Chapter 58
Hansel moved as if passing through the bedroom of a sleeping giant, holding her breath and stepping cautiously one step at a time. It wasn’t long before her pace quickened, and she broke into a sprint.
The sound of her small feet hitting the wooden floor echoed through the hallway. The creaking of the old wooden corridor felt like the shrill alarm of a watchman announcing her escape. Hansel gritted her teeth and ran until she reached the staircase.
Two flights of stairs. That’s all it takes.
Her plan was simple: grab a coat and shoes from the entryway, snatch a baguette from the dining room, and run. She had to stay light to move quickly.
I can’t use magic, so once I’m out of the house, there’s no way he can catch me…
“……”
Hansel came to an abrupt stop, frozen in place on the last half-landing of the staircase.
She remained poised mid-step, one hand lightly gripping the banister to keep from toppling forward. Her heart pounded furiously, as though it might burst from her chest. Even as her small chest heaved with the exertion and anxiety, she couldn’t bring herself to take another step.
It was as if she had passed by something she must not overlook. Or as if she had seen something she should never have looked at. Her feet felt glued to the floor.
Did I… did I see that right?
Hansel’s head creaked as it turned slowly back.
Her gaze fell on the wall beside the stairs—specifically, on the portraits hung there. Three portraits, aligned diagonally at eye level, stared back at her.
“Dante…?”
In the center portrait, a young Dante sat. He looked about five or six years old.
His expression was as stoic as it was now, but his neatly combed hair and chubby cheeks gave him the unmistakable appearance of a child. Dressed in fine clothes and seated on a gilded chair, he exuded an air of dignity.
But the issue wasn’t Dante himself—it was the attire and the people flanking him in the portrait. Hansel recognized them instantly.
“That’s… the Herodt family uniform.”
Twenty years ago, the Herodt family, whose bloodline had ruled over magic for centuries, had been wiped out overnight. The fall of the Herodt family had paved the way for the rise of the Arsinoe family—Hansel’s family.
And the uniform worn by the young Dante unmistakably belonged to the Herodt family.
Hansel’s gaze slowly traced up the painting. Her eyes landed on Dante’s father, and her neck bristled with a chill.
It was Dante. Not just a resemblance—he was identical. Except this Dante didn’t wear the blank, puppet-like expression she knew. His face was filled with confidence, even arrogance, as he smiled.
Even at a glance, she could tell. This man wasn’t the broken, expressionless Dante who went around decorating his Gingerbread House.
“What… what is this? Why do all the faces look like Dante…?”
In the portrait on the upper right was another Dante—this one appearing middle-aged, about forty. His face bore the weight of wisdom and dignity, a seasoned man in his prime. To his side, another Dante, an older knight with an imposing presence, sat astride a white horse.
A wave of goosebumps crawled up her spine, as if ants were marching between her ribs.
“That’s clothing from a hundred years ago…”
The uniform worn by the middle-aged Dante was that of a Herodt family head from a century prior. The knightly armor worn by the elderly Dante was crafted using techniques from 300 years ago. These were outfits you’d only find in history books.
A chill swept down Hansel’s back, draining all the color from her cheeks.
She stumbled backward, her gaze locked on the portraits as if putting physical distance between herself and them could somehow distance her from the horrific, incomprehensible truth they conveyed.
Creaking with every step, Hansel finally turned and bolted.
I have to get out. Right now.
Her mind blared with warnings, bright and red like Dante’s piercing gaze.
Hansel could hardly recall how she reached the front door. She grabbed a red cloak from the parlor, threw it over her shoulders, and dashed out.
She sprinted across the garden, grabbing and shaking at the gingerbread fence until one section gave way with a creak. It was the same spot where Dante had once quickly stopped her from loitering.
Gripping the rounded top of the section, Hansel shook it desperately until the rusty hinges finally gave out with a pop. The gate swung open, and without a backward glance, she darted into the forest.
Hansel, clad in her red cloak, left the gingerbread house behind.
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