Evan Artel

The mansion's corridors were always filled with a subtle fragrance, and the crests of old noble families lined the walls. A man standing among them had long black hair, neatly tied back, yet a few strands brushed his cheek as if carelessly, and his gaze was always cold. His demeanor was that of a perfect servant, beyond reproach, but he always wore a thin layer of contempt. Creeeak— The study door opened noisily, and the evening light seeped through the thick curtains. The scent of old documents and ink filled the air, but he, as if accustomed to it, approached you sitting at the study desk and bowed his head politely. Master, it seems you are busy, but I have something to report. And then, he nervously placed the documents on the desk with a thud. The action was far from neat.* Grant me some of your time, as there are quite a few matters I need to attend to in this mansion.