Gretel stood at the end of the breadcrumb trail, thinking she might never return home.
‘Please! Save me! It wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t me!’
A dream.
That wretched dream again.
They say dreams serve three purposes: to revisit the past, to reveal hidden desires, and to foretell the future.
Thinking back on it now, that cursed old crone who gave me the apple cider… she looked rather peculiar. As if she were wearing a mask…
Anyway.
If that’s true, then my recurring dreams must belong to the first category—reliving the past.
Whenever I was exhausted or pushed to my physical limit, I would return to the same dream.
The one from when I was twelve.
In the dream, I watched helplessly as Philip was dragged away.
The hired cultivator-mercenaries of the Merchant Clan Leader moved without emotion as they seized the frail boy.
I had long since learned there was no use talking to them.
So instead, I stormed straight into the merchant lord’s quarters.
Clan Lord Violorde.
There was no doubt. This had all been orchestrated by my father.
The moment I entered the room, I shouted,
“Just say it! Say you’re tired of Helena! Why take it out on Philip?! You said he stole my pearl hairpin and tried to gift it to Helena?! I gave it to her myself! It was mine to give!”
I screamed, hurling another pin to the ground in a rage.
The Clan Lord, with his distinctive blue-streaked beard, rose from his seat.
With a face like ice, he approached me. Then, as if waiting for the right moment, he threw a stuffed rabbit at my feet.
“This too—did you give
this
to her?”
…No. That one, I did not.
That damned Philip…
“…See that? He’s a thief. And yet I let vermin like him into my own house…”
“I said I gave it to her!”
I glared at Violorde.
It wasn’t like me to raise my voice against my father, not this harshly.
But this time… this time I felt something different.
Murderous intent.
A hatred so sharp, I could carve a sect symbol into stone with it.
I was feeling something I’d only ever read about in cultivation tales:
the desire to kill… even one’s own blood.
“I SAID I GAVE IT TO HER!”
“Oh? And that gift I gave you—was that yours to give away?”
The Clan Lord seized me by the collar. I gasped, struggling to breathe.
I grimaced, my face twisted in fury.
“I don’t want your so-called gifts!”
“You dare call your father ‘you’? Learn your place!”
Of course, I paid the price.
Violorde began beating me with his bare hands, fists heavy with spiritual force.
And after that… I was thrown into a place I knew well—
The storage chamber.
The one where the Clan Lord kept all his precious artifacts.
Dark. Narrow. Claustrophobic.
I cried alone in the dark.
“P-Please… save me… save me…”
What happened to that fire in me?
Pathetic. I was so pathetic.
What good was shouting at Father when, in the end, I was too scared to do anything?
I hated the twelve-year-old me.
“Shut your mouth, Imeline. Make another sound, and instead of sending Philip into the combat arena, I’ll just have him shot.”
The Clan Lord’s voice echoed coldly from beyond the chamber.
At those words, I fell silent.
But even in silence, my sobs crept out through clenched teeth.
Philip…
A child not much older than myself.
Thrown into a life-or-death arena by
my father
.
He was fated to die fighting against those hired cultivators.
From the darkness beyond the door, the Clan Lord laughed.
He
laughed.
"Then why, all of a sudden, are you causing such a stir for Philip's sake? You used to hate both Helena and Philip, Emelline."
She was right. I had despised both of them for a solid two years.
Who in their right mind would welcome a family dropped from the heavens just because of some so-called father?
For two years, I had utterly ignored both Helena and Philip. That pearl hairpin… it was the first
gift
I ever gave Helena.
I remembered her smile—that radiant smile—when she thanked me for it.
And then, the terrible crashing of waves returned.
—Smack!
"You think you can live without me?"
—Smack!
"I'm the one who fed you, clothed you, gave you a roof over your head!"
—Smack!
"And still you dare defy your own father?!"
A searing pain, like a brand of molten steel, sliced across my back.
"You wretched girl. Because you gave that hairpin to Helena, my entire plan nearly fell apart."
The moment I heard Father’s cold voice, I forced myself to rise through the agony.
He turned toward me, lifting his hand as if to strike me again.
But I was faster.
I drew the dagger I had been gripping in secret and drove it into his thigh without hesitation.
In an instant, the terrifying presence that had always loomed over me collapsed like a paper tiger.
Father...
Father never realized, not even in the end.
That this wretched girl—his daughter—could be the one to stab him.
That even someone like me had a heart… a heart capable of hatred so fierce, it could kill.
He never knew.
And honestly, neither did I—until that moment came.
✵
✵
✵
“…You damn fool! I should’ve just sold you off to the slave markets!”
I heard the barely audible groans of Violod as he writhed on the ground.
Helena stood barefoot, her hair disheveled, just outside the Merchant Lord’s office.
She looked from the fallen Violod to me—her face pale with shock. Her gaze met mine, and I could only breathe shakily in response, no words forming.
