The Votarist | bl | black butler

18: The Votarist, Playful

Original Chapters: 46-51
18: The Votarist, Playful

"The child was given a choice. It was either he killed himself on the altar or the people who 'cared' for him did it themselves. Hence, the child chose the first option.

"On that day, the first human sacrifice in history occurred.

"On that day, the demi-god known as the Child of Death, worshipped by those immoral humans, was born.

"On that day, I was reborn."

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.

.

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"What's wrong?"

Everyone, other than Charles Grey, turns as pale as the first fall of snow when the young earl asks them a question. They clearly remember a sword stabbing them, piercing them, cutting off their limbs.

And when they blinked, they found themselves in the past. Rather, in three days ago, when the banquet had just started.

The indescribable pain still lingers in their body, and some still feel as if their limbs are no longer attached to them. To rid this uncomfortable atmosphere, the first to speak is Charles Grey himself.

"Earl Phantomhive," he pauses, his body language screaming complete bafflement of the situation. "Do you... not remember anything?"

"What am I supposed to be remembering?" Those words throw everyone into internal chaos.

From the words of Earl Phantomhive, does that mean he does not remember the murders? But when they glance around, they can tell that everyone else experienced the same unfathomable thing. How can they dare forget it? They all died under the hands of a single man, after all.

Three consecutive knocks on the door make everyone alert, leaving only the young earl and his butler unaffected.

The door creaks open, and a familiar face steps in.

However, this time, he is no longer in a priest's robe but... a butler's uniform?

"Young master—" the saint, no, the butler merrily calls. "—a letter from Lady Elizabeth has arrived. Shall I send it to your study?"

"No, give it to me."

The butler with shoulder-length white hair is quite different from the saint whose hair was like a silk curtain. He smile is refreshing but there is a hint of danger beneath it. His gait is the same but the butler walks with sureness and boldness unlike the saint who walks with elegance and affability.

He passes by them one by one, and none of them could bear to utter a single word.

Saint.

What saint are they thinking about?

Who is the saint they kept comparing to this Phantomhive butler?

–Arthur feels his blood run cold when he catches the butler's dusk-like eyes. They briefly shine in gold and all the memories of the past three days begin to play like a broken record in his mind.

In the first place, Saint Ravi is the most suspicious person in the group of guests. His identity is the most special, and most inconsistent of all. Why join a gathering held by a nobleman? Instead, should he not have met the young earl on his own?

Since the Phantomhive Family once helped the saint's church, then it is only proper to express gratitude to the earl in a more private manner instead of a gathering like this.