Viktor's bare feet crunched against the gravel path as he led Gareth deeper into the manor grounds. The garden stretched out before them—wild, overgrown, but with patches of newly cleared earth where Viktor had been working.

Gareth followed a few steps behind, his mind spinning.

Something was off.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking hard, as if trying to clear his vision. His gaze kept drifting to Viktor's back, his shoulders, the way his clothes hung on his frame.

'Wait.'

Gareth's eyes narrowed.

'Is this fat bastard... thinner?'

He'd last seen Viktor just three or four days ago. Back then, the young master had been a bloated mess—soft, weak, pathetic. But now, as Viktor moved with purpose through the garden, Gareth could see the difference.

The young man's movements were sharper. His frame leaner. There was muscle definition beneath his shirt where there had been nothing but flab before.

'What the hell?'

Gareth shook his head, dismissing it. Maybe it was the lighting. Or his imagination.

Then his gaze shifted to the manor itself.

'And what's with this place?'

When he'd left a few days ago—at night, admittedly—the manor had looked like a rotting corpse. Filthy. Crumbling. A cursed hellhole fit only for rats and ghosts.

But now, in the daylight, it looked... cleaner. The windows were clear. The stonework scrubbed. The grounds tended.

'Must've been the night,' Gareth thought, trying to rationalize it. 'Everything looks worse at night.'

But doubt gnawed at him.

They reached a secluded corner of the garden, far from the manor's main entrance. Viktor stopped and knelt, his hands moving through the wild grass.

Gareth stood there, confused, watching as Viktor plucked a few stalks of grass, examined them, then reached for something else—some small plants, herbs maybe. His fingers moved with precision, like he knew exactly what he was looking for.

'What the hell is this brat doing?'

Gareth's lips curled into a mental sneer. 'Playing gardener now? Pathetic.'

He almost laughed. This was the same Viktor who'd thrown away his title, his inheritance, his entire future, just to prove some bullshit about his innocence.

The same Viktor who'd chosen banishment instead of fighting back like a man.

'Stupid. So fucking stupid.'

Lady Elena was smart. Beautiful. Ruthless. She knew how to play the game. And this fool? He was just a pawn who didn't even realize he'd already lost.

Gareth's thoughts drifted to Bella, the cloaked woman he'd brought. Once she killed Helena—once the job was done—he'd run. He'd leave this cursed manor behind, return to Elena, collect his reward, and never look back.

'Just a little longer,' he told himself. 'Just a few more—'

His thoughts shattered.

Viktor's hands glowed.

Gareth's eyes went wide.

A faint, shimmering light—green and gold—emanated from Viktor's palms. The grass in his hands seemed to dissolve, breaking down into a viscous, sticky substance. Viktor's fingers moved, blending, mixing, shaping, and within seconds, a small, perfectly formed pill sat in his palm.

Glue. No—not glue. Something more. Something alchemical.

Gareth's mouth fell open.

"Young master," he stammered, his voice cracking. "Do you have 'abilities'?!"

His mind reeled. Abilities were rare. Powerful. Reserved for the elite, the gifted, the blessed. Viktor—fat, useless, banished Viktor—shouldn't have abilities. He'd never shown any sign of power before.

'Unless...'

Gareth's hands clenched into fists.

'I need to report this to Lady Elena.'

This changed everything. If Viktor had abilities, if he was more dangerous than they'd thought, Elena needed to know. Immediately.

Gareth's pulse quickened. His mind raced, already forming excuses, escape routes. He needed to leave. Now.

"Young master," Gareth said, forcing a bow. His voice was strained, but he kept it steady. "I would like to take my leave now."

He didn't wait for permission. He straightened, already turning, already planning his next move—

"Fine."

Gareth froze.

"You can leave," Viktor said, his tone casual. Almost bored.

Gareth blinked. That was... easy.

Too easy.

"But before you go," Viktor continued, standing and turning to face him, "eat this."

Gareth's gaze dropped to Viktor's outstretched hand.

The pill. Small, round, greenish-brown. It looked harmless. Almost medicinal.

"What is this?" Gareth asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

But before he could react—before he could step back, before he could refuse—Viktor moved.

'Fast.'

Too fast.

Viktor's hand shot forward, shoving the pill into Gareth's mouth. Gareth gagged, his hands flying up to his face, but Viktor's other fist was already in motion.

BAM!

The punch landed square on Gareth's jaw.

Pain exploded through his skull. His head snapped back. His throat convulsed, and the pill—slick and bitter—slid down his throat.

Gareth stumbled, falling backward onto the ground. He coughed, sputtering, his hands clawing at his neck as if he could somehow pull the pill back up.

"Wha—what—?!"

