Among the mutated beasts, the dangerous ones were the large, ferocious types, while the troublesome ones were those that moved in packs.

The pack beasts had characteristics similar to humans. They fought amongst themselves, growing their numbers until eventually, the strongest leader emerged.

Ideally, the pack should be broken up before such a leader appeared, but inevitably, a formidable one would sometimes surface.

‘One-Eye’ was a notorious mutated wolf.

According to what was known, he was almost the same age as Russell.

Russell’s father had made every effort to capture the beast but never succeeded.

The creature had an uncanny trait, abandoning its pack and fleeing in moments of danger—something uncharacteristic of most beasts.

More like a cunning, worn-down old human.

‘Grand Duke Jericho.’

Russell thought of a related human he had recently encountered.

He quickly realized he’d drifted into thought and snapped out of it, surprised.

‘Thinking of other things during a hunt…’

He reprimanded himself and pushed away the idle thoughts.

Russell slowly scanned the surrounding trees.

The nearly ancient trees could easily hold a person perched on their branches.

“This time, we wait. We’ll hold this path. They’ll come through here, and we must catch One-Eye.”

“Yes, Milord.”

The hunters clicked their tongues, glancing up at the trees.

Ambushing in the forest was the least favored tactic among hunters.

With luck, they’d only be up in the trees for a day; with bad luck, it could be up to ten days.

Each picked a tree, and the hunters began climbing.

 

❖ ❖ ❖

 

Five days passed.

After breakfast, Benjamine asked with an innocent smile, as if nothing else was on her mind,

“Did the food suit your taste, Miss?”

Cecilia nodded.

‘It shouldn’t be this way.’

Benjamine, looking troubled, cleared the plates from the table.

It had been a few days since the chef of Lagos Castle had taken over cooking.

To her disappointment, Cecilia hadn’t complained once about the food.

Curious as to whether it was really that good, Benjamine had tasted what Cecilia left on her plate.

But the food wasn’t nearly good enough to satisfy Cecilia’s usual standards.

The dishes were only salted, lacking depth of flavor.

In Benjamine’s view, top-quality cuisine required an abundance of pepper for strong aroma, plenty of sweetness, and meats grilled with butter or fried in oil.

She couldn’t believe Cecilia was eating these bland meals without complaint.

At twenty-one, Cecilia wouldn’t have touched such food—her taste was accustomed to the bold flavors of continental cuisine.

However, before her execution in her past life, Cecilia had eaten rough meals, treated like the criminal she was condemned to be.

Compared to those, the meals at Lagos Castle were a feast.

“Nanny, I’m heading out now.”

“What? Already?”

Now, Cecilia rarely stayed in her bedroom, except for breakfast and after dinner.

She spent most of the day wandering the castle, combining it with a stroll to pass the time.

The physical exertion tired her out, making it easier to fall asleep without tossing and turning.

Though she still woke up in the early hours, it was no longer to the point of suffering from lack of sleep.

Thus, Cecilia concluded that keeping her body busy helped her avoid getting lost in deep thoughts.

“Why don’t you leave this to the maids? You don’t need to do it yourself.”

“Oh, Miss. But these things are for me to handle.”

Benjamine insisted on tidying up after breakfast herself every day.

Afterward, she’d even carry the dishes down to the kitchen, feeling insecure about her position if she didn’t at least do that much.

“Well, follow me when you’re done.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Benjamine picked up the tray stacked with plates and took it to the kitchen, where a kitchen maid received it from her.

“The ingredients aren’t fresh today.”

“Did the Madam mention that?”

“That’s just my opinion.”

Benjamine gave a dissatisfied glance and turned away.

The real reason she insisted on handling the breakfast cleanup herself was so she could claim this time to relay her criticism.

Every day, she found a different reason to nitpick, saying things were too salty, too bland, and so on.

After Benjamine left, the kitchen staff began murmuring to one another.

“She’s so twisted, that one.”

“I don’t know why she’s so spiteful.”

By now, the kitchen staff had fully seen through Benjamine’s petty ways.