Chapter 23: The Woman In The Painting
"Let’s see what you’re hiding down there, Your Grace," Esme whispered and smiled wickedly.
She activated [Master Illusionist] again and felt a very different kind of sensation. The shadows immediately wrapped her in an impenetrable cloak of darkness.
She climbed down the stairs and noticed three guards standing there, their halberds gleaming in the moonlight. Esme held her breath and walked right between them.
One of the guards moved a little and looked at the exact same spot where she stood. But he couldn’t see anything. Esme continued walking into the bowels of the estate, heading straight towards the underground wine cellars.
As she descended towards the wine cellar, she noticed a narrow corridor she had never seen before. At the end was an old chapel. She was about to turn away, but the chapel doors were slightly open. It was empty.
Curiosity won. She walked to the door and opened it. The chapel was filled with military banners bearing the Vanguard crest. Thousands of names were engraved on the walls. In the center of the chapel rested a huge memorial book.
She walked towards it and opened it. Every page had handwritten notes by Eveyr.
"Captain Rowan, You saved twenty-three civilians before the bridge collapsed. Your daughter wanted your sword. It has been delivered."
"Lieutenant Harrow Your mother refused the compensation. I doubled it anyway."
"Private Ellis, You were eighteen. I should have ordered the retreat sooner."
Esme flipped the pages. There was record of every dead soldier in his own handwriting.
"He remembers...every single one," she whispered.
She looked around and read a banner hung on one of the chapel walls, engraved into the stone.
"A commander who survives his soldiers has no right to forget their names."
For the first time since arriving in this world, Esme’s heart softened a little.
"It looks like...there’s more to him than his madness," she murmured.
It was hard to believe that the monster who had chained her to bed was the exact same man who cared so much about his soldiers.
But her mind quickly suppressed her empathy.
"I don’t care if he is an honorable commander; I only know that he is a threat to my survival."
She stepped back and walked out of the room.
"I don’t have time for distractions," she muttered and walked towards the wine cellar.
As she climbed down the narrow stairs, the air around her became colder. It wasn’t the damp chill of the underground.
The atmosphere down there was thick with an ancient magic that pressed against her ears and made her teeth ache. It felt just like Eveyr’s aura, but older, much stronger, and far more desperate.
The wine cellar was like a maze. It was filled with dusty, century-old casks and cobwebs. The smell of old wood and fermented grapes filled the air.
Esme walked down the center aisle, carefully scanning the walls and floor. But she remembered, according to the original Esme’s diary, the sub-cellar was hidden.
There must be something else.
At the very back of the cellar, behind a row of barrels, she noticed an almost invisible sweeping pattern in the dust. It was a sign that the stone blocks were often moved.
Esme knelt, brushed the dirt away, and found a black stone there. There was no keyhole, lever or handle.
"How do I open it?"
She furrowed her brows as her mind raced.
"How would Eveyr lock his most valuable vault?" she asked herself.
She thought of the silver anklet. Eveyr didn’t use physical locks or keys. He ruled by his magic.
If this vault belongs exclusively to him, it wouldn’t open to a physical mechanism. It needs to feel the energy of the person opening it.
She took a deep breath and pressed her palm on the stone. Then she closed her eyes, and sent a tiny fraction of her energy into the rock.
[5 Vitality Points Transferred]
The stone shuddered under her hand. Esme instantly stepped back. With a loud groan, the floor split open in the middle. Stale, cold air blew upward, revealing a narrow spiral staircase plunging down into darkness.
Esme stared into the abyss. She swallowed her fear, pulled her robe tighter, and began to descend.
The spiral stairs seemed endless, taking her deeper and deeper. At the bottom, the narrow passageway suddenly opened into a huge chamber.
As Esme stepped off the final stair, dozens of floating orbs of blue light came to life. Esme stopped and put her hand on her chest to steady herself. In the center of the vault stood the cage she had read about in the diary.
It was horrifying yet breathtaking. It wasn’t a simple cell or a dungeon. It was big enough to be a small house on its own. It was made of shining silver and ancient leviathan bone.
Esme walked towards it, her heart pounding wildly. She stepped up to the silver bars and saw inside the cage. It wasn’t a prison for a political enemy or some monster. The interior was furnished with all things luxury. There were plush velvet sofas, a huge bed, big bookshelves and expensive rugs.
But what shocked her the most was the centerpiece. Hanging on the far wall inside the cage, illuminated by floating blue lights, was a huge oil painting.
Esme gripped the silver bars tightly. It was a portrait of her face with sharp and modern features. She wore a black turtleneck and a tailored coat from a world that didn’t exist in this empire.
How is this possible?
Her body trembled.
How could he possibly know about the real me? I just got here. The system said I transmigrated into a book character. Did the system lie? Has he been looking for me since before I even arrived?
"How..." Esme said aloud, her voice breaking as she stared at her own face. "How is this possible?"
"The painter did a terrible job, didn’t he?"
A voice echoed from the shadows of the stairwell behind her. Esme gasped and turned around. Eveyr stepped into the vault, wearing his military uniform.
"You thought you were clever, playing the role of the terrified Duchess?" Eveyr smiled as he walked and stopped just inches away from her.
"The painter tried his best. But no matter how many times I described you to him, he could not capture the beautiful cruelty in your eyes."
