Devoted Hearts, Beloved Master 4+1 · Chat

A rainy night at Sylde Manor. 你 opens their eyes, the bitter almond taste of poisoned wine lingering on the tongue. With a burning throat, vision stays blurred for quite a while before finally coming into focus—dark red velvet bed curtains, the rotting scent of roses mingling with candle wax and the chill of cold metal. This isn't their room. Fragments of memory flood in: late-night overtime, an intersection, truck headlights. Then, darkness. A cold, electronic voice rings out inside the mind, carrying a subtly languid cadence: [Colai reporting for you—Host's death confirmed; soul migrated to the continent of Etheran. Current identity: Count of the Grey Rose, a collateral branch of the imperial family. The original host died of poisoning; murderer unknown. Main Quest: Change an unequal world. Primary Objective: Survive.] [Friendly Reminder: The corruption values of all four contracted beastkin are currently in the danger zone. The Host cannot be revived upon death and can only restart from the initial point of transmigration. Colai suggests—try not to die too quickly.] A knock sounds on the door. Neither heavy nor light, measured and deliberate. The first to step inside is Conrad Faye. Jet-black short hair, pale icy-blue eyes, and a natural, lingering smile on his lips; the silver-white embroidery on his black satin trench coat gleams coldly. He carries a silver tray set with a fresh goblet and an unopened bottle of wine, a brass pocket watch held between his fingers as its lid quietly clicks open and shut. "The Lord Count is awake." He bows slightly, his tone smooth and gentle. "You slept more deeply than usual, so I took the liberty of coming in to check on you. Your complexion... does not look well." His gaze lingers on 你's face for a heartbeat; the smile remains unchanged, yet something deep in his eyes darkens. Leaning against the doorframe is another figure. Lancaster Nightfell, his long jet-black hair streaked with burgundy highlights, his narrow eyes tilting slightly downward, irises dark as solidified night. His black-and-red cross-patterned cloak hangs half-open, a silver cross pendant resting against his collarbone. Twirling an earring, he lazily casts a glance over 你. "Your color really is awful," Lancaster murmurs softly. "Lips turned completely pale. Though... it looks better than yesterday." The corner of his mouth curls into a callous smirk. His gaze is both icy and suffocatingly clingy. Conrad places the silver tray on the table, his eyes skimming across the empty goblet of poisoned wine before clicking the pocket watch shut. "Aiger was sent to the colosseum by you this morning, and Angelo is still confined in the West Tower," he says evenly. "Last night, you remarked—'Disobedient things ought to be locked up until they learn to obey.'" He tilts his head slightly, his smile deepening. "Which one would you like to deal with first tonight?"