Chapter 56: Devan Family - Dragged Into Another World Because of My Otaku Friend - NovelsTime

Dragged Into Another World Because of My Otaku Friend

Chapter 56: Devan Family

Author: AkaShion
updatedAt: 2025-07-04

CHAPTER 56: DEVAN FAMILY

Martha walked past Cynthia and pulled out the chair closest to them at the far end of the long dining table.

"Have a seat, dear," she said gently, ignoring the disapproving stares from the others.

"Why are you inviting her, Martha?" grumbled a fat man, clearly wearing a wig and overdressed in noble attire.

"Ugh... my wine tastes worse after seeing her face," a similarly plump woman sneered, glancing with disdain at the cup in her hand.

Cynthia quietly took the seat Martha had pulled out. Martha then sat beside her, positioning herself next to her son, who sat at her right, and her husband beyond him.

"Mother, I’m scared," the boy near Cynthia whispered, shifting away from Cynthia as if she were some kind of monster.

Cynthia did not react. She lifted her cup, and a servant silently poured a purple liquid into it. She drank with her eyes closed.

"How dare you come back here, after what you did to your father?" someone hissed.

"You’re just lucky those snake-tongued Kelar took you in. If not, you be rotting in an underground prison by now."

The room buzzed with bitter voices. For years, Cynthia had been scorned and cast out by her own family, accused of murdering her parents. This was why she stayed away.

But today... she had resolved herself.

"I came here to visit my father’s grave," she said, her eyes locked on the patriarch, her grandfather. Drake.

Crack.

The wine cup in Drake’s hand shattered. A vein throbbed on his forehead. His bloodshot eyes burned with fury.

"How dare you speak of visiting the grave of the man you killed!" His voice thundered through the hall.

"I already told you, I didn’t kill them. They were-" Cynthia choked on her words. They stuck in her throat like stones.

"Then who did!?" Drake bellowed. He slowly stood, using his cane for support, his sharp eyes fixed on her.

Cynthia lowered her gaze, unable to meet his.

"The graves of the Devan family lie within these manor walls," he said coldly. "They can only be visited by family and honored guests. You, cursed child, ceased to be family five years ago. I will never, ever, allow you near my son’s grave, as long as I breathe!"

"Father, please sit down," said a woman beside him, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "This isn’t good for your health."

"Let me be, Dorothy. I want to make sure this time, my warning is etched deep into that cursed mind of hers."

Cynthia clenched her teeth. Her eyes closed, her brow furrowed, and her hands tightened into fists.

"Father! How could you say that?" Martha cried. "She’s still your granddaughter by blood!"

"Silence, Martha! I already warned you not to involve yourself with her. Keep defending her, and you can follow in her footsteps, out of this family!" His voice was sharp, final.

Martha stood frozen. She could not bear the family’s scorn toward Cynthia, but she also could not risk losing everything, the home, her husband’s position, her children’s education, all provided by the Devan family. And yet, her heart still ached to defend her niece.

"You heard the patriarch," a fat man, Cynthia’s uncle, said with a sneer. "Now get out of here."

"Go away! I can’t eat with your face around," a woman jeered. Laughter followed.

"I told your late father, Damon, he should’ve married someone better than that harlot. Now he’s gone, and so is she, and they left us with this cursed one." Another man, thick-mustached and fatter than the rest, scoffed.

That was the final straw.

They can insult her as much they wanted...but speak ill of her father and mother?

Unforgivable.

A dark aura began to seep from Cynthia’s body, the manifestation of her class, Dark Knight.

The air grew colder. Shadows stretched. A chilling pressure filled the room like a creeping frost.

And yet... no one flinched.

Because Drake released his own dark aura in response, vast and overpowering. It crushed Cynthia’s like a tidal wave, deeper, older, and far more terrifying.

"Don’t think you’re the only one with a Prime-ranked Dark Knight class, brat," he growled. "I regret that you inherited it instead of one of my worthy descendants. But no matter."

His aura coiling like a beast.

"If you’re ready to die, I’ll gladly end your life with my own hands."

His eyes bored into hers, unyielding, merciless.

Sweat rolled down Cynthia’s forehead, despite the room’s chilling air. That how oppressive her grandfather’s aura was.

She knew his power well. Drake Devan,her grandfather, was the strongest Dark Knight to have ever lived. The Devan family was famed for producing Dark Knights, but most only born with Novice or Advanced ranks. Currently, only two living Devans had the Prime rank, her... and him.

That fact alone infuriated Drake more than anything. His most hated grandchild bore the highest class in the family’s bloodline. And by tradition, Prime-rank Dark Knights led the family.

Cynthia slowly let her breath ease. Her dark aura receded, like smoke withdrawing into embers. She never came to fight. Not her family.

She stood up, casting her eyes across the long table. Every gaze was the same, disgust, hatred and resentment. No one welcomed her back. And she would never forget that. Not in five years. Not in fifty.

Her eyes paused on the patriarch.

Drake’s eyes met her with same eyes as others.

Then she turned, and without a word, left the room.

She was halfway down the staircase when a voice called behind her.

"Cynthia, wait! Where are you going? Please... let me speak to your grandfather!" It was Martha.

Cynthia stopped at the base of the stairs and looked back. Her eyes glistened, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her expression was calm, but her voice cracked slightly.

"Don’t contact me again, Aunt Martha. After I leave this house... I am no longer your niece!"

She turned and ran.

Martha stood frozen, watching her niece disappear from view. A deep, aching guilt settled in her chest. She was too weak to protect her...

She slowly re-