?”

“Myang! Myang!”

“…This part is okay, though?”

As soon as Jade stopped trying to take the box, Soondol pointed insistently at the clasp on the lid.

“Myang!”

It was that claw-shaped clasp that reminded Jade of a dragon’s talon. He had targeted the box for its hardware; the clasp alone looked like it could sell for a good price.

With tiny front paws crossed smugly, Soondol lifted his chin as if to say, Obviously. That piece is worth a fortune.

“You said it yourself, okay? I’m taking it because you agreed.”

“Myang!”

“You’re sure this time?”

“Myang!”

After confirming twice, Jade removed the clasp. The dragon-talon-like piece slipped neatly into his pocket. The box itself was bulky and difficult to carry anyway—this was for the best.

“Jade.”

While Jade was finishing the last of his preparations, Ian called quietly. He had finished getting ready for their trip and was hiding something behind his back.

“Ian, are you all set?”

“Yes. But… I have something to give you.”

“Give me? A gift? Really?”

Jade joked lightly. He knew better than anyone that Ian had nothing to spare. Their lifestyle was closer to survival than comfort. Jade knew the mansion’s circumstances inside and out; he had no expectations of receiving anything.

“Yes.”

“…Pardon?”

Ian nodded seriously. It really was a gift.

Jade wondered what on earth it could be. There was nothing in the mansion Jade didn’t already know about. What could Ian possibly give him?

Just then, Ian slowly brought forward the object he had been hiding.

“This is…”

“You’ve been hurt several times because of me.”

“…”

“It’s a gift. Please take it.”

What Ian handed him was the heirloom sword he had inherited from his father.

The night before, Ian had lain awake in bed, running his fingers along the blade, thinking endlessly.

He had to give Jade something.
Jade had saved his life twice—each time getting injured because of Ian.

Nothing in the world came without a price; that was the rule Ian knew. People only gave when they wanted something back or when they had an ulterior motive. Every kindness demanded an equivalent exchange.

Ian wanted Jade’s kindness to continue.

He wanted to keep hearing the chopping of vegetables from the kitchen, smelling warm food, feeling Jade’s hand fixing his messy hair. He wanted tomorrow and the day after to be the same. He wanted the gentle rise and fall in Jade’s voice when he read storybooks, the new dishes he created every day.

If he wanted that warmth to stay, he needed to offer something in return. And all Ian truly possessed was this sword—the only thing he had taken from the main mansion.

His father had never particularly liked Ian. It wasn’t hatred or contempt—just indifference. The sword wasn’t sentimental inheritance; it was simply a portable, practical relic among what his father left behind.

Ian had not done anything wrong—his father simply lacked the capacity to feel for others at all, even his own child.

Still, while his father lived, Ian’s life had been comfortable. As the duke’s only son and heir, he had received the best education, the best clothes, the best meals.

His room had been filled with expensive decor and glittering chandeliers, though Ian barely remembered anything beyond the lifeless luxury and suffocating emptiness.

After his father died when Ian was five, everything changed.

His uncle, though not smart, was obsessed with power. The day he arrived with his son at the mansion, Ian instinctively understood that his old life was over.

His residence was moved from the main building to an annex. His servants were replaced. He began suffering many “accidents”—all caused by others.

Everyone believed the uncle would become the next duke. Servants, nobles—everyone scrambled to win favor. Ian became a thorn in their side.

He lived with the awareness that he could die any day. An assassin could break in while he slept, or poison could be mixed into his meals. He used to think those things every time he ate or drank.

His uncle never used such obvious methods—not because of mercy, but because he understood public suspicion would fall on him immediately.

That didn’t lessen Ian’s fear.
So he slept clutching the sword every night.
If he couldn’t trust people, he could trust steel.

The handle had become polished smooth from his constant grip.

“Take it.”

When Jade hesitated, unsure if he should accept, Ian raised the sword higher. Jade stepped back and refused.

“It looks very valuable. Please, keep it.”

Jade could not bring himself to take it, because he knew exactly what that sword represented.

It appeared in the game’s lore—this was the blade used to kill the attendants. The sword that eventually killed Jade.

“You don’t know what will happen on the road. Use it if it gets dangerous.”

“I already packed a weapon. It’s fine.”

He proudly lifted the mansion’s sole kitchen knife—the one he cooked with daily. Ian stared at it with a pitying expression, shaking his head slightly as if wondering how Jade had survived this long.

“You can’t… kill anyone with that.”

“R-right…”

So that’s what he meant—killing someone…

Jade answered calmly, but his lips trembled. He’d thought of the knife only as a deterrent, not a tool for killing.

The kitchen knife couldn’t kill—but the heirloom sword could. Jade, who knew the game’s story, forced a stiff smile.

“It’s just—it’s such a precious item…”

“You can sell it. It’ll fetch a high price. Weren’t you planning to sell things in the village?”

“Well, yes, but…”

Was this a trap?

In the game, the original Jade died because of this blade—caught stealing it to sell.

“Why won’t you take it?”

“…Then I’ll gratefully accept it.”

Unable to endure Ian’s suspicious gaze, Jade reluctantly took the sword.

The moment he held it, he understood why the original Jade had coveted it. The white hilt, the sheath, the delicate gold engravings, the elegant motifs, the embedded rubies… Anyone could see it was valuable.

A particularly large ruby was set into the pommel, its bright red color reminiscent of a droplet of blood. His neck prickled with cold.

How many times had the original Jade been stabbed with this?
Of the three attendants, he had died the most brutally.

“It seems like a waste to sell it.”

He made a point of clarifying that he had no plans to sell it. Ian said he could, but Jade’s memories of the game pushed him to reassure him first.

He pulled the blade from its sheath. The polished silver edge gleamed sharply. It was unnerving to imagine a child killing with such a small dagger—but the truth couldn’t be denied.

Then he noticed it—dried blood still clinging near the base of the blade.

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

He quickly sheathed it and hid it inside his coat. If he kept staring at it, he felt like he might faint.

“I—I really like it. It’s a beautiful sword.”

“Yes…”

Ian blushed faintly, rubbing beneath his eye. He looked almost fairy-like in that moment.

Could this be real?
The innocent face of a child giving a sword soaked with past killings—it didn’t match at all. He looked too angelic, enough to make Jade momentarily doubt the lore. But the bloodstain he had seen was unmistakably real.

Think positively, Jade told himself.

It was, after all, a sincere gift. Valuable, too. Despite the fear, Jade felt oddly touched. It had been so long since anyone gifted him anything.

He gently touched the sword tucked against his chest.