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Chapter 6 - Chapter 6 A Word of Curse

William nodded slowly. He savored the strangeness for a moment—seeing Elizabeth, the usually calm and graceful woman, now a little awkward. There was a small pleasure hidden behind her stoic face, a subtle satisfaction that no one could read. However, his reason remained alert.

He had never truly believed anything written by humans. Especially not something called "official records."

"If Miss Elizabeth only looks at it one way," William said evenly, his tone casual, "that the Roselle family—who are said to be full of benevolence—sincerely built a church for the people... what if that good intention belonged to only one person?"

Elizabeth turned quickly. William continued calmly, as if stating a simple fact.

"Just because one person in the Roselle family is kind doesn't mean they all are. One person's kindness isn't enough to clear the name of an entire bloodline."

His words fell like a stone on the surface of a lake, causing subtle ripples to appear on Elizabeth's face. The woman narrowed her eyes slightly. Then, without comment, she lifted a blue crystal ball from beneath her robes. A soft light emanated from it, indicating that she was communicating with someone from the Order of the Hall of Literature.

William paid no attention. He walked away down the silent main hall. The flickering candles on the altar cast a dim light that made the long benches appear as rows of silent figures.

He opened the confessionals one by one. The wooden doors creaked softly. Empty. All empty. No trace of Sister Margaret. Only the smell of old wood and thick dust remained.

Her absence made everything seem all the more suspicious. Disappearing without a trace in a holy place—it was unnatural. William hated coincidences. This time, the coincidence felt too neat.

Elizabeth returned to her seat. She had put away her crystal ball.

"I have further confirmation from the Order of the Hall of Letters," she said quietly. "This church was apparently built by Lady Anastasia Roselle, the youngest daughter of the Roselle family. The reason behind it is quite sad."

William turned around, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Elizabeth sighed. "Her husband died mysteriously just two days after their wedding. Lady Anastasia built this church to carry out his wishes and honor him. She also built it for the people. That was four years ago, a year before the first couple was murdered."

William leaned back against a nearby stone pillar. His eyes narrowed, not out of surprise or satisfaction. It was just a faint confirmation that his intuition had been right. There was a connection between the history of the church and the murders.

But there was still a missing piece. He knew that jumping to conclusions now would only mislead him.

They walked deeper into the west side of the church, an area rarely visited by regular worshippers. A steel door stood, tightly secured by a large padlock. Elizabeth touched it lightly. An intense heat radiated from her fingertip, slowly melting the metal and causing it to drip onto the floor like wax.

William watched without comment. He had always known Elizabeth to be strong, and she still was.

The room beyond the door was filled with dust. In the center stood a large stone wall adorned with ancient carvings that immortalized the history of the church, ensuring it would never be forgotten. Lady Anastasia's name was clearly engraved alongside a dedication to her deceased husband.

William approached and touched the carving with his fingers. Although formal words covered the stone surface, his gaze fell on a small sentence in the bottom corner.

"For a love lost and a peace that never came."

William's brow furrowed. The sentence wasn't a prayer. It wasn't comforting. It was more like a curse.

Elizabeth spoke softly, almost a murmur. "I didn't expect you to have such a precise mind and such breadth of insight."

William waved his hand lightly, as if dismissing the compliment. "I'm only interested in interesting things." He glanced at her, his lips curling slightly. "Besides, Miss Elizabeth thinks sharply, too. Calm, precise, and quick."

Elizabeth didn't answer immediately. She stared at William for a long moment, her eyes unreadable. Then a faint smile appeared. It wasn't a smile of pleasure from the compliment, though. It was an old, bitter smile—like someone remembering a memory better left in the shadows.

Elizabeth didn't answer immediately. She looked at William for a long moment, as if searching for something beneath his calm exterior. Then, a faint smile appeared on her lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement or joy, but rather, a bittersweet smile—one born of an old wound that should have been buried long ago.

"Don't praise someone too easily," she whispered softly.

But William heard it clearly. His hearing was far sharper than that of an ordinary person.

"The longer you know them, all that remains is disappointment," Elizabeth continued quietly.

The words dissolved in the damp air of the old church, but to William, they left a faint echo.

She forced a smile, trying to lighten the tense air. "Sorry, it's nothing."

William just glanced at her. Silent. He didn't need to reply. Her smile was just a shield—Elizabeth's way of covering up a wound that never healed. Years had passed, yet she still clearly blamed herself for something from so long ago.

Elizabeth's problems were too deep and complex. William knew this and chose not to bring it up. After all, Elizabeth never knew who he really was.

To her, he was just William Langley, a teenage orphan from Rotherham Home. Not Morgan Welshman. Not a childhood friend who had long since disappeared from her life.

His gaze shifted to the damp, moss-covered stone wall. The same words were carved into it:

"For a love taken and a peace that never came."

William traced the carving with his eyes. The words sounded like a curse. Yet he sensed no malice in them. They seemed to be the lament of a woman who had lost everything.

From all the stories William had heard, Lady Anastasia Roselle wasn't the type of noblewoman to curse a commoner. If she built this church out of love for her people, why would she summon demons and spill the blood of young couples?

It didn't make sense.

"If anything strange is going on," William murmured half to himself, "it may not be from her, but from her siblings."

Elizabeth turned around, her eyes glinting faintly. She nodded slowly.

"Lady Anastasia had two older sisters and one older brother," she explained. "But she wasn't close to any of them. Her older brother was the primary heir to the Roselle family fortune. Just a year after this church was completed, Lady Anastasia was found dead in her sleep."

Elizabeth's voice dropped, sounding like a broken prayer in the air.

"Since then, the Roselle family has not donated to the Sanctum Misericordiae. This church relies solely on the donations of ordinary parishioners. There is no lavish maintenance; just enough is done to keep the church standing."

Lady Anastasia and her husband were aristocrats who cared for the people, which was nearly impossible in a world that kept nobles separate from everyone else. However, their love ended quickly and tragically. Now, a trail of death hangs over every corner of this sacred place.

"Lady Anastasia never held a grudge in her life," Elizabeth continued softly. "But the victims were all members of this church. They were always ordinary people."

William lowered his head and returned his gaze to the carving etched in the stone. The words didn't sound neutral. Too personal. Too heavy.

Revenge. Jealousy. Obsession.

"Then..." William spoke softly, his eyes still on the carving. "Maybe this conflict doesn't originate from outside." He looked up, his gaze sharp. "But from within. From within his own family."

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