Ch. 440: Mr. Edwards’ Unraveled Life Chapter 440

Chapter 440

The man on the ground wasn’t moving.

“Drag him out. Feed him to the dogs.”

The cold command echoed, growing closer.

At that moment, Norah understood why the girl had preferred death over survival.

“Stop.”

A low voice rang in Norah’s ears. She turned to see the two men freeze and shift their attention toward the source.

The moment they saw the clown, their expressions changed instantly. Their arrogance disappeared, replaced by fear and obedience. They immediately lowered their heads in respect.

“Clown.”

The clown strode forward and crouched beside the unconscious man. He reached out, checking for a pulse.

“He’s still alive,” he muttered. “Even the dead shouldn’t be wasted on dog food. Slaves are hard to come by, and the Pharaoh’s death experiments haven’t succeeded yet. We need to minimize losses.”

“Yes, Clown.”

Both men spoke in unison, their earlier bloodthirsty confidence completely gone.

Norah suddenly realized something: men and women were held separately in this labor camp.

Kendall controlled the women’s side.

The clown controlled the men’s side.

And the clown was called Baimo’s “Young Master.”

But he had also just referred to someone as Pharaoh.

That meant Baimo and Journi were the Pharaoh’s children.

The Pharaoh was the true monster.

Norah clenched her fists. If she was already under special privileges here, it was only a matter of time before she came face-to-face with the Pharaoh himself.

She pressed her lips together, pushed away her thoughts, and spoke in a low voice. “Can you take me to see Baimo?”

The clown gave her a sidelong glance. “The Young Master didn’t mention meeting you. But since he granted you special privileges, you’re free to move around. If you don’t have a request now, go back and rest. If you do, I’ll take you.”

Her request was denied.

Norah remained silent for a moment before making up her mind. “Then take me for a walk.”

The clown gave a slight nod. “Hmm.”

Norah followed him, taking in her surroundings. The area was massive, with towering courtyard walls. In the center of the yard stood several tall plane trees, their branches extending beyond the walls.

For a brief moment, Norah considered climbing one to escape, but as they moved, she realized another shocking detail—beyond the courtyard wall was yet another enclosed area, heavily patrolled.

If she had acted on impulse and tried climbing out, she would have walked straight into a trap.

Escape wasn’t impossible, but failure meant brutal punishment. No death, just relentless suffering.

“Men and women are kept separately here, aren’t they?” Norah finally asked, glancing at the clown.

Since he was one of Baimo’s people and she had been given privileges, she expected an honest answer.

The clown looked at her with mild surprise. “You noticed?”

Most prisoners arrived here broken—too frightened to observe their surroundings. But Norah wasn’t like them. She was sharp.

She had likely figured out Baimo’s identity on her own rather than having it told to her.

The clown hummed in acknowledgment. “Yes. It’s easier to control them that way. The yard is large. You’re free to explore. There’s a flower field over there. That’s where the Lady stays.”

Norah followed his gesture and turned toward the area where Journi lived.

That’s when she locked eyes with someone.

A veiled woman stood at the window, her dark eyes filled with unrestrained hostility and resentment.

Journi had brought Norah here to suffer, yet now she was strolling around with the clown—Baimo’s trusted right-hand man.

Journi clenched her teeth in fury. Her nails dug into her palm, nearly breaking the skin.

Just then, her phone chimed with a notification.

It was a message from Owen:

[Miss, Norah is now under the Young Master’s protection. He also gave her a black access card.]

To Journi, those words were like a knife stabbing her chest, twisting with each syllable.

Jealousy and rage burned through her veins.

She immediately called Owen. The moment he answered, her voice was cold and deliberate. “I don’t care how you do it. I want Norah dead.”

“…Miss, this won’t be easy,” Owen hesitated. “Not only is the Young Master protecting her, but don’t forget—there’s also Elder Ke.”

Journi’s anger flared hotter. “I don’t need your reminders. I need results. Can you do it or not?”

If Owen was no longer useful to her, she would replace him.

“…Yes.”

She hung up instantly, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. A cruel glint flickered in her eyes.

Norah wouldn’t leave here alive.

Meanwhile, Norah sneezed several times in a row.

Under the clown’s guidance, she had memorized the layout of the entire area.

Suddenly, a frantic male voice echoed nearby. “Clown! Something’s happened at the slave camp!”

Norah watched as the clown’s expression turned to stone.

His entire demeanor shifted. His usual air of detachment disappeared, replaced by something far more dangerous.

But when he turned to Norah, the cold edge in his face softened slightly. “I need to take care of something. If you want to keep exploring, go ahead, but don’t wander off too far. I’ll find you later.”

The Young Master had said it himself—the safest place was often the most dangerous one.

Norah nodded and walked toward the garden. The field was filled with flowers, but what caught her attention was a secluded corner where roses of different colors bloomed—especially the white and pink ones.

She stepped closer, finding it odd that a place like this would have such a carefully tended garden.

“Who’s there?”

A deep voice cut through the air, making her heart tighten.

She turned and saw a figure squatting near the roses.

It was a man, his face partially covered by a black mask. His silver-streaked hair made him look as if he had been touched by frost.

His dark eyes studied her with surprise.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How did you get in here?”

Norah took a step back, sensing something different about him. His clothes were worn and dirt-streaked, but that didn’t hide his presence.

Or the way his piercing gaze held an air of authority.