Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 102
Richelle and Alan stood up. Alan gave a small chuckle as he pulled a strand of hair away from Richelle’s face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“I… well…”
Even though she knew this wasn’t the time, doubts kept surfacing unexpectedly.
It wasn’t that she regretted coming down to the kitchen. Facing Rogéros was something they would have had to do sooner or later.
But Alan Otis had only been swept up in her stubbornness. Was it really the right thing to push him into the most dangerous role?
Especially after they had just witnessed the chef devouring a person.
That convulsing arm could very well belong to this young man.
“Teacher. You’re the one who said it.”
Could he have sensed her inner turmoil? Alan gently patted Richelle on the shoulder.
“We’re not here to die. We’re here to survive.”
“….”
“You didn’t drag me into this. You’re just lending a hand with what I need to do.”
Alan took a deep breath. He was visibly nervous, but the push he gave Richelle was firm and unwavering.
“So let’s go. We’ve already decided, so let’s give it our all.”
Richelle gazed at Alan’s pale face. Half of it was bathed in shadow, the other half in light, and somehow, he seemed more alive than ever.
‘…Yes.’
Right now, all we can do is trust in our courage.
“Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.”
Instead of raising a glass in a toast, they shared a smile and took heavy steps forward. With each step, they shed more hesitation, allowing themselves to move faster, lighter, and more swiftly.
In an instant, she arrived in front of the door on the opposite side. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. But her mind cooled, preparing for what came next.
Remember. No matter what you see, stay calm.
Don’t stop thinking, no matter what.
She repeated it to herself over and over. And when her heartbeat finally steadied, Richelle pressed herself against the wall and peered into the room.
Gasp…!
The first thing she saw was the chef.
The hulking figure sat crouched in front of the counter, his massive frame resembling a mountain.
With hands large enough to crush her skull in an instant, he was gripping a branch-like human limb.
The limbs dangled loosely, half torn off. The person who had screamed was already dead.
The chef had buried his face in the corpse’s abdomen. The sound of gnawing and tearing was unrelenting. His doughy white face was smeared completely red, as if he’d been eating raspberry jam.
Richelle leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She covered her mouth, forcing herself to swallow the rising nausea.
Hold it in, Richelle Howard. Endure. If you move quickly, Young Master Otis will survive. Think about what to do next.
Gritting her teeth, she looked into the kitchen again. Doing her best to avoid looking at the corpse, she assessed the path she needed to take. Thankfully, there weren’t many obstacles in her way.
She mapped out the clean spots on the floor to avoid slipping on the blood. There could be some unexpected factors, but…
Alright. I’m ready.
Richelle nodded toward Alan. He nodded back, his chest rising with a deep breath. Then, without hesitation, he strode into the kitchen.
Even with the intruder present, the chef didn’t flinch. He was too focused on devouring the flesh of the corpse.
But then, suddenly, the chef lifted his head and sniffed the air, his flat, broad face twitching as his small nose wriggled.
He slowly turned in Alan’s direction.
‘What did Young Master Otis do…?’
Richelle wanted to check, but there wasn’t time.
The chef tossed the mangled corpse aside and heaved his massive body up. His long arms dragged along the floor, stirring the pool of blood as he moved.
Thud, thud.
Slow, heavy footsteps echoed as he began lumbering toward Alan.
Richelle waited. She waited until the chef was far enough away. Until there was no way he could catch her, even if he turned around.
When the distance was right, she bolted straight into the kitchen.
She didn’t look around. She just ran. There were four doors visible deeper inside the kitchen. Two wooden doors on the right wall. One iron door on the left.
And one more door straight ahead, sitting atop a small five-step staircase.
She reached for the first door on the right and flung it open. It was a simple pantry. She pushed the next door. It opened to the outside, revealing the night sky.
Without hesitation, Richelle ran toward the door directly ahead. She was convinced that this was the entrance to the fourth floor.
She bounded up the stairs in one leap and grabbed the doorknob. She pushed with all her might.
Clunk.
“Ah…!”
The door was locked.
Clunk, clunk.
She tried pushing, pulling, and shaking it several more times, but nothing changed. This was a problem. Should she look for the key?
In a panic, she pulled out a hairpin and jammed it into the keyhole. She’d never done it before, but Meg had certainly opened locks this way…
Just then.
“Damn it! Hide!”
A desperate shout rang through Richelle’s ears.
It was Alan’s voice.
