Chapter 95: Chapter 95: Goodbye, Lady Weinstein

I staggered back, barely keeping my balance. The world spun before my eyes — the walls shook, the floor seemed to slip away beneath my feet, trying to pull me into the void. The air became too thick, viscous, and each breath was so difficult, as if I were trying to inhale molten metal into my lungs.

"N-no..." I exhaled hoarsely, feeling my voice tremble treacherously. "This can’t be..."

Roger stood before me, still wearing the same calm smile. He held the duke’s head as carefully as if it were truly a precious jewel, a work of art worthy of admiration.

"Isn’t he beautiful?" the guy said quietly, his voice echoing around the room. "I tried to capture everything in him... everything you ever taught me."

I couldn’t believe my ears. Every word that came out of his mouth seemed like pure madness.

"Roger... what have you... what have you done?" I asked, my voice trembling.

He tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Did?" he repeated with barely perceptible surprise. "I just finished my masterpiece. You wanted me to improve, to learn to put my soul into my work, didn’t you? Well... now my father is part of my inspiration."

His lips twitched into a slight, almost tender smile, and it was the most terrifying thing I could have seen.

I backed away, feeling my back bump into the cold wall. My heart was pounding in my throat, and my breathing was uneven, turning into short, ragged gasps.

"Roger," I said quietly, trying to keep what was left of my sanity, "listen to me... you... you don’t understand what you’ve done. This... this is madness!"

"Insane?" the guy asked, slowly approaching me. "But didn’t you yourself once say that art knows no bounds?"

I froze.

"I... I didn’t mean that..." I whispered, feeling a shiver run down my spine.

Roger stopped right in front of me.

"No, Lady Weinstein," he said quietly, almost affectionately, "you were absolutely right. Art knows no bounds. And as an artist, I must put my whole self into my art. Now I understand that you were right."

Roger carefully placed the duke’s head on the nearest table, as if it were truly his precious masterpiece, demanding reverent respect.

"See?" Roger whispered, looking at his creation with delight. "My father is no longer just a man. Now he will forever remain a part of art... a part of my inspiration. He will live in it forever."

I could no longer hold back—the cry that escaped my chest was a scream of horror.

I didn’t recognize my own voice.

It seemed to me that everything happening around me was just a monstrous dream. A dream woven from horror and madness from which I could not wake up. It was all too unbelievable, too monstrous to be real.

I recoiled, feeling my arms and legs go limp and my breathing become erratic.

No... it can’t be.

It couldn’t be that Roger... the Roger I knew... had really done this.

"Lady Weinstein, what’s the matter?" came a quiet, almost mocking voice.

Roger was smiling. His smile was strange and unnatural. His blue eyes, once clear and bright, now reflected an abyss—deep, cold, and merciless. "Are you afraid of me now?"

"I... I..." The words stuck in my throat.

I instinctively took a step back, but immediately realized there was nowhere else to retreat.

Behind me was only a wall, cold as marble. A chill ran down my spine, as if an invisible hand had touched my skin.

All I could do was press myself closer to it, as if that could somehow protect me.

Roger took a few slow steps forward.

"I wonder," he said quietly, almost thoughtfully, "how I look to you now?" He tilted his head to one side, as if he were really pondering his own words, and then suddenly laughed. His laughter was eerie.

"The heir to the duke, the renowned knight, the hero of the empire," he said with bitter mockery, "has now killed dozens of innocent people... even his own father."

He took another step. Now there were no more than a couple of meters between us.

"So tell me, lady," his voice became lower, almost a whisper, "am I still a hero in your eyes?"

I couldn’t answer. My whole body was shaking.

My mind refused to accept reality.

Roger... the very same Roger Dickens from the game that I knew... couldn’t do such a thing.

A noble young man, a knight whose name was spoken with pride. A man willing to risk his life for others. He protected the weak and fought for justice. He would never... never kill the innocent!

It was impossible.

"No... he’s not like that...!" my mind repeated desperately, like a broken record, trying to drown out the terrifying reality.

My thoughts raced, forming a chaotic mess in which it was impossible to pick out a single meaningful thread. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe — every second seemed like an eternity filled with fear, confusion, and despair.

"Lady..." His voice, low and strangely calm, cut through the thick silence. "Now I must be repulsive in your eyes?"

I didn’t answer. My mouth opened slightly, but the sounds stuck in my throat and I couldn’t utter a word.

"Do you... despise me?" Roger asked, taking a step forward. "Do you hate me?"

His words echoed in the space between us.

I just stood there, frozen, unable to come up with a single answer. My heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything else.

Meanwhile, Roger continued to talk, and the longer he talked, the crazier the gleam in his eyes became.

His lips trembled with a strange, fanatical excitement, as if he were on the verge of complete insanity.

"You taught me that art is an expression of the soul, remember?" he finally said, smiling faintly. "Well... now you see my soul. Isn’t it beautiful?"

His voice broke into a quiet chuckle. The laughter, intermittent, almost hoarse, rang out in the oppressive silence.

"That’s right," Roger said, his lips twisted into a painful smile. "You must hate me. You must... despise me."

The air caught in my lungs, my chest tightened as if an invisible hand was slowly suffocating me.

"And you know," he continued with frightening calm, "I think my painting is still missing something." He took a step forward. "I have to add the finishing touch, don’t I?"

My heart skipped a beat.

"...This will be my masterpiece," his eyes flashed with a feverish light, "one that you will remember for the rest of your life. So... watch closely, lady."

With these words, Roger slowly raised his hand and took a sword from behind his back. The metal glinted in the dim light, and I felt a chill run down my spine. The blade was covered in dried blood, and even from a distance I could smell it — sharp and metallic.

It was that very sword.

The one Roger had once fought with on the battlefield — the weapon that had become a symbol of his valor and courage. And my silk scarf was still tied to the hilt — the very one I had given him before he left for war.

And now that scarf was also soaked in blood.

I felt a shiver run through my whole body, from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers.

"It can’t be..."

It was probably with this sword that he had now taken the lives of all these unfortunate people—servants, knights, and his own father. The sword that once served to protect the empire had now become an instrument of insane bloodshed.

Roger ran his fingers lightly along the blade, smearing fresh blood across the metal, and a shadow of satisfaction appeared on his face — calm and frightening.

"Art requires sacrifice," he whispered. "And I’ve always been a good student, haven’t I, Lady Weinstein?"

I couldn’t even move.

My lips trembled, but no sound came out.

All I could do was watch. Watch Roger, whom I no longer recognized.

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I couldn’t even guess his next move.

All I could do was tremble with fear, feeling the cold seep into every cell of my body.

And in the next moment...

"Goodbye, Lady Weinstein."

It all happened in an instant.

Roger raised his sword, and before I could even comprehend what was happening, the blade flashed and slashed his throat.

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

I saw scarlet blood spurt out, his body stagger and fall.

The sword also hit the marble floor with a dull thud.

Hot drops of blood splattered on my face, hands, and dress.

I screamed.

I thought I had really gone mad then.

[SYSTEM ERROR]

Critical script violation detected.Character data integrity compromised.

[Program failure...]

File: Character_Roger_Dickens.dat — corrupted.Attempting recovery...

[ERROR: recovery impossible.]

Character data for "Roger Dickens" not found in system archives.

[Deletion complete.]

Character "Roger Dickens" — DELETED.Game will restart automatically.