Chapter 439

“Odalys,” Percival’s voice faltered as he saw her. He instinctively took a step toward her, watching as Odalys stood, her small hands clasped in front of her, covering the exposed parts of her delicate chest. She took a cautious step back, and with a loud splash, fell into the pool.

Water splashed in every direction. Without thinking, Percival reached out to pull her out, but before he could, she grabbed his arm, dragging him into the water with her. Her body wrapped around his waist, but he quickly twisted, pushing her down.

“Percival,” Her voice, soft and melodic, called his name. She looked at him with an innocent yet seductive gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief, as though she were tempting him.

Percival’s throat tightened, his sharp features hardening. His piercing gaze locked onto her face, and his lips curled into a cold, contemptuous sneer. “Are you trying to die?” Percival’s voice was like ice, his words cutting through the air.

With one swift motion, he gripped her neck, effortlessly lifting her from the water. Before she could react, Percival’s wrist, wrapped in the red string of thunderstruck wood Odalys had given him, swung toward her throat.

She looked at him, utterly shocked by his ruthless reaction. “Odalys would never shamelessly seduce me,” Percival muttered with disdain. The woman’s hands clawed at her throat in agony as she screamed, but the surroundings suddenly shifted. The pool disappeared, replaced by a grassy field, and the woman’s figure vanished, leaving only a pool of blood on the ground.

Percival crouched, dipped his fingers in the blood, brought them to his nose, and sniffed. “It’s blood. It seems this place, though appearing to be a burial ground, is being manipulated. Everything here is an illusion,” Percival thought, relieved that his composure had held. If he had faltered, he might have fallen into the trap.

He didn’t dare let his guard down. Standing still, he breathed deeply, scanning the area. A moment ago, he and Callum had been standing in the same spot, but now the scene had changed completely. The illusion had separated them. If they weren’t careful, they might lose their lives.

“Callum!” Percival called urgently, his voice echoing in the now empty air. His calls reverberated through the eerie silence, unanswered.

Percival held his breath, his senses sharpened. He looked around, then walked forward with purpose. His footsteps were firm and measured, as if he had found the right direction. With each step, the mist began to vanish.

With a sudden explosion, Percival pressed a button on his phone, and the ground beneath them erupted, blasting a path through the burial ground. As the fog dissipated, a massive mansion appeared. It stood in the open space, its surroundings barren—no trees, no flowers, as if life itself had been drained from it.

Percival clenched his fist, stepping forward with determination. He kicked open the heavy doors. With a loud creak, the red doors flew open, and Percival’s eyes locked onto a familiar figure standing under the moonlight, holding a coffee cup and taking a sip.

The man turned slowly, his eyes meeting Percival’s with recognition. “Father,” Percival’s voice faltered in disbelief. The man looked exactly as he had at thirty, still tall and fit, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, exuding the same confident aura. He raised his hand and beckoned Percival.

“Percival, is that you? Come here, let your father take a good look at you,” the man said, his voice warm.

Percival strode forward almost at a run, his feet carrying him towards the figure that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He stopped in front of the man, looking at him in disbelief.

The coffee cup still in his hand, the man’s smile was gentle. There was a faint scar on his face, one Percival knew all too well. It was from a car accident when he was a child, when his father had shielded him from the crash. The scar, though faint, had never been treated—it was left there as a reminder of their bond. His father had always told him to keep the scar, as it was a symbol of their father-son connection.

Percival stared at the scar, his heart heavy. The man before him, his father, who had been dead for over a decade, now stood there, as real as ever. The coffee cup was the same one his father used to love—the one Percival had seen him drink from countless times when he was a child.

“Dad,” Percival choked out, his throat dry, his voice barely above a whisper. He called out softly, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter this fragile moment.

He stood there, watching his father turn away to pour him a cup of coffee, then hand it to him. “It’s been so long since we had coffee together, Percival,” his father said with a soft smile. “You’ve grown so much. I never protected you well enough. You’ve had to bear the weight of the Stewart family on your shoulders from such a young age. I’m sorry for that.”

Percival looked down at the coffee, the aroma filling his senses. He brought the cup to his lips and took a deep breath, feeling the warmth seep into him. He looked up again, and his father was still standing there, staring at him with the same warm smile. But there was something odd in the air, something that didn’t feel right. His father’s expression shifted, his smile faltering as he turned back to him with a surprised look in his eyes. “Percival, you’re here! Come, let me have a better look at you,” his father repeated the same line, his voice soft, but the repetition made Percival’s stomach twist.

He stood frozen, the hairs on his neck standing on end. This wasn’t right. The familiarity was too much, but the more he looked, the more it felt off. It was the same man, yet something had changed. Minutes passed, and Percival watched as his father continued to repeat the same words over and over.

“Percival, you’re here? Come here, let me see you…”

Percival’s grip tightened around the coffee cup. His throat tightened, and the bitterness of the moment settled deep in his chest. “Someone must have pierced my deepest desire to create this illusion. This… this is my inner demon,” Percival muttered to himself, his voice heavy with sorrow.

Suddenly, a surge of nausea rose in his chest, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. With a sharp, painful motion, he crushed the coffee cup in his hand, shattering it into pieces. The moment the cup shattered, the man before him froze, his face locked in confusion. He stood there, as if frozen in place, staring at Percival. He opened his mouth to call him again, but before he could speak, his body disintegrated with a loud crash, fading into nothingness.

“Father…” Percival called out softly, his voice filled with pain as he watched the illusion dissipate. The yard remained, but the air had become thick with something unnatural, a seductive fragrance laced with danger, as though the illusion was still alive, watching him.

Percival’s hand was burning in his pocket. He quickly reached in and pulled out a talisman; its warmth was almost scalding in his palm. It was a talisman from Odalys—he recognized the writing. She had placed it in his coat that morning.

The talisman pulsed with heat, its energy radiating with a strange power. Suddenly, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang, trapping him inside. The negative energy surged toward him from all directions, suffocating and overwhelming him.

Percival held his breath, standing firm as the talisman ignited in his hand. Golden light erupted from it, and the energy around him exploded outward in all directions. In the blink of an eye, the negative energy dissipated.

At that moment, the door was kicked open, and a tall, familiar figure stormed inside. She stood just a few feet away, calling his name. “Percival.” The voice was unmistakable. Percival turned sharply, his eyes locking with hers.