Chapter Eighteen: Black Butler

Ethan observed the sudden appearance of the satellite. Without a doubt, this satellite was a creation of the "True God's Name," belonging to it and bearing its power and authority.

Ethan recalled a thought he had earlier: true names could be bestowed. What if he granted this satellite to someone? For instance, Anya—what would happen?

“Anya,” Ethan called softly outside the door. He knew she was there. This girl, almost machine-like, had now become an inseparable shadow at his side. Thinking this brought him an unexpected sense of calm.

Sure enough, the door opened the next moment, and Anya quietly entered, standing silently at the bathroom entrance, awaiting his next command.

After those harrowing two days and nights, her attitude toward Ethan had changed. At first, she followed Alberto’s orders, her gaze on Ethan like that of a mission—seemingly respectful but empty within. Now, however, her eyes reflected genuine respect and trust, no different from how she once looked at Alberto.

Ethan rose directly from the bathtub. Anya’s long lashes fluttered once; she did not avoid his gaze but lowered her eyelids slightly and handed him a towel.

“Sorry,” Ethan said, having been lost in thought and forgetting even this small courtesy. He quickly wrapped the towel around himself and said to Anya, “Come here.”

The words made Anya’s breath falter for a moment, but she obeyed. Yet nothing happened as she had imagined. Ethan simply placed his hand gently on her head and, with solemn gravity, spoke:

“Anya, in the name of the head of the Boretta family, I bestow upon you the name Boretta. From this moment forward, do you vow to share life and death with the family? Are you willing to dedicate everything for the family’s name?”

Anya, an orphan, had no formal name; "Anya" was a nickname given by Alberto, reportedly the name of a favorite singer and actress of Ethan’s mother.

She had not anticipated this turn of events and stood there stunned, letting the water from Ethan’s hand drip through her silver strands.

Many years later, Anya would still recall this moment: in the bathroom, a man wrapped only in a towel, placing his hand on her head and granting her a true name.

It sounded absurd at first, yet somehow it resembled a sacred religious image from a painting—profoundly holy.

“I… I am willing.”

Anya lowered her head, preparing to kiss the emblem on Ethan’s left hand.

But Ethan stopped her, gently patting her head three times.

—

Then, the purple satellite in front of him descended into Anya’s body, under his control.

The next moment, Anya felt a sudden shudder throughout her body, an indescribable thrill coursing through every nerve.

She sensed her blood rushing rapidly, her heart trembling incessantly, countless fragments swirling in her mind.

She felt weightless, like a feather, or perhaps intoxicated and dizzy, and she collapsed.

Fortunately, Ethan caught her.

He laid her on the bed, holding her hand and watching her.

After a long moment, her long lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes again.

“Master, what is happening to me?”

“What did you see?” Ethan asked simply.

“What did I see?” Anya widened her eyes, which then turned distant and cold, her voice likewise.

“I saw my name.”

“What is your name?”

“I can’t see it clearly.”

Can't see it clearly?

Ethan narrowed his eyes. Since Anya had collapsed, his vision had shifted as well.

He could feel a deep purple power tightly connected to Anya, a power he could control and seemingly receive feedback from.

Anya was like a true satellite orbiting him.

Was the name unclear because he hadn’t yet given her the true name?

In other words, Anya had not received his name—the creator and protector of violence—but needed a subordinate name.

Since he was the instigator and guardian of violence, then Anya must be its practitioner?

No, the rank of "practitioner" was too low, no different from a mere user of violence.

Better to call her the believer and master of violence.

At that moment, Ethan felt his "True God's Name" tremble, then ripple like waves, transmitting to Anya.

—

Anya’s pupils shifted again, and she slowly said, “I see clearly now, Master. My true name is…”

She uttered a word completely unfamiliar to Ethan, profoundly complex, more obscure than the terms she had previously spoken—“Thug” and “Leader.”

“What?”

“My true name is… Steward, the Black Steward,” Anya finally said.

The Black Steward?

It was no longer the original meaning of a true name. What was happening?

“How do you know that? Do you understand the language you just spoke?”

“No, I don’t understand it either. I just… know it,” Anya shook her head.

Strange. Another mystery to unravel.

But no matter what, Ethan had taken a solid step on the path of true names—he had created a new one.

Without a doubt.

“I will tell you your name: your true name is the believer and master of violence.”

As Ethan spoke, Anya’s pupils shifted slightly once more, then she bowed her head.

“Master, I understand.”

The next moment, Ethan felt her aura intensify, and surplus power flowed back into his body, strengthening his "True God's Name" further.

Was this… enlightenment?

Ethan was surprised.

No wonder Alberto said Anya had a great chance to become a true name bearer; her talent seemed terrifyingly high.

After a while, Anya rose from the bed, her expression solemn. She reached for Ethan’s hand, intending to kiss his ring.

Ethan stopped her again, shaking his head.

“No, Anya, that’s not necessary. We are family now, aren’t we? Family requires no loyalty; family supports and watches over each other. Just take this as my love for you.”

At the mention of love, Anya’s lashes fluttered. She nodded.

“I understand, Master. You should rest early. I… I want to take a shower first.”

For some reason, she bit her lip gently as she said this.

“Go ahead. There’s no need to guard me tonight. Sleep well. Good night.”

“Good night.”