Chapter 3: The Earl of Gryan

The Gryan Estate was a centuries-old mansion, said to be the very place where the first Earl Gryan was assassinated.

When Evelyn opened the car door and jumped down from the old limousine, the skies were unleashing a downpour.

A streak of lightning split the clouds at the horizon, cold blue light flashing across the bat sculptures perched beneath the eaves of the old manor.

“Looks exactly like a discount haunted house.”

Evelyn popped open her black umbrella and tilted her head to look up at the manor.

This place should be the final stop in the chain of demonic incidents across Ingrey City that she was currently investigating.

If she could handle this case well, then one month later at the Sanctification Ceremony, she would ascend into the Choir as its lowest-ranked member.

If she really managed that, she would probably become the fastest Sin-Sister in history to ever join the Choir.

Only four months, start to finish.

Even greasing wheels wouldn’t work that fast.

But then again, who in their right mind would use connections just to become a Sin-Sister with a sixty-three percent death rate?

Were they tired of living?

Evelyn certainly didn’t feel her own life was that sturdy.

If not for escaping her forced marriage, she never would’ve gone insane enough to join the Church.

Being a useless rich daughter, waiting to eat and die, wasn’t that much better?

The iron gate ahead creaked open just a sliver, metal scraping with a tooth-aching sound.

A tiny maid in a traditional uniform peeked out, clutching an umbrella bigger than her whole body, looking timid enough to shake in the wind.

“E-Excuse me… Are you the Sister from the Church… who came to exorcise…?”

The maid poked her head through the bars.

Under her tea-colored fringe was a face covered in freckles, every word trembling and stuttered.

“I am.”

Before this little one, Evelyn maintained the proper appearance of a refined Sister:

Not deranged, not sloppy.

Gentle and demure, glasses perched properly upon her nose, hiding the sharp light in her eyes.

She had already phoned ahead to inform the Gryan Estate of her arrival and purpose.

Otherwise—even as a Sin-Sister—she would likely be blocked at the gate.

After all, an Earl was still an Earl.

Even in decline, not someone a low-ranking Sin-Sister could just waltz in on.

“O-Oh!”

The maid brightened instantly and pushed the gate fully open.

“I’ll take you inside—young master is waiting for you.”

Lightning flashed again, turning her face ghost-white.

“Thank you.”

Evelyn smiled gently, the blue in her eyes glinting like sapphires swallowed by the night.

Rain hammered against her umbrella, a dull drumming.

Pudgy the blue dumb-crow huddled beneath the spokes, rolling his eyes so hard they might fall out.

This woman’s acting skills—put her in a theater and she’d be a headline star.

If Pudgy didn’t know her true personality, he might actually be fooled by all this graceful purity.

A single flick of Evelyn’s finger knocked him on the head.

Stars burst in his vision.

The Gryan Estate covered an immense amount of land.

Just by its scale and the traces of its old interior grandeur, one could imagine how magnificent it must have been during the Gryan family’s golden age.

But those days were long gone.

The Gryans had been declining for over forty years.

Now, unless you were one of the old relics of society, you would never have seen this residence in its prime.

The hallway lights weren’t fully lit.

Only a few lamps gave off what little glow they could.

Dozens of half-opened windows shook under the storm, and sheer white curtains fluttered like dancers swirling in the dark.

Poetic, yes.

But in truth—an unlit corridor with white curtains whipping about, storm howling outside, shadows swallowing the halls…

It looked exactly like the scene in a low-budget horror film right before a jump scare.

“Young master is inside.”

The maid stopped before a heavy wooden door.

This was likely the study.

Just a door now separated Evelyn from that so-called Earl.

“Thank you for leading the way.”

Evelyn smiled again, placing her hand on the wood.

Just a light push, and she would meet her betrothed face-to-face for the first time.

Before joining the Church, Evelyn had already collected information about him.

Back then, she was still desperately plotting how to avoid the arranged marriage.

The Gryan family had begun its decline forty years ago.

At that time, her own father—Earl Nidhogg—had led the rise of the New Nobles, pushing out the old aristocracy from wealth and power.

The Gryans, with royal blood and even the right of succession, had fallen from glory.

Their vast estate lay mostly abandoned.

Servants dismissed.

All that remained were a handful of maids to care for the current Earl.

Later, the old Earl Gryan tried to restore the family’s prestige.

Instead—he died mysteriously.

Only his frail son, Cyril, remained.

Judging from the state of the house, this Cyril wasn’t much of a “revival of family honor” type.

Half the lights shut off in an effort to save electricity—did that even cover the cost of a single cheap meal?

Evelyn could actually understand why, though.

The New Nobles owned industries.