Then the pain hit.

His chest seized. His heart felt like it was being crushed, squeezed by an invisible fist. Blood pounded in his ears, hot and thick, and for a moment—just a moment—Gareth thought he was going to die.

He gasped, his eyes wide, his body trembling.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished.

Gareth blinked. His vision cleared. His heartbeat steadied. He looked down at himself, patting his chest, his arms, his stomach. Nothing. No pain. No damage.

'What the hell just happened?'

He looked up at Viktor, who had calmly walked over and taken a seat on a nearby stone bench. The young master crossed his legs, resting his chin on one hand, watching Gareth with dark, unreadable eyes.

"What... what happened?" Gareth rasped, his voice shaking.

Viktor smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

"Nothing much," he said, his tone light, almost conversational. "From now on, whenever you drink water, the poison will spread and kill you."

Gareth's blood turned to ice.

"Wh—what?"

"You heard me," Viktor said, leaning back against the bench. "That pill you just swallowed? It's dormant. Harmless. For now."

Gareth's hands shot to his throat again, his breathing quickening.

"But the moment water touches it," Viktor continued, "it'll activate. Spread through your bloodstream. Shut down your organs one by one. Painful. Slow. Very, very unpleasant."

Gareth's mind spiraled. 'No. No, no, no—'

"You're lying," he choked out. "You're bluffing!"

"Drink that water from the pond," he said.

Gareth's eyes snapped to the filthy water, then back to Viktor. His face twisted in disgust and fury.

"I will 'not' drink from that filthy pond!" he spat, his voice rising. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. The thought of putting his lips to that scum-covered cesspool made his stomach turn.

Viktor's smile didn't fade. If anything, it widened.

"Then fine," he said with a shrug. "It was just for the test, either way, I will not give you the antidote."

Gareth's breath caught.

'No. Wait—'

Panic surged through him, hot and suffocating. His pride, his anger—it all crumbled in an instant. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees, his hands reaching out desperately toward Viktor.

"Give me the antidote!" he begged, his voice cracking. "Please! I—I'll do anything! Just give me the antidote!"

Viktor tilted his head, studying him like one might study an insect pinned to a board.

"But you didn't believe me," Viktor said, his tone light, teasing.

"I believe you!" Gareth shouted, his voice breaking. His hands clawed at the dirt, trembling. "I believe you! Come on! First Lady Elena and now you?! Come on! Are you both fucking with me?!"

The words tumbled out, raw and desperate. Gareth's mind was spinning, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. Elena had used him. Viktor was using him. Everyone was using him, and now—now he was trapped between two monsters.

But at the mention of Elena's name, Viktor's expression shifted.

He chuckled.

It was a soft sound, almost boyish, and he raised one hand to cover his mouth, as if to stifle it. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, and for a moment, he looked almost... human.

But Gareth knew better.

"By the way," Viktor said, lowering his hand, his smile returning, "I forgot to tell you the side effect."

Gareth's breath hitched. His stomach dropped.

'Side effect?'

"It numbs the brain," Viktor continued casually, as if he were explaining how to brew tea. "So, you know, try not to become an idiot."

Gareth stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

"Wh—what?"

Viktor leaned back against the stone bench, crossing one leg over the other. His tone was patient, almost instructional.

Gareth's eyes went wide.

'No.'

"It has a dual nature," Viktor said, gesturing with both hands, as if he were demonstrating a scientific principle. "On one side, water triggers the lethal effect—organ failure, slow and painful. On the other side, no water triggers the mental degradation. Your brain starts to fog up. You lose your ability to think, to reason, to remember. You become a mindless idiot who can't even tie his own shoes."

Gareth's hands shot to his head, gripping his skull as if he could physically hold his sanity in place.

'He's lying. He has to be lying—'

But the way Viktor looked at him—calm, amused, utterly confident—told him otherwise.

"So," Viktor said, standing and brushing dirt off his pants, "you're stuck. Drink water, you die. Don't drink water, you lose your mind. Either way, you're at my mercy."

Gareth's vision blurred. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. His mind raced, scrambling for options, for escape routes, for 'anything'—

But there was nothing.

He looked up at Viktor, standing there with that soft, almost cherubic smile on his chubby face. The young master who'd been a joke just days ago. The boy who'd thrown away his inheritance. The fool who'd been banished to this cursed manor.

But now, looking at him, Gareth saw something else entirely.

'A monster.'

Ignoring his state and folding his hands behind his back, ViKtor narrowed his eyes, knowing that in this lifetime he needed to prepare things.

Once he got out of his honeymoon, he ordered Gareth, who was now his loyal servant, while tossing a pouch that contained antibiotics.

"Now listen..."

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