Chapter 1
In this world, every great family possesses mysterious powers. These powers are not chosen by people; instead, the powers themselves decide who is worthy to be their master. The stones that hold these powers awaken only for the capable, binding themselves to their chosen one. For generations, these stones have belonged only to the grand families. This is why the wealthy marry only among themselves—to keep those powers within their bloodline.
Children born into these families grow up far from the struggles of ordinary people. They are trained in swordsmanship, in combat, and in all the arts of nobility. They live with pride, untouched by the reality of common lives.
But my story is different. I had no family. I lived alone, earning my living with my own hands. I painted. Painting was my only skill, my only hobby, and the only way I could make a little money. I was not perfect at it, but it was enough. I never cared what others had or how powerful they were—what was mine would always be useful to me, and that was enough.
That day, the city was restless. A high-ranking family was arriving for inspection. People said they were merciless, arrogant, and cruel. And yet, whenever people of status visited the city, ordinary folk like us had no choice but to watch silently, reminded of how small we were in their eyes.
The sound of hooves echoed through the streets. I stepped out of my small home, and my eyes caught the sight of their horses—majestic creatures, draped in royal ornaments. Upon them sat men and women in splendid attire, calm and composed, as though the city itself existed only for their inspection.
They halted before the mansion of a wealthy merchant. I kept my distance, but for the first time, I saw an opportunity. My heart raced with excitement—I had never seen such fine horses up close. Their eyes were deep, their bodies strong, though one bore faint scars on its face. It looked at me with a gentleness that surprised me.
I sat at the corner of the road, quietly painting, my brush dancing with eagerness. A few children gathered around, marveling at my work. But soon their parents pulled them away, glaring at me with disgust. “Stay away from that devil,” they whispered harshly.
Devil. That was the name they had given me. I never understood why. I only painted in silence, letting the world’s cruelty brush past me.
Moments later, the high-ranking nobles stepped out of the merchant’s house. Their expressions were cold, unbothered by the sight of people kneeling before them. The merchant followed behind, falling at their feet, begging for mercy.
The nobleman’s voice was calm, yet every word felt like a blade:
“Deliver all the goods by tomorrow. If you fail, your daughter will remain our servant forever.”
I froze. Soldiers dragged the merchant’s daughter into their carriage. Her cries for help pierced the air, but not a single person dared to move. The street was filled with people, yet it felt as though everyone had turned into lifeless statues.
I kept painting. Not out of courage, but out of fear—I knew I was nothing in front of them. But then, something strange happened.
I felt a gaze upon me. Slowly, I lifted my head. The nobleman himself was staring at me—and at my painting. His eyes were calm, almost angelic, and his hair danced with the breeze. For a moment, his presence felt otherworldly.
“Did you paint this?” His voice was soft, but it shook me from within.
I froze. My heart pounded as I stood up nervously, unsure whether to answer or run. Had I done something wrong? Why had I painted here? What if he punished me? What if he made me his servant?
And then, the very thing I feared happened.
He looked at his soldiers and said with quiet command, “Take this one as well.”
Before I could protest, strong hands grabbed me. I shouted desperately, “No! I don’t want to go! I don’t need to serve someone like you!” But my voice meant nothing. I was thrown into the carriage beside the merchant’s daughter.
I tried with all my strength to open the door, but it was useless. Defeated, I sank into silence.
Strangely, I felt two things at once. Sadness—for I had lost my freedom. And a faint spark of happiness—because for the first time in my life, I was about to step into the world of the great families.
But this was not the home I had dreamed of. It was the house of the cruel.
