The Uninvited Guest Of The Haunted Mansion (7)

Could new entries be added to the mansion’s “rules”?

The book always rewrote itself whenever Serenity experienced an incident tied to an entry. But this was the first time another sentence had been added to a rule already written.

Serenity stared down at the open page, lost in thought. Then she carefully noted her own observation under item 18, in the Servants category.

Before the gardener fully reached out to his target, he opened a black umbrella and said, “It’s raining. The gardener must leave for the day.” Even though it wasn’t raining, he stopped working and walked away.

‘Come to think of it, it’s been exactly three months since the mansion’s rules last updated.’

Because of the nature of this urban legend, discovering new rules always meant risking her life.

It was valuable information, but Serenity wasn’t reckless enough to gamble her life repeatedly just to add notes. Even if death reset her, being chewed apart or shredded was not something she could stomach again and again.

In truth, if the Duke hadn’t saved her earlier…

Serenity shivered before she realized it.

‘How did the Duke even know this?’

None of the anomalous beings she’d met so far had known about the rules. And even if they had, they would never have told her.

‘What exactly is he?’

Was he even the same kind of entity she’d encountered before? Whatever he was, Serenity knew one thing… he was dangerous.

But she couldn’t shake her unease.

A memory of the afternoon surfaced.

“You made a good decision, milady.”

When Serenity had given her tentative consent, the Duke had smiled brighter than she’d ever seen. His blood-red eyes softened as the edges folded gently, and for an instant the sharpness melted into something almost warm.

‘That expression… it looked purely pleased.’

Purity.

An anomalous being, smiling with pure gladness.

Serenity realized, for the first time, that such a thing could exist here.

“…“

She turned to a blank page and wrote neatly.

Blake Lambert, Duke. Age: 24. Humanoid? Danger level: unknown.

After jotting down the basic facts Nia had whispered to her, she paused. There wasn’t much else to add.

It was the first time she’d sat with an anomalous being for so long and still couldn’t gauge what kind of danger he posed.

Most lacked patience. That was why Serenity avoided lingering near them. The longer the conversation, the higher the chance of a sudden death.

Ask the Count more than three questions, and you risked a lashing. Let your expression slip in front of the butler, and you’d pay dearly. Meet the gardener’s eye, and you’d be pruned like a hedge.

But in her private audience with the Duke, he had been calm. He toyed with her, yes, but never struck. That meant either his patience was vast… or…

‘…he’s dangerous exactly because his threshold is so high.’

In every story and game, the humanoid-like monsters were always the most dangerous. And this Duke looked too human.

Serenity remembered their final exchange over lunch.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy the meal much, milady.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re still putting on airs, perhaps?”

He had stared at her the entire meal, sharp enough to notice her nervous chewing. Normally, lunch wasn’t dangerous, but with an unexpected variable appearing after ten months, she’d taken no risks.

And indeed, her caution had been justified. The Countess, smiling sweetly, finished her plate and crunched through a glass-shard sherbet, then offered it to Serenity and the Duke. They had narrowly avoided being forced to partake.

‘If I hadn’t cleared my plate, I’d never have been allowed to sit here.’

A chill crawled her spine.

The Duke, watching her reaction with amusement, had leaned closer.

“The head cook would be saddened. He finds purpose in feeding his masters.”

“That is…”

“I don’t know if you know, but noble household cooks are unusually proud. They despise meddling in their craft. But… *they’re equally weak to praise.”*

…What?

Caught off guard, Serenity had blinked at him. Blake continued smoothly, as if offering kindness.

“If you wish to win the cook’s favor, write a heartfelt letter of praise and offer a gift he’d value. A rare crop, perhaps, one not easily found. Chefs are curious about new ingredients. If you include even a small request with it, he’ll likely oblige.”

That was all.

Blake had shrugged, a sly smile on his lips.

‘Does he say that because he knows something?’

She wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, but after what had happened in the garden, she couldn’t.

The Duke… an outsider… seemed to know more about the mansion than Serenity herself, and he flaunted it openly.

‘He didn’t seem to be lying, either.’

So then…

She tapped her pale fingers against the desk, lost in thought.

She had forced herself through breakfast every morning, but never once considered making a request of the head cook. His face alone spelled disaster if you crossed him.

‘His usual face is scarier than the Count’s when he’s enraged.’

Still, Nia once mentioned that the cook was obsessed with rare ingredients. When he found something new, he would dissect it completely, never satisfied until it was reduced to pieces.

If Serenity approached him carelessly, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t become his next “ingredient.”

But if she won his favor…

Favor.

If the Duke’s words were true, maybe she wouldn’t have to choke down breakfast like poison every morning.

‘Rare crop…’

Her fingers slowed.

The Duke had been vague, but Serenity had an idea.

The old cemetery west of the mansion. It was off-limits to servants, watched over only by the hunched gravekeeper. There, mushrooms grew… thick, pale things that seemed to feed on the black soil. Whether they drew from the earth itself or the corpses buried beneath, Serenity had never wanted to know.

‘They looked so grotesque I avoided them every time.’

She turned to the clock. The hands pointed just past 11:50.

Coincidentally, the gravekeeper left for the servants’ quarters at midnight sharp.

If she went now… she could harvest some mushrooms and return unseen.

Serenity rose from her chair.

—

23. The cemetery lies west of the mansion, reserved for the Primdellrose family. The gravekeeper who tends it is kind to family members but reacts violently to theft. The mushrooms feeding on black soil are crops he guards carefully. Avoid being caught while harvesting. The gravekeeper’s hours are from 6:00 AM until midnight daily.