"The House of Stuart rose in the wake of the War of Radiance… though if one were to be more precise, its ascent began with the passing of a bastard."
Yawi opened the heavy tome. It bore no title. Within its yellowing pages lay the history of the Stuarts—ink of uneven hands, lines of differing eras—clearly the work of many chroniclers across time, stitched together into a single, fractured truth.
"At that time, the people of Gaulnalo declared war without warning. They struck the south and laid siege to the ancient Stuart keep. The one who held it then… was Michel Stuart."
And so, the legend of the Stuarts began.
"The old count was already advanced in age. After many battles, he succumbed to illness within the fortress. Yet before his death, he passed his title to his son—Navis Stuart. And what followed… is the part most people already know. The Stuarts surged forward, victory after victory, crushing one formidable enemy after another."
As if dust long buried in history had been stirred, Yawi coughed softly, then continued his telling in the dim stillness.
Outside, the cold wind whispered against the windows. Within, the fire in the hearth burned low and steady, its glow illuminating the listeners' faces. It was the kind of night that seemed made for stories.
"But as with most tales… nothing is ever so smooth. In truth, from the moment Navis inherited the title, the House of Stuart gained an enemy."
"Baskerville?"
Reclining on the sofa, Lloyd frowned slightly, memory stirring. A noble house of the southern lands—one that had long since faded into the dust of the War of Radiance, remembered only in the margins of history.
"What grudge could lie between them and the Stuarts?"
"Yes… though it is an old story. So old that even the libraries no longer record it. And I would advise you… not to speak of it beyond these walls."
There was a note of warning in Yawi's voice. The histories within great houses rarely matched those told to the outside world. If one were to uncover them all, one would find no shortage of secrets… and scandals.
"It begins with Count Michel. The Stuarts were never a populous line. In his generation, he was the last of his name. He never married, bore no heirs. According to the Laws of Succession, the bulk of his estate was to pass, upon his death, to his only nephew—Madel Baskerville."
"I suppose that distant nephew treated the old count like a father, then?"
Lloyd chuckled, the sound edged with quiet mockery—as if ridiculing the hollow politeness of noble bloodlines. Marriage forged alliances, and so the nobles of Inrveg were all bound, more or less, by kinship. Once the old count died, the House of Stuart would vanish into history—and Madel would inherit it all.
"Indeed. While the old count lived, he remained by his side. But then… something unexpected occurred. When Gaulnalo besieged the fortress, Madel fled with the knights—abandoning both the land's people… and the old count himself."
Reflected in Yawi's clouded eyes were the words of history, heavy with condemnation.
"He believed the old count to be dead. Believed everything would fall into his hands. But before dying, the count named his son—Navis—as his heir."
"Wait. I thought he never married?"
Lloyd interrupted, brows knitting. "Then where did this heir come from?"
"Patience, if you would."
Yawi's irritation was evident.
"It is indeed a point of suspicion. Yet Navis possessed a signed decree of succession, a will, his name inscribed in the family lineage… and other proofs besides. The old count even left a letter detailing Navis's origin."
A letter both casual… and solemn.
"It stated that Navis Stuart was born of the count and a maid."
"So—a bastard?"
Lloyd raised a brow. Bastards, as he recalled, held no right of inheritance.
"Not quite. In the final hours of his life, the old count married the maid—granting her legitimacy."
Yawi paused briefly.
"Though their marriage lasted… less than a single day."
Each time he reached this passage, Yawi found himself struck by the old count's ruthlessness—not the kind born of calculation, but of utter indifference. A man who cared nothing for how history would judge him.
"And so, Navis became the rightful heir—casting aside Madel, who had once stood to inherit everything."
"He didn't accept that quietly, I assume."
"Of course not. Upon learning the truth, Madel declared Navis a fraud—that he was neither the count's son… nor even his bastard."
Yawi's voice carried the echo of a long-dead conflict.
"He claimed to have seen Navis before—a mere servant in the estate. The son of a common farmer."
"A deception, then. A ridiculous commoner usurping a noble's name."
Another page turned. The old book spoke again through Yawi's voice. Lloyd and Selyu remained silent, listening.
"The matter caused quite a stir. If proven true, Navis would have been hanged. Yet those from the estate all insisted he was the count's son. Even a priest testified—claiming he had officiated the hasty marriage."
An unsolvable puzzle.
Madel had not been present at the fortress. Only those granted favor knew the truth—and they bore no goodwill toward the man who fled.
"So… who was lying?"
Selyu spoke at last. As the current heir of the Stuarts, she had heard this tale many times. And she knew how riddled it was with doubt.
"Who can say? It was over a century ago."
Yawi shook his head. The witnesses were long dead—some without even graves to mark their passing.
"In any case, those 'commoners'—or rather, nobles, once Navis elevated them—testified in his favor. And the matter was buried."
"But Madel did not yield so easily. Their struggle endured. For once the war ended and lands were reclaimed, the wealth at stake would be immense. At the time, however, Navis held little beyond an empty title and the divine armor left by the old count. His lands lay in occupied territory. Wealth? He had none."
"Against the Baskervilles, he stood no chance. So he chose wisely—he joined the army, fought across the southern front, and slowly gathered strength through war."
