Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 156
“Alan? Do you see something?”
“…It’s not dangerous. You can come out.”
Alan stepped aside, giving Richelle a full view of what lay beyond the maze.
And she immediately understood why he had frozen.
It was a graveyard.
Tombstones lined the path on both sides—simple, weathered stones bearing the Otis family name, many without even proper inscriptions.
A dismal wind swept through the neglected stones, wailing mournfully in place of mourners who would never come.
Richelle instinctively turned her head in the direction of the wind, as if searching for something alive amidst the oppressive weight of death.
But was what she saw even alive?
At the far end of the graveyard stood a massive silver brazier, from which pale flames flickered.
A man was standing in front of it.
Noticing their presence, the man slowly turned his head, and Richelle stifled a gasp.
The left side of his face was blackened and decayed, much like Rick Otis, whom they had encountered on the fourth floor.
Alan tightened his grip on her hand and whispered quietly.
“It must be Neil Otis, right?”
“…Yes.”
Even with half his face missing, he was unmistakable. His resemblance to the face in the family portrait on the third floor was undeniable.
Alan’s voice betrayed a hint of tension.
“Do you think he still has his sanity?”
“I hope so…”
At that moment, Neil Otis abruptly moved. He reached for the fire poker resting against the brazier.
Or rather, he tried to. His rotting index and middle fingers detached before he could grasp it.
Was it just her imagination, or did he seem to sigh? With his other hand, he managed to grab the poker and began scratching something into the dirt.
Richelle and Alan leaned forward to read the words he had written.
[ Otis? ]
Neil Otis pointed a remaining finger at Alan. Richelle and Alan exchanged glances, astonished. His mind seemed more intact than they had anticipated.
Richelle spoke up cautiously.
“Are you Lord Neil Otis?”
The man nodded, and a decayed piece of flesh fell from his cheek to the ground.
Exchanging glances, Richelle and Alan stepped forward.
“Greetings, Lord Otis. I’m Richelle Howard, a tutor at Bertrand. And this is…”
“I’m Alan Otis. I’m your descendant.”
Neil Otis’s gaze lingered on Alan’s face for a moment before he moved the poker again.
[ Why are you here? ]
Richelle took out Charlotte’s locket from around her neck and held it up for him to see.
“We came after reading a letter from Charlotte Otis. We’re trying to expel Rose from Bertrand.”
“We heard that you know how to break the contract with him.”
Neil gazed quietly at the portrait of his granddaughter within the locket. What thoughts could be passing through his mind?
Suddenly, he looked up and, without warning, pointed directly at Richelle.
“What…?”
Startled, Richelle followed his gaze to her coat pocket, where his blunt finger was directed.
She took out what she had been carrying there—the final remnant of the twins.
“Is this what you want?”
Neil Otis gestured for her to hand it over. Reluctantly, Richelle passed him the two roses.
Taking them, Neil turned and, without hesitation, tossed them into the brazier.
“Ah…!”
Before she could cry out in shock, the roses burned away in a puff of red smoke, vanishing completely.
Neil watched the smoke drift away before bending down to pick up a chisel and hammer from the ground.
Without sparing Richelle or Alan a glance, he approached the stone wall and began carving into it.
The two stood there, momentarily stunned, before hurrying to follow him. Neil knelt before a blank section of the wall and started chiseling a crude image.
Slowly, an image of a woman holding two children tightly in her arms emerged under his hand.
Richelle realized.
All the images on this wall were expressions of the desires of roses that had withered away within the mansion.
This must be Neil Otis’s way of holding a ‘funeral’ for them.
When he finished, Neil stood up, grimacing as he worked his gaunt cheeks, suddenly spitting out a thick piece of blackened flesh that landed with a wet thud on the ground.
“Ugh… Urrgh…”
Neil Otis groaned in agony, scratching at his mouth as more flesh and blackened liquid spilled out. A vile odor seeped into the air.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat, having expelled what he needed to, and spoke.
“Well…”
The words came out haltingly, but Richelle’s eyes widened. A new, red tongue was moving within Neil Otis’s previously rotted mouth.
“Shall we have a conversation, my distant descendant?”
His intense gaze landed on Alan.
“You’re planning to drive Rose out of Bertrand, you say?”