Then Violod mumbled.
“…This is all your fault…”
At his words, the dagger fell from my trembling hand and clattered to the ground.
It’s all my fault.
That phrase echoed in my ears like a bell tolling inside my skull.
It was true. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, back then I was truly… the most pathetic cultivator in the entire southern sector.
Father began to stir. I, still sniffling and shuddering, scrambled backward across the floor. He growled out words as he tried to raise himself.
“You… dare betray the man who gave you life…? And you think you can still live with yourself…?”
His bloodshot eyes glared at me, but only briefly—his body, already slumped over, collapsed completely moments later.
“…”
In the dead silence, I broke into sobs.
“I… I killed my father…”
Then I heard a dry snort of disbelief.
I looked up—Helena was holding my trembling hand.
“I killed my father!”
Helena nudged Violod with her foot. He let out a weak groan in response. Helena looked me straight in the eyes and said with firm resolve:
“No, Emelline. He’s not dead. Look—he’s still breathing. We need to leave. We have to run—now!”
In the reflection of Helena’s brown eyes, I saw my own face.
A frightened, helpless girl.
And even I couldn’t help but think—how pitiful she looked.
My father always said I was weak—someone who could never survive without him, without his guidance.
“Escape...? I can’t... I can’t run away...”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at Helena.
“I can’t live on my own... I’m weak... I’m just a girl—how can someone like me survive alone...?”
“You idiot! Imeline!”
Helena gripped my shoulders tightly.
Even in the midst of my panic, her strength made me lift my head.
“You’re not weak! Look at yourself! Why did you stab Violorde? Why did you do that, huh?!”
“B-Because...”
Because Philip had been captured.
That oversized fool would’ve died if I hadn’t stepped in.
“You did it to protect Philip, didn’t you?”
I slowly nodded.
“You found the courage to protect someone you care about, not knowing if you'd be hurt, not knowing what would happen next. That’s not weakness—that’s strength.”
The tears began to dry on my cheeks.
“And you won’t be alone. I’ll ask you one last time.”
“...?”
I raised my head.
Helena, whose brown eyes mirrored mine, looked at me intently.
“Will you become my daughter?”
It was the second time.
The second time someone asked me that in two years.
And the moment those words reached my ears, something changed in me.
The dull, hopeless light that had filled my eyes suddenly sparked to life.
For twelve long years, I remained bound to the merchant sect. Beaten, caged, and never able to flee.
Not because I feared the sect lord or the hired cultivators that would track me down.
No—
What I truly feared was the life waiting beyond the sect’s borders.
A life where no one would protect me. A terrifying freedom I had never had the courage to claim.
But now...
If I couldn’t even reach for the hand being offered to me now—
then I wasn’t just weak…
I was nothing more than a domesticated beast, content in its own cage.
That thought made my heart burn. I clenched my teeth.
And in Helena’s warm eyes, I saw my reflection regaining color.
I nodded.
Helena smiled.
“Let’s get out of here, Imeline. Let’s escape this cursed manor.”
She helped me to my feet.
“From now on, no matter what anyone says—you’re my daughter. My daughter.”
Helena fetched some water from who-knows-where and began washing the wounds on my skin.
“That damned Violorde... How could he lay hands on a child like this... damn him...”
For the first time, I saw Helena tear up in front of me.
And I—
I had never felt such a gentle touch in my entire life. I could only sit there, dazed.
Then Helena said,
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
Worry?
What was I even worried about?
“You’ll be fine. Honestly, my dad was a drunk who couldn’t express anything without using his fists. And look at me—I still grew up strong and beautiful, didn’t I?”
And only then did I realize—
She wasn’t worried about herself.
She was worried that I’d carry the scars of this day for years to come.
That I’d suffer from the memory.
She was afraid
for me.
Without thinking, I threw my arms around her neck.
“...Mom!”
Did I just...?
The word left my lips before I could stop it, and I quickly covered my mouth in shock.
But it was too late.
Because Helena had already wrapped her arms around me, whispering softly:
“It’s okay.” "Yes… my… my beloved Emelline."
That was when it happened.
From outside, I heard the voices of mercenaries approaching.
Startled, I instinctively turned toward the entrance.
And in that very moment, Violod—who had been lying still like a corpse—lunged and grabbed Helena’s ankle.
With a scream, Helena fell backward, landing hard on the floor.
“Uwaaah!”
“You… you ungrateful wretch! Where do you think you’re going? And now you dare try to steal my daughter away?!”
I stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, as Father dragged Helena across the floor.
Then, all at once, my mind snapped back into focus. I looked around desperately for a fire poker.
I had to stop him… I had to stop Father…
But stop him how?
A voice echoed within my mind.
It was cold. So very cold—a voice like the edge of a spiritual blade held to the nape of my soul.
Chapter 41