Even in recounting, one could almost smell the smoke of battle.
"At the time, Navis's mass elevation of commoners stirred great controversy. Though they were granted only the lowest ranks of nobility, it was still a leap across class. Yet to bolster morale, the Queen permitted it—and later revised the laws."
"No one cared about those people. Like Navis, they had nothing but hollow titles."
Yawi glanced at Selyu. She said nothing, only gazed into the fire. Its light danced in her eyes—beautiful, almost unreal.
And then, as if compelled by something unseen, he added:
"Yet sometimes… a person needs recognition. Even if it is nothing more than a name."
All people yearn to be acknowledged.
To quiet their self-doubt through the affirmation of others. To grasp greedily at that validation—seeking proof of their own existence in the eyes of another.
And when that recognition is given… even the impossible may become possible.
A farmer may ride into battle as a crimson knight.
A beggar, cast aside by the world, may one day rise as the Duchess of Stuart.
All it takes… is for someone to acknowledge you.
Like a single beam of light in endless night—enough to make one reach forward, unyielding.
"From there, the tale becomes the one everyone knows. A group of nobles who once had nothing gained everything through war. Bound by shared honors, they grew into a force so vast it drew the Queen's attention."
"To secure her rule, she scattered them—sending them to different battlefields. Yet this only caused them to spread further, like a contagion… until their influence reached every corner of Inrveg."
Those once ignored had stepped onto the center of the stage.
Yawi's voice remained soft—but it stirred the blood nonetheless.
"With expansion came conflict. The Baskervilles, also of the south, clashed with them repeatedly—old grudges reigniting. In time, it became irreconcilable hatred. And it ended only when the Stuarts rose… and utterly destroyed the Baskervilles."
"And so—they perished. And we endured."
Another page turned. Yawi's tone grew heavier.
"And then… came the curse."
"At first, it was spoken by the remnants of the Baskervilles. They cursed every member of the Stuart faction—that hounds would hunt them… without end."
"So these 'hounds'… have they appeared?"
At last, the matter at hand. Lloyd asked quietly.
"I do not know. But I do know this—the Stuarts have always been few in number. And in recent years, members of the faction have been dying, one family after another fading away…"
He paused.
"That alone might seem natural. Nothing lasts forever. But then… the letters began to arrive."
His gaze shifted to the letters upon the table.
"First, one person claimed to have seen a strange hound. Then another dreamed of it. Then more—and more—reported the same."
"They all remembered the old curse… and came to us for help."
Lloyd picked up one of the letters. Different families, same origin—they all belonged to lands once tied to the Stuarts.
"The hound…"
Every description matched with eerie precision.
A baleful creature lurking in darkness. Its low growl thick with hunger for flesh.
It moved through shadows, inescapable—clinging like one's own shadow.
"Has anyone encountered it directly?" Lloyd asked.
This was no mere illusion. Hallucinations did not align so perfectly—nor strike simultaneously across distant places.
"Not yet. The closest case—someone saw massive footprints while patrolling a garden at night."
"So no direct confrontation… yet."
"None. But that may soon change."
Yawi's voice lowered.
"At first, no one took it seriously. They thought it hallucination. But as days passed… the sightings grew more frequent."
He handed Lloyd another letter.
"The writer never saw the hound—but he felt it. When alone, he sensed a beast watching him… as though something lurked in the dark, waiting to tear out his throat the moment he turned."
Lloyd frowned deeply.
"I'll be honest—I'm no great detective. I'm just a cunning fraud."
He shook his head.
"Trickery doesn't work on hallucinations…"
"So you're giving up?"
Selyu's voice cut in.
"Not giving up. I simply don't know where to begin. Something this… intangible…"
Even Lloyd felt the weight of it.
"How many members are there?"
Yawi flipped back through the book.
"According to records, Navis elevated over two hundred people."
"Two hundred?!"
Lloyd blinked in disbelief.
"No longer. Many died in early battles. More fell during the war. By the time the Stuarts formally counted, only sixty-one remained. And now… after a century… only thirty-two families endure."
"Though few, their influence is… considerable."
Lloyd nodded slowly. He was beginning to understand.
The Stuart crest—sixty-one blades interwoven into a shield. Some broken, yet thirty-two remained, still upholding a century-old oath.
"I'm supposed to investigate all thirty-two? That's impossible."
They were scattered across all of Inrveg. Just visiting them would take months.
"You needn't go that far."
Selyu spoke again, calmly.
"There is already a subject here."
She pointed—at herself.
"As head of the Stuarts, I should be the curse's primary target. Yet so far… I have seen no hound."
"If the curse is real… then it will come. Won't it?"
She met his gaze.
No need to search elsewhere.
If the hound existed—it would come to her.
Lloyd considered this, then nodded. His instincts leaned toward something inhuman. When faced with the inexplicable, blaming demons was rarely a mistake.
"So… I suppose you'll be staying here a few more days, Mr. Lloyd Holmes."
Before he could respond, Selyu spoke again.
"Mm… wait—what?"
Lloyd froze, caught off guard.
"You are a demon hunter, are you not? If the hound comes for me…"
She tossed him a ring of keys.
"…then I trust you'll kill it."
Her eyes held his.
"You can do that… can't you?"