Rokah slowly moved his head to the source of the jasmine scent. All the kind of thought stormed like a tornado in his head when his eyes fell on the person who blocked the entrance. His eyes widened in response to what was going inside his body. A lot of footsteps were lurking behind his back and Rokah saw the shadow of three or four maids standing outside.

Like a monument from an ancient civilization, high and mighty, a man leaned on the border of the entrance with his left shoulder crossing his arms in front of his chest. And his head was slightly inclined to the left. The look on his face was closer to the fatigue than to the irritation. He called the Magus by his name in a depressed voice: "Seaben… calm down, I could hear you from the other end of the house…"

When the Count noticed the Rokah halted at the edge of his visual field. He adjusted the position of his head to have a clear view of him. The weary features on his face changed to a mix of curiosity and wonder, then he returned his focus to the man who was yelling at Rokah a second ago and asked: "What is the problem?"

From the corner of his eyes, Rokah observed the butler. He saw him getting straight and elevating his left forearm to his waist, then bowing slightly. This courtesy posture confirmed his conception of this man. This was then the lord of this manor and the owner of this village. Rokah quickly concentrated his attention on where his lordship stood, hardly oppressed by this grin of solace. It seemed that fate started to smile at him.

Yet this trance of triumph didn't last long. Rokah gasped in shock when their stares intertwined and locked him in a fastened, invisible cage. He was closely observing him with his deep, dark crimson eyes. His tied lips and prominence yet not threatening gaze made Rokah's heart flutter in distress, yet He couldn't avert his eyes or move his frozen limbs.

The Count slowly walked toward him while his arms still crossed. The look of curiosity on his visage intensified. And without getting closer, he stopped halfway listening to his butler's explanation: "As I told you before, my lord, this is one of Hendrickson puppets. I am sure of it."

The Count briefly looked at his butler with puzzled eyes, then he looked at Rokah. It was a rapid head motion repeated two times. The Count's expression has gotten lighter for some reasons while commenting: "One of Nicolai puppets? Really? I have never seen him before. Are certain?"

"Yes, sir..." the butler confirmed without hesitation.

The Counted stared at Rokah more intensely and started to walk in his direction again. But this time Rokah was extra concerned about what they were talking about.

Puppets?

Hendrickson?

"What the hell are they talking about? There must be a kind of profound misunderstanding going on. There was nothing between me and Mr. Hendrickson…" Rokah wanted badly to voice his concern. He knew it. Getting involved with that person was a terrible choice…

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"I told you, sir, you are giving him a lot of freedom, and he was all this time working behind your back..."

The lord waved with his hand to shut him up, then he stared at Rokah. This time, it was different. It felt like a repulsive force pushing Rokah's consciousness out, making his scalp virtually tear from its roots. He felt that these crimson eyes were trying to drown him in a deep red sea while he couldn't swim because his limbs were drugged.

This state of mind lasted for seconds, but for Rokah, it felt as if it was an eternity. As soon as he returned to his senses, he found himself standing in the same place. The butler on his left, halting like a guard, and the Lord sitting on the chair behind the desk. His left cheek was in the palm of his left hand while he was playing with the inkwell with his right hand. He sighed a few times while making different expressions and finally; he dropped the inkwell on papers and remained in his position, ruminating at the ink while it gradually ate the whiteness of the tinted papers.

He raised his head to see the face of his butler, then he spoke in a soft voice: "Maybe you are right! I have given him so much freedom, a freedom more than he deserves. But I can't give a judgment on him before I will listen to his part of the story."

He pressed his thumb on the black stained paper till its tips turned white from the obliteration of blood circulation while continuing: "You were right Seaben, I became a little bit careless because he was docile these few weeks and I kept a blind eye on what he could do. Thank you for keeping watch on him."

He stood up while giving Rokah an indifferent stare before walking toward the door and leaving the room. The maids that stood outside made a way for him in an elegant manner and each one gave him a slight bow when he passed her. Seaben naturally followed after him and didn't forget to drag Rokah with him.

Rokah struggled at the sudden push on his back, he screamed: "Don't I can walk by myself." However, the butler didn't listen to him. He only let him go because of the nod of the Count's head when he turned around and asked: "Where is he?"

"In the study room."

"Stay here, I want to confront him by myself." The Count ordered, then he left.

The maids started whispering to each other: "Did you know what is going on?"

"Who is that man? Why he is all beaten up? What did happen to him?"

"Didn't you hear? He is the one who refused the master invitation?"

"What he refused to work here, he must be a fool."

The butler shuts them up, merely by shifting his head toward them, then he ordered them harshly to go back to their work.

When the place became vacuous, he turned his attention to Rokah, and before he said anything Rokah blurted: "I don't know what this is all about, I don't even understand what you are talking about."

Rokah didn't need to see this Butler face to perceive that he wasn't convinced by his pleading thus he returned a few steps to the back and repeated: 'There is some kind of misunderstanding… I have no idea what you are talking about."

Inside the butler's office, Rokah found himself obeying his order like a trained dog when he commanded him to sit down while he sat behind the desk after he cleaned all the paper stained with ink and chunked them aside. He looked at Rokah carefully before he said: "Then after you have met his lordship personally, would you honor your side of the agreement and tell me the identity of the killer?

Rokah clenched his jaws and frowned as he listened to this rubbish. He made his displeasure clear to the man speaking to him. Yet he didn't dare to voice it.

"And don't tell me he is some kind of polymorph, everybody knows this fact."

Rokah finally found someone he despised more than the Aractanthrope… At this instant, he wished to slaughter him or better to burn alive.