Kill the Author, Then to Hell - Chapter 8.2

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“Kuooff, keugh—”

“Get up, Johan.”

“…”

“Can’t get up? And you call yourself the eldest son of the House Dayton? You failed to complete such an important calculation, yet you can’t even endure this much?”

“I’m, I’m sorry.”

“Nine more times. Again.”

“…Ugh, kuhb—”

Sounds that seemed almost like torture leaked from the basement laboratory.

Though the exact nature of the torment was unclear,

it was evident that Dad—Simon—was venting his stress by inflicting violence on Johan.

‘…They say a psychopath never stops at one.’

Once could be overlooked, but as it repeated ten times, I felt an urge to cover my ears.

‘Stop, please just stop…’

Trauma buried deep was resurfacing.

Memories from when I was Lee Jinseo.

<Your father’s home and you don’t even greet me? You crazy wench!>

Dad, tipsy from late-night drinking, would harshly wake me up and slap me.

Back then, I could only tremble helplessly and go to bed, pretending it never happened.

‘But this time…’

This time had to be different.

Each time I heard the terrible sounds from the basement, I gripped the gun in my pocket tightly.

For the sake of my past self and for Johan, I had to succeed in eliminating him.

On the third day of paying attention to all sounds around,

I had figured out Simon’s pattern.

He wakes up late, eats lunch in his bedroom, spends the day in the laboratory, and has dinner there with Johan.

<Johan, you can go to bed now. I need to look at this a bit more.>

After sending his son Johan to bed, Simon spends another hour or two alone in the laboratory.

Simon usually returns to his room around 1 AM.

And it takes just 5 minutes for him to leave the basement, walk through the corridor and stairs, and reach his room.

There were attendants waiting in the room, so that short walk was the only time that Simon would be alone in his daily routine.

In other words, that was my only chance.

“Haaaahm, I’m so tired. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

Pretending to go to bed early for the day, I sent Ethel, my maid, away.

Lying in bed, I listen to all the sounds of the mansion,

The footsteps of the servants leaving like the tide going out, and…

“I’ll go ahead then.”

The sound of Johan, who was gradually falling asleep, leaving the laboratory for his room.

Click—

And finally, the sound of Simon closing his book, organizing the magic test tubes, and turning off the lights in the laboratory.

That’s when I left my room.

I don’t plan on moving quietly. Trying to do so would only make me more suspicious.

Instead, I made more noise.

Loudly.

And once I encountered Simon as he was still downstairs, from the railing above, I called.

“Dad, Daaaad, I had a scary dream. Waaah—”

I whine in a sleepy voice, holding a pillow, so Simon would smile at me without suspicion, with that ‘Dad smile’.

“Oh dear, our Edith, really?”

So, when Simon opened his arms wide and came up the stairs to hug me—

‘Stay calm, I need to shoot accurately.’

I pulled the trigger of the gun loaded behind the pillow.

After minimizing the noise and escaping the scene, it would be a perfect crime.

I can do it. I’ve practiced hundreds, thousands of times in my room.

Aiming directly at Simon’s heart…

I pulled the trigger.

Click—

The plan was perfect.

At least as far as I could predict.

Click— Click—

‘Why… why isn’t it firing!’

As if answering my desperate thoughts,

The status window immediately provided detailed guidance, but,

‘No, you should have told me this earlier!’

But it was too late to turn back.

Somehow, [Chekhov’s Gun] had slipped from my grip and was now in the hands of Marquis Simon Dayton.

“What is this, Edith?”

His clean face was terrifyingly rigid.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the gun disappeared from the Marquis’s skin after a few seconds, along with the message [Chekhov’s Gun: Unequipped].

Of course, not completely lost and could be used again later, which was a relief.

“What is this! Edith! Who gave this to you?”

The fact that the gun had disappeared seemed to have provoked the Marquis without a plan.

“That, that’s…”

As I pondered what to say to get out of the situation—

The Marquis muttered some strange incantations into the air, speculating who might have instigated this without suspecting it was my own doing.

“Chester? No, those scholars wouldn’t dare to plan something so bold… Then Aimesworth? No, if they wanted to assassinate me, they would have used their fancy potions.”

Blue glowing letters swiftly wrote themselves in the air.

“…Gone? It’s gone? That, that can’t be.”

Fortunately, he didn’t rush at me as he had in my past life.

It seemed he was busy trying to trace the origin of the vanished gun with magic.

But however skilled a mage the Marquis might be, the [Special Equipment] passed to me along with the status window by the author wouldn’t be so easily traced.

The Marquis, as if forgetting I was even there, closed his eyes and delved deeper into his concentration.

‘Now’s my chance to run.’

I already knew.

The chances of survival were slim.

The Marquis wasn’t going after me, confident that even if I ran, I’d be as insignificant as a flea.

But even a flea had its dignity. I couldn’t just sit and wait for death.

Knowing that being bound by a restraining spell would leave me without options, I started climbing the stairs like mad to increase my chance of survival even by a little.

“Brother, Brother! Are you asleep?”

Whispering in front of Johan’s room, I quietly but rapidly knocked on the door.

‘Please! Open up!’

There hung a very slim chance that I could survive.

“Edith? What on earth is going on?”

Apparently, already awake due to the recent commotion, Johan opened the door with a puzzled look on his face.

“Brother… Hide me, please.”