Chapter 509. Hazemoon’s Mansion I

Seven Sins System Chapter 509. Hazemoon's Mansion I

I glanced to the side and noticed a CCTV camera perched above the hedges, its lens pointed straight at me. A smirk played on my lips. Well, if they were watching, might as well give them a little show. With a subtle flick of my fingers, I activated my power. ’Telekinesis.‘

A soft wind rustled through the trees as I lifted a handful of leaves from the ground, guiding them to float up and cover the camera’s lens, blotting out its view.

Without further ado, I used my teleportation skill and appeared near the mansion entrance, my body settling into place as if I’d been walking up the path the whole time. I straightened my suit, schooling my expression into one of casual indifference, just as a group of staff came out to greet me.

A buggy rolled out of a nearby garage, and the driver did a double take, clearly not expecting to see me standing so close to the door already.

One of the butlers approached, a man in his late fifties with neatly combed hair and an expression that was equal parts surprise and professional composure. “Dr. Allen,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “Welcome to the Hazemoon estate. I apologize; we had the car ready to escort you from the gate.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “No need. The walk was… refreshing.” I let them decide if it was a lie or not. The butler nodded, though his eyes held a flicker of curiosity.

He gestured toward the open doors. “Right this way, sir. Mrs. Elara is expecting you.”

I stepped inside and swept my gaze around. High ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and a sweeping staircase that seemed to be straight out of some grand palace.

“Quite the place she’s got here…” I muttered to myself.

The butler led me through the corridors. They were lavishly decorated yet curiously devoid of personal touches. Paintings lined the walls, mostly grand landscapes and dramatic scenes, capturing moments from a time long gone. And yes… most of them were of me. She’d painted me a lot.

I slowed my pace, something in the art pulling me in, and to his credit, the butler adjusted his steps to match mine, letting me linger at each frame.

The first one was a scene of chaos, dark skies, ash swirling in the air like a storm of shadows. At the center, a figure loomed tall, draped in the darkness of his own aura, his eyes gleaming behind the mask I wore during that time.

My demonic form. My horns curved back, my face obscured, save for the sharp glint of my eyes. Tentacles and tails wove around me, a wild and monstrous presence, while my clawed hands, dripping with blood, stretched out as if to seize the very sky.

The memories came rushing back, raw and vivid. I remembered those battles, the taste of blood and ash in the air, the clash of mortal steel against my unnatural flesh. I remembered the looks of horror, the screams, the absolute dread that would shatter the hearts of those who saw me in my full glory. Or full monstrosity, depending on who was looking.

Red had captured it perfectly, the fierce energy, the unstoppable rage. But there was something else in that painting, too. A kind of sadness, almost buried, but there if I looked for it. Did she see that, even back then?

The butler cleared his throat quietly, as if hesitant to interrupt my thoughts. “Mrs. Elara painted all of them herself, sir.”

I let out a dry, almost hollow chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” Of course, I knew. No one else could’ve done it like this, with such brutal accuracy, with such a deep understanding of… of me. She’d been there, after all. She’d seen it all with her own eyes. Every drop of blood, every scream, every soul lost.

I moved to the next painting, this one a depiction of a different battle, one fought under the cover of night. My figure stood alone in a field of corpses, the moon casting an eerie light over the scene. Shadows clung to me like loyal servants, swirling around my form, making me look more demon than man. The mask was still there but even so, there was no mistaking the expression in my eyes... a fierce, unrelenting fire. Rage tempered with purpose.

She’d captured the unholy fury that had driven me back then, the unyielding need to crush anything in my path.

I remembered that battle, every detail etched in my mind.

I remembered the smell of burnt flesh, the screams of the fallen, the strange sense of exhilaration that came with power unrestrained.

The feeling of holding life and death in my hands.

But then I noticed something else, something I hadn’t seen at first glance. In the corner of the painting, barely noticeable, was a shadow. A silhouette, faint but unmistakable, of Red herself.

She’d painted herself watching from the sidelines, her eyes wide, her expression unreadable. Almost as if she were a spectator in her own work. It was weird, seeing myself through her eyes, through the eyes of someone who had loved me and feared me all at once.

My gaze drifted to the next one. Another war scene, this time with fire engulfing the background, smoke billowing up like a dark cloud over everything.

I was there, my form towering, my hands reaching out in a gesture of destruction. The earth around me was scorched, the ground littered with the remains of my enemies. But there was a subtle detail in this painting too, hidden in the shadows, almost too faint to notice, a single figure, small and frail compared to my form, standing in the distance. Watching…

She was always watching, wasn’t she? Even in the chaotic moments, even when I’d drown in my madness, she was there, recording it all with those perceptive eyes.

The butler watched me silently, sensing that these paintings held more than just artistic value.

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