Chapter 491: Deep in the Garden
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
As Duncan entered the mansion, his attention was immediately captured by a large, captivating oil painting hanging near the elegant spiral staircase. The artwork’s striking color scheme of deep blacks and rich crimsons created a vivid contrast that drew him in. This painting, one of many adorning the mansion’s expansive walls, depicted chaotic scenes as if born from feverish dreams.
Unlike traditional landscapes or portraits, this painting featured an abstract composition. Random lines zigzagged across the canvas, intersecting with blocks of color, creating a dizzying visual experience. The meaning of the painting remained elusive, hidden within its intricate strokes and whirls.
As Duncan studied the artwork, he realized that the chaotic patterns were evolving into discernible forms. What initially appeared as random shadows began to coalesce into definitive lines. The seemingly indiscriminate blobs of color started to take on recognizable shapes.
Suddenly, the painting seemed to come alive. It portrayed a powerful blaze, almost like a fireball, soaring through thick clouds and crashing into a turbulent sea below. The blazing entity split the sky in half, and the ocean churned angrily beneath it as if protesting the intrusion. Looming behind this dramatic scene was a menacing figure, enshrouded in dark crimson tones, appearing as a harbinger of some apocalyptic event.
Interestingly, Duncan found that the painting echoed a fleeting vision he had once had. In that vision, a trident-shaped spacecraft, engulfed in flames, spiraled down from the sky before exploding in a magnificent splash into the ocean.
Upon closer examination, Duncan realized that the artwork did not exactly match his earlier vision. The spacecraft from his memory was a marvel of advanced technology, easily recognizable by its futuristic design and grandiose presence. By contrast, the object in the painting seemed archaic, perhaps even a wooden ship, surrounded by flames that looked more like natural fire than the advanced propulsion of a spaceship.
It was as if the artist, perhaps living in medieval times, had dreamt of a futuristic vehicle. Lacking the context or vocabulary to fully understand what he had seen, he interpreted this advanced technology through his own limited artistic lens. The result was a painting filled with ambiguous symbols and unsettling imagery.
As Duncan was engrossed in his contemplation of the painting, he was interrupted by the voice of the mansion’s headless butler. “Are you intrigued by this painting, sir?” the butler inquired, breaking Duncan’s intense focus.
Intrigued, Duncan asked, “What can you tell me about the origins of these oil paintings that adorn the walls of this mansion?”
“The paintings have always been here, sir,” the headless butler replied, his tone measured and composed.
“Always?” Duncan pressed, confused. “Do you mean since this mansion was erected, or since Alice became its mistress?”
“From the dawn of time, sir,” the butler intoned, “prior to any events or existences one could conceive of.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed. The butler’s reply felt cryptic, like a riddle without an answer. He scrutinized the headless figure, but reading emotion or intent from a being without a face proved impossible. What remained were courteous but empty words.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Duncan asked, “Does the painting have a name? Can you elaborate on its subject matter?”
“The painting is nameless, as are all the paintings here,” the butler informed him. “They exist for their own sake, free from the constraints of titles or interpretations. As for its subject, I regret to say it exceeds my comprehension.”
“Surely, as the housekeeper, you should be familiar with its nuances?” Duncan prodded, a touch of disbelief in his tone.
“I am merely a servant, sir. This mansion harbors many enigmas, protected and secluded in its depths. The knowledge of such mysteries is not within a servant’s responsibilities.”
Duncan felt a flicker of irritation. He wanted to push the butler further but quickly squashed the urge. This was Alice’s Mansion, a place with peculiar customs and unknown dangers. Challenging the butler could jeopardize Alice’s safety, so he resolved to tread carefully.
Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, Duncan’s eyes drifted over the numerous paintings that decorated the expansive hallway. Each was a cascade of colors and abstract forms, but none seemed to morph or change under his scrutiny like the first one.
“Let us move on,” he said, feeling a pang of regret as he tore his gaze away from the mesmerizing artworks. Turning to the headless butler, he issued his next directive. “Please lead me to the garden you mentioned earlier.”
The headless butler executed a slight bow before leading Duncan across the opulent landing on the second floor. They descended the intricately designed spiral staircase and navigated through the expansive hall, eventually arriving at a narrow corridor that led to the mansion’s secluded rear garden.
Before proceeding, Duncan hesitated and looked back. His eyes were drawn to the opposite end of the hall, where a plush red carpet culminated at a massive dark wooden door framed by tall windows offering glimpses of thorny bushes outside.
“It almost seems like the gateway to the entire mansion,” Duncan thought aloud.
Curiosity ignited within him, and he found himself asking, “What’s on the other side of that door?”
The headless butler visibly quivered—an unprecedented break in the servant’s usually unflappable demeanor. “I must urge you, sir, to quell any curiosity about what lies beyond that door,” the butler responded, his tone unusually unsettled. “That is a pathway to an irrevocable destiny, an abyss of eternal torment.”
“A pathway to nowhere?” Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Why describe it in such ominous terms? Could it be a portal to another dimension?”
