An Ordinary Evening at the Marquis's Estate
The House of Marquis Dervant prided itself on discipline, refinement, and the art of calm conversation.At least, that was what the servants whispered—because on that particular evening, calm was nowhere to be found.
"Give it back!"
"No, it's mine! I found it first!"
"You found it in my room, you snake!"
The shouting echoed through the grand marble hall. Two young noblemen, the Marquis's sons—Eldrin (the eldest, age twenty) and Lucien (the second, age eighteen)—were locked in mortal combat over what appeared to be… a small glowing brick.
One butler stood nearby, clutching a tea tray with trembling hands, torn between intervening and self-preservation.
Then came the voice that froze every soul in the mansion.
"What," boomed a deep baritone, "is the meaning of this noise?"
The Marquis of Dervant, tall and broad-shouldered with a perfectly trimmed mustache that screamed authority, entered the hall. His eyes immediately fell upon his sons wrestling on the carpet like peasants in a tavern brawl.
Both froze.
Lucien, who currently had his brother in a headlock, immediately tried to look innocent. "Father! We were, uh… discussing strategy."
Eldrin, red-faced and panting, snapped, "Strategy, my foot! You stole my turn!"
The Marquis raised an imperious brow. "Turn? For what?"
And then he saw it—the source of all chaos. A strange, polished rectangle, glowing softly with moving images on its surface.
He frowned. "What is that… thing?"
"It's not a thing, Father," Eldrin said breathlessly, snatching it back. "It's called a Crystal Communicator. Look! You can play games, talk, and take pictures!"
Lucien crossed his arms. "You forgot to mention that it's cursed. It hates me."
The Marquis squinted at the device. "A communicator that glows? How does it communicate? Through demons?"
The butler coughed nervously. "It's a new invention, my lord. Very popular in the capital."
Eldrin grinned and waved the phone in front of him. "It's revolutionary! You touch it here—see—and move the little man through traps. It's called Escape Dungeon!"
Lucien made a face. "It should be called Death Dungeon. I've died sixteen times."
"Twenty," Eldrin corrected with smug precision. "You died twenty times."
The Marquis's brow furrowed. "You are sons of a noble house. Surely you have better things to do than—than poke glowing stones!"
Eldrin and Lucien exchanged a look. Then, simultaneously, they said, "Try it."
"What?"
"Come on, Father," Eldrin coaxed. "If you beat the game, we'll stop fighting."
Lucien nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Father! You can do it! You always said you were the most strategic man in the Empire."
The Marquis, who indeed prided himself on strategy and intellect, felt his pride stir. "…Very well," he said stiffly, taking the phone as though it were a holy relic. "I'll show you how a real man conquers a… glowing brick."
At first, the Marquis was unimpressed.
"So this little man jumps… and dodges traps… hmph. Simple enough."
Eldrin and Lucien exchanged a knowing look.
"Ah, Father, careful of the spikes on the third floor—"
"I see them. I'm not blind, boy."
Two minutes later.
"Why did he fall in the hole? I jumped!"
Lucien coughed politely. "You jumped too early."
"Then why didn't he grab the edge? What sort of soldier dies from falling slightly wrong?!"
Eldrin was biting back laughter. "It's a game, Father. Timing matters."
The Marquis's eye twitched. "Timing?! I have led real armies into battle—how hard can a game be?!"
Two more minutes later.
"Why does this trap even exist?! Who builds a hallway that collapses when you breathe on it?!"
Lucien snickered. "You're supposed to run."
"I WAS RUNNING!"
The butler coughed discreetly from the corner. "My lord, perhaps you should rest—"
"Silence! I was so close!"
Hours passed.
Dinner was forgotten. Candles melted into puddles of wax.
The grand Marquis of Dervant—known for crushing rebellions and outwitting generals—sat hunched over the glowing device, eyes bloodshot, muttering curses under his breath.
Eldrin and Lucien flanked him like loyal lieutenants in a campaign of madness.
"Left, Father!"
"I KNOW!"
"Wait—no, not there—!"
"Curse this infernal brick!"
When he finally cleared the thirtieth level, the Marquis threw back his head and laughed maniacally. "Ha! I did it! Victory!"
Eldrin clapped. "Well done, Father!"
Lucien grinned. "Only ten levels left."
The Marquis froze. "Ten… more?"
Eldrin nodded solemnly. "Yes. The final challenge."
"…Fine," the Marquis growled, gripping the phone like a weapon. "Let it come."
The household servants were forbidden to enter the study that night, but muffled shouting leaked through the heavy oak doors.
"Why won't this door open?!"
"You need the blue key, Father!"
"I HAVE the blue key! It's right there—wait—why is the floor lava again?!"
"Jump, Father, jump!"
"I AM JUMPING! It's not jumping—why isn't it—AAARGH!"
The butler, listening outside the door, sighed heavily. "So this is how the mighty fall."
At one point, the youngest son shouted triumphantly, "I made it to level thirty-eight!" only for the screen to flash YOU DIED again, prompting collective groans that shook the rafters.
By the time dawn approached, the grand hall was filled with the faint blue glow of the cursed device. The Marquis, once regal and composed, sat slumped in his chair with wild hair and dark circles.
His sons were no better.
Eldrin's tie was undone, Lucien's hair stuck out in every direction, and all three of them glared at the screen as if it were a mortal enemy.
Level forty—the final stage.
A single puzzle door. A maze of shifting tiles.
They failed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, the Marquis slammed the phone onto the desk.
"WHOEVER MADE THIS GAME," he bellowed hoarsely, "DESERVES TO BE EXECUTED!"
Lucien rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Father, you said that at level twenty."
"I stand by it!"
Eldrin groaned. "We were so close…"
The Marquis pointed dramatically at the phone, voice cracking. "This… this infernal device is evil! A plague upon noble bloodlines! It destroys discipline, sleep, sanity—"
He paused. Then glared at his sons. "One more round."
"Father!" both sons cried in unison.
"One more round, I said!"
When the servants entered the study at dawn, they froze.
The three noblemen were slumped together in chairs, asleep—or unconscious—with the phone still glowing faintly in the Marquis's lap.
Empty teacups and snack plates littered the desk. One of the brothers was mumbling in his sleep, "The door's fake… the door's fake…"
The butler sighed deeply and drew the curtains closed. "The enemy has claimed victory," he murmured solemnly.
By mid-morning, word had spread among the servants.
"The Marquis stayed up all night gaming!"
"His sons too!"
"Apparently, they reached level forty!"
"Did they win?"
"No. The game killed them!"
The gossip reached other noble estates before noon. By evening, half the capital knew of the Dervant family's downfall—and by the next day, every noble wanted to see the game that could defeat a Marquis.
The sales of Crystal Communications exploded overnight.
Meanwhile, in the Demon Realm
Luceris lounged on his throne, sipping fruit juice with one leg crossed over the other.
Enia approached, holding a gleaming gold ledger. "Report: we're sold out in the capital. Apparently, a Marquis and his family played all night and cursed your name."
Luceris blinked, then smirked. "They cursed me?"
"Repeatedly."
"Excellent. It means they loved it."
Sylas groaned. "That's not love, that's addiction."
Luceris swirled his drink, golden eyes gleaming. "Addiction is just loyalty in disguise."
Caelum muttered, "Spoken like a true villain."
Luceris grinned. "Thank you. I do my best."