They were swimming in money.

Their factories pushed technology forward at a shocking pace.

This world, although culturally similar to Earth’s Victorian Europe…

Its tech tree was already pushed somewhere around late-WWII.

Give them a few years and someone might build ENIAC.

Or maybe a difference engine.

Honestly, this world might just go full steampunk.

Anyway—New Nobles rich as gods.

Old Nobles? Not so much.

They lost their lands, their privileges, their income.

Now many could barely afford food.

Poor old aristocracy.

She’d also heard that Cyril was sickly.

Rarely seen in public.

Rumors said he was too weak to even stand.

Always in a wheelchair.

Others whispered he was hideously deformed, monstrous in appearance—that was why he never showed his face.

Evelyn rolled her eyes.

Whatever.

Worst case scenario—she’d slap a “demon-possessed” charge on him and shoot him on the spot.

And you want to marry me—ha!

Like hell.

“Creak—”

She pushed the door open.

The wind battered the curtains again, white cloth dancing like a ghost at the window.

“Hello?”

A pale head popped up from behind a green-shaded desk lamp.

The lamp blocked half his face, and his voice trembled—weak, frail, like he was on the verge of death.

Even though this was her first time seeing him, Evelyn recognized immediately:

This must be Cyril Gryan, the current Earl.

But—

She didn’t respond.

Her eyes roamed the room.

How cheap could this guy be?!

Such a huge study—and only one lamp turned on?!

Was he not afraid of tripping in the dark and ascending straight to heaven?

“H-Hello?”

The boy asked again, nervous, stretching his neck like a wary rabbit.

“Hello. I am Sister Evelyn from the Church—the one who called earlier.”

Evelyn restrained the urge to draw her gun then and there.

She performed the proper church greeting—even if he couldn’t see it in the dim light.

“May I assume you are Lord Gryan?”

She walked closer, forcing a gentle tone.

“You really are—quite the fine…”

Words stuck in her throat.

The moment his face passed into the lamp’s glow, Evelyn’s pupils contracted sharply.

“…gentleman…”

The boy looked sixteen or seventeen.

He was curled up in a silver wheelchair.

Hair white as plaster.

Skin whiter still—like a burial shroud.

Only his eyes were color—black as ink.

And—he wasn’t hideous at all.

He was actually… handsome.

Which was not the part that stunned Evelyn.

After a year as a Sin-Sister, she’d seen every kind of bizarre creature.

A pale boy was nothing.

No—the reason she froze was because—

She had seen his face before.

Impossible.

Neither the original Evelyn nor herself had ever met him.

Then why did he feel familiar?

“Um…”

Cyril shrank back, only stopping when his spine hit the chair—terrified.

“Did I frighten you…?”

He covered his black eyes, thinking his unnatural color had scared her.

After all, in this world, black irises were considered a sign of demon fortune.

“No, no. You misunderstand.”

Evelyn answered with practiced gentleness.

“Black eyes attracting demons is nothing but superstition.”

Though her inner voice screamed:

Where the hell have I seen him?!

Why can’t I remember?!

Is this early-onset dementia?!

“Oh… I see…”

Cyril nodded shyly.

“Right.”

Evelyn clapped softly, resuming the role of serene sister.

“Lord Gryan, have there been any strange incidents here recently?”

To hunt demons, one must first confirm: the type, the level of possession—whether a demon is even present.

But Evelyn was already sure there was at least one demon in this manor.

Not only because Pudgy was extremely sensitive to them.

Her instincts screamed the same.

A place like this—haunted-house chic—who wouldn’t believe a demon lurked inside?

“Strange incidents?”

Cyril shook his head.

“No. Everything has been perfectly normal.”

Perfectly normal?

Evelyn immediately recognized a lie.

This entire manor—massive—inhabited by less than ten people.

Most areas shut down, lights off everywhere.

Any sane human living here would spook themselves at least once a night.

And from Cyril’s behavior, he clearly wasn’t the brave type.

Which meant—

Something was off.

Evelyn pinched the bridge of her glasses, mind already shifting.

“No abnormalities? In that case…”

She feigned hesitation.

“For safety’s sake, may I take a look around the manor myself?”

“Look around?”

Cyril nodded slowly.

“I suppose that’s fine, but…”

“But?”

“My condition… I can’t move very easily…”

He tapped the metal frame of his wheelchair.

“So I won’t be able to accompany you. If you’d like, I can have one of the maids show you around.”

“A maid? Then—”

Evelyn almost refused, but abruptly changed her mind.

“Have the girl who brought me in just now lead me.”

“Vivian?”

Cyril touched his chin, then nodded.

“She’s right outside the door. Just tell her when you’re ready.”