“Another realm? I can’t fathom what you mean, but I implore you, never attempt to open that door,” the butler cautioned. He began to wave his arms in an agitated manner. The door was sacrosanct—a forbidden territory within the mansion that no one was allowed to cross.
“I’m not bound by the rules of this place,” Duncan pointed out, his eyes twinkling with eagerness. “You said I hold the key, implying I can unlock any door here.”
“True, you possess a key, sir. But using it on that door would be a grave mistake,” the butler warned, his tone steeped in anxiety. “For the sake of everyone within this dwelling, I beg you not to unlock that door.”
“What really is behind that door?” Duncan fixed a hard gaze on the butler, his voice serious.
The butler seemed to falter, stuttering. “Behind that door… lies a world in ruins. An apocalyptic doom is imminent, and that door serves as a seal holding back the end of days. I beseech you, do not unseal that threshold and unleash the apocalypse upon us.”
Duncan’s eyebrows knit together as he absorbed the butler’s frantic revelations. The words “world in ruins” and “imminent apocalyptic doom” reverberated unsettlingly in his mind. Could the mansion be a fortress against some looming catastrophe?
After a few moments of contemplation, he took a deep breath and exhaled. “Don’t worry,” he said, nodding reassuringly. “I had no intention of opening that ominous door.”
The butler visibly relaxed. Despite his lack of a face, the sudden release of tension in his posture was unmistakable.
“Your words had greatly unsettled me,” the butler admitted, resuming his guided path. “I urge you to refrain from such inquiries in the future. The apocalypse has already consumed much of the world, and this mansion is the last sanctuary.”
Duncan remained silent, observing the butler as they walked through the narrow corridor. They reached a glass door framed with dark steel, dividing the translucent glass into geometric shapes filled with etchings of flowers and plants. The aesthetic was oddly disquieting, as if a fairy tale world had collided with a darker realm.
“The mistress is awaiting you in the garden. Please make yourself comfortable,” said the butler, twisting the door’s handle and stepping back.
“You’re not coming with me?” Duncan asked, surprised.
“The garden is reserved for the mistress and those who possess the key. Even the gardener enters only when necessary,” the butler clarified. “Should you need assistance, a slender rope is near the entrance. Pull it, and I will come immediately.”
“Thank you for leading me here,” Duncan responded, diverting his attention from the butler’s unsettling presence.
With a gentle push, he opened the creaking glass door and stepped into the garden.
The immediate shift in atmosphere was astonishing. Sunlight bathed the garden, a stark contrast to the mansion’s gloomy interior.
Sunlight. Actual, life-affirming sunlight.
Within the heart of this eerie mansion, there existed a sanctuary filled with warmth and light.
Duncan’s sense of wonder soared as he delved deeper into the garden. His eyes roamed over intricately designed flower beds bursting with color, shrubs sculpted to perfection, and pathways flanked by vivid green grass. The garden seemed to revel in an ethereal warmth, lending a surreal glow to every leaf and petal.
However, as he looked skyward, his awe waned, replaced by discomfort. The sky was not ordinary; it was an eerie artistic interpretation, almost childlike. Patches of blue, crude white clouds, and simplistic golden rays formed a fantastical sky, dominated by an amateurish sun radiating golden light. This “sun” provided the garden’s otherworldly illumination.
Despite the whimsical charm, Duncan felt unease. The garden’s strangeness gnawed at him. Shaking off a shudder, he averted his gaze from the peculiar sky and focused on the garden’s earthly aspects.
Soon, he noticed a peculiar splash of color amidst the greenery. Driven by curiosity and apprehension, he moved briskly toward the source, dodging through shrubbery and skirting a wall adorned with flowers.
At the garden’s heart, he found a secluded clearing. The atmosphere here was hushed and solemn. Dominating the clearing was a figure seated tranquilly, absorbed in deep meditation or sleep.
The figure rested against a grand marble column, covered in ivy and flowering vines. Yet, as Duncan edged closer, he realized the romantic imagery was marred by sharp black thorns coiling around the figure, holding her captive.
Duncan’s breath caught as he processed the beautiful yet imprisoning spectacle. The figure, both regal and vulnerable, drew his gaze irresistibly.
“Alice?” he whispered, his voice laden with concern, bewilderment, and anticipation.
I guess Alice is the Artist behind these Paintings, while we have no clues for that, it feels like it… or maybe these paintings are also memories of lost souls?
Another thing, maybe Alice ain’t that smart and know as much as she could due to part of her consciousness being trapped by these vines in that garden?
I actually hate the fact that Duncan is rash in this chapter but i guess it make us see that Duncan is not perfect
I wouldn’t say that. He didn’t make any irreversible action
He did what was needed to get that information, so it’s justified and not wholly impulsive…
Blackmailing someone with doing something stupid is not exactly the same as actually going through with the stupid act.
Right. It’s arguably even worse.
the two rooms, mc’s and the queen’s, feels more and more alike. locked inside, towards a journey too long to recount. what could they achieve and how?
the door of doom seems simmilar to the door on the vanished, the one to the subspace so maby this one leads to the subspace too