The fireplace crackled softly, warming and lighting up the room. Dancing shadows swayed across the walls with the movement of the fire; Bernard had always enjoyed watching that blazing spectacle.
Bernard didn't need the complex elemental spirit system. He never bothered with those "magical artifacts." From his first ancestor, Radin Sargas—a former explorer who earned the title of baron after discovering the Abyss of Cocytus—to his father, Tomas Sargas, none of them had ever used such expensive and sophisticated devices just to keep warm. It was unnecessary.
Why would he waste money on that system?
To him, winter was never a real problem. Even the most cold-sensitive people could just wear more clothes.
"I don't have as much body fat as you, Bernard; I'm not a seal built for the cold."
Those words still echoed in his mind. His wife, Roberta, often used his looks against him whenever she was losing an argument.
Bernard, on the other hand, didn't really mind. For him, it was a silent victory—a tactic to drop the conversation and stop listening. He didn't act offended, though that's what it looked like.
He had been insulted for his weight his whole life, and over time he developed a sort of immunity to that kind of attack.
His wife wasn't particularly beautiful either, so being insulted by her didn't bother him much.
His thick fingers drummed against the table as if playing a piano. They were so plump they resembled sausages—sausages wrapped in ostentatious rings.
The only artifacts Bernard ever needed were the ones that could save his life.
The baron leaned back in his chair. Lately, being alone brought him nothing but bad thoughts.
He had everything it took to succeed, yet could still lose it all.
"Those bastards... always taking what isn't theirs."
Years ago, he'd been informed that someone from a more powerful family would come to take control of the territory, supposedly to conquer the Abyss of Cocytus.
Bernard could still recall the jolt his poor heart had felt when he read that letter, though perhaps the pain had more to do with anger than fear.
Cocytus had been built up through seven generations of Sargas. And now they wanted to take it away? Bernard knew the truth—those lands had never really belonged to them—but this was the worst possible time for them to come.
He understood as soon as he saw them. The bastards from the Dark Society were no joke.
He had always had a knack for reading people, and to him, those weren't people to deal with—they were people to kneel before.
His father and brothers, however, didn't think the same. They fancied themselves heroes and rejected the offer.
Bernard knew he'd done the right thing by reaching out to them, assuring his cooperation.
When his father and brothers vanished during a hunting trip, he understood he'd have shared their fate if he hadn't bowed his head.
It wasn't malice—it was pure survival instinct. But not everything he did was selfish; in his mind, it was also for his people.
If the Dark Society took full control of Cocytus, the locals would suffer.
But if he ruled, their presence would at least be restrained. It was a necessary evil.
The Society benefited too; taking Cocytus by force wasn't wise, since Avalon was a major power.
If the kingdom learned what had happened, they'd surely send troops to reclaim their land. But they wouldn't bother if things appeared unchanged. That was why Bernard was exactly what they needed.
The baron fully understood the organization's motives. First, they wanted Cocytus as a base—it was a perfect stronghold. That also worked in Bernard's favor, since they paid generously for the right to settle there.
They also wanted to explore some ruins within beast-folk territory, which meant reclaiming the forest of Erasil. It was a mutually beneficial deal.
That's why Bernard didn't object when they proposed their plan: kill the mages in charge of agriculture and blame the beast-folk.
The townspeople would grow to hate the tribe, and once Bernard "solved the problem," he'd be seen as a hero.
Though the plan required sacrificing a few lives, it was still a necessary evil in his eyes.
But everything went to hell with the arrival of Baltazar Kaitos. Bernard knew it the moment he met him—that idiot's face said it all.
Baltazar claimed he'd conquer the Abyss, seeing a bright future where none existed.
Bernard felt sick every time that man talked about "fighting against adversity." He treated his situation like some divine punishment.
But he had been sent to govern a territory rich in resources, with a wife far above his station and a butler whose strength even Bernard could recognize.
So it didn't surprise him when Baltazar rejected the Dark Society and its plans.
He said he wanted a prosperous future for his heir, a tomorrow not built on corruption or schemes.
Bernard also had a son, and he knew that, above all, survival was what mattered—whatever the means.
But Baltazar overestimated himself, and it didn't shock Bernard when he vanished into the Abyss.
He'd never get to meet his child. That was the price of his foolish idealism.
After that, things became much easier. Baltazar's wife died in childbirth, and his son was born deformed.
It was simple now—they just had to wait for the boy to die on his own while the plan continued.
They had already ensured the Abyss wouldn't be conquered; if that happened, Avalon would pay more attention to the territory.
They also sent an assassin to eliminate the mages without raising suspicion, blaming the beast-folk.
But then, the Church arrived.
When Bernard was told that a cardinal from the White Faction wanted to see him, he thought it was his end.
But it wasn't.
Apparently, the Church wasn't aware of the Dark Society's schemes—or perhaps they simply didn't care. They came for another reason: to find a hero.
Heroes often received sponsorship from one faction or another, becoming valuable pawns in their power struggles.
The White Faction was, so to speak, the Church's main body—the representatives of Mara.
They were the most influential, but had gone a long time without finding a hero. Their power was waning—or so Bernard guessed.
Maybe that's why, when the oracle declared that a heroine would appear in the remote territory of Cocytus, the White Faction acted immediately to make sure no one got ahead of them.
But there was a small problem: if the hero appeared within Avalon's borders, technically they belonged to the kingdom.
Normally, the Church would offer generous donations to take the hero under its wing. But if Bernard simply didn't report their activities, that wouldn't be necessary.
The cardinal had been very generous—and fully aware of Bernard's situation. If the baron helped them, the Church would back his permanent claim over the territory. They'd pay him handsomely for his discretion and even make sure the Dark Society didn't gain too much influence over Cocytus.
It was far too tempting an offer.
All the hard work of his ancestors, all the dangers of the Abyss, all the sacrifices… Avalon had only ever sent them a fool.
The Dark Society and the Church, however, now supported Bernard—and he barely had to lift a finger.
They had been far more helpful than the so-called "Kingdom of Heroes." Bernard had no patriotism left. He would not reject the opportunities given to him.
Everything was perfect—except for one thing: that brat just wouldn't die.
At first, the baron didn't feel comfortable with the idea of killing him. The boy would die anyway; why bother? But he kept surviving, so the Dark Society had to take action.
At first, Bernard felt guilty. He had seen relatives and civilians die without remorse, convinced it was for a greater good.
But the thought of killing that lonely child left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He once read that it's easier to accept the death of thousands than of a single person whose story you know. The reason is simple—you can identify with them, and that makes the loss real.
Yet, knowing how necessary the boy's death was for Cocytus, Bernard began to hate that little cockroach. He felt no pity anymore—only the desire to see the child perish soon.
"Well... I've stalled long enough," he muttered, reaching for an envelope on the table.
It had no seal. He hadn't seen anyone deliver it. That could only mean one thing: it was from the Dark Society.
With trembling hands, he picked up a letter opener and slit the envelope open.
It was always nerve-racking to open those letters; you never knew if they carried good news—or your family's death sentence.
Slowly, the baron drew out the contents with shaking fingers. But as he read the terse message, a wave of relief washed over him.
His plump cheeks flushed with excitement, and a deep, raspy laugh escaped his throat.
His only obstacle, Lloyd Kaitos, was dead. Now, nothing could stop him.
It was news worth celebrating.