Chapter 592

Caspian was struck by Sophia's brutality. He wondered, How is this different from a monster? She's practically inhuman, capable of tearing people apart with her bare hands. It's terrifying.

"No," Odalys replied, her tone measured. "The posthumous marriage is real, but Sophia isn't the bride they're looking for. Someone died in that villa, but it wasn't Elias."

"He's been using the guise of these posthumous marriages to hire families desperate for cash to sell their daughters to him!"

Percival stood silently, choosing not to interrupt.

"You're saying he purchases these women and then sends them to shady clubs to make money?" Orson asked, skeptical. "Those places have high standards—height, charisma, beauty. Women bought cheaply don't usually meet their requirements."

"Not necessarily," Percival said. "What if he's using them for posthumous marriages? It wouldn't be human trafficking, strictly speaking."

Onion frowned, more confused than ever.

"Think about it," Orson continued. "In some families, parents value sons more highly than daughters, treating daughters as expendable. If they see an opportunity to profit by selling them, the numbers could become staggering."

They all knew how prevalent the preference for sons remained in many communities. They'd seen families devalue and neglect their daughters. It's a tragedy, but it happens, Orson thought.

"By purchasing daughters from less favored families at low prices, you're effectively buying into their resentment," Percival observed. "That resentment can be a powerful tool to exploit."

Orson fell silent, unsettled. He wanted to argue, to refute, but no words came to mind. If they didn’t intend to care for these girls, why have them in the first place? Bringing them into the world only to neglect them, or worse—to sell them off—is beyond cruel. How could anyone treat their flesh and blood like a commodity?

The sight of these people made Orson uncomfortable.

"Same kind of eye mask?" Orson murmured.

"Take a look at this," Odalys suddenly said, breaking the silence. She reached into her bag and produced a small container. "Close your eyes." Percival and Orion exchanged a glance before complying. Odalys applied something calm and soothing to their eyelids. "Odalys, is this—"

Odalys didn't answer. Instead, she instructed, "Open your eyes."

As their eyes adjusted, the villa's interior seemed to shift before them.

"Odalys, what is this?" Orson squinted. The air was thick, heavy with lingering anguish and fury. In the distance, faint cries echoed—likely Elias, suffering after his attack.

"This villa hides more than it reveals," Odalys said. "Those men might look healthy, but their time is running out. Even if no one touches them, their sins will catch up soon. Follow me."

She confidently strode around the mansion, heading straight for a basement side entrance. Without hesitation, she kicked the door open. The space before them was adorned in festive colors, as if prepared for a lavish celebration.

On the floor lay row after row of women in elaborate gowns, their faces heavily made up. But they weren't moving—each one…

"Dead?" Orson murmured, a chill running down his spine. He moved to examine the bodies. A glance at their faces confirmed they had been dead for some time.

"They're all dead," Odalys explained. "Their parents sold these women for posthumous marriages."

Percival strode further into the room, his steps heavy. His sharp gaze swept over the sixty-eight lifeless bodies, anger flickering in his eyes.

Young women, all under twenty, lay in neat rows. Their delicate features were set in peaceful expressions, as if they had finally found solace.

Odalys stood still, her breath catching. Someone had dismissed sixty-eight lives as unwanted burdens. Her chest tightened with a sense of helplessness. If only someone had loved them. If only their lives had held more value.

These children were neither loved nor cherished by their parents. In the end, it was their parents who sent them to their deaths. No one even questioned the purpose of their existence.

"Damn it, this is worse than human traffickers," Orson exclaimed, his eyes blazing. "At least those women get to keep their lives, but here they're all killed."

Odalys let out a helpless laugh. "They didn't die by someone else's hand; they gave up out of despair. Abused by their parents and eventually sold here, they found a place where they could eat and stay warm."

"And so, they willingly chose posthumous marriage—chose to end their own lives," she said, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "What a cruel irony."

At home, they suffered from hunger and cold. But once sold, they experienced a life they never dared dream of. And after enjoying it, they found no meaning in living, choosing to die in gratitude.

It was grotesque. Tragic.

Orson's anger simmered, caught between release and restraint. "So they gave them food and warmth, and that was enough to make them choose death willingly!" He clenched his fists. "But how is that any less cruel than what their parents did?"

Odalys sighed. "That's why I said earlier—Sophia isn't like these women. She would never choose to die, and she'd never feel grateful to anyone just for giving her the bare minimum."

"But sixty-eight women have already gone through this posthumous marriage. They're getting greedy now, looking for higher-quality women from wealthier families. That's why Elias agreed to meet with Caspian." Her tone grew colder. "Too bad Sophia isn't what they're looking for."

Percival scanned the surroundings, his sharp eyes studying the deceased women. Their expressions were haunting—serene faces, faint smiles, relaxed brows, as if they had died in bliss.

"What's the real purpose of these posthumous marriages?" Percival asked abruptly.

Odalys shook her head. "It wasn't an ordinary posthumous marriage. The practice ensured the deceased wouldn't be lonely in the afterlife, allowing them to rest peacefully with a partner."

"The purpose is to make these women willingly give up their lives so that they can serve another purpose," Odalys continued. "Before their deaths, they likely consumed something special. By the time they died, their souls were already gone," she hesitated, then added, "Or rather, taken." Percival and Orson exchanged a tense glance.

Orson leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "Taken? What do you mean, Odalys?" His previous frustration faded, replaced by the excitement of uncovering the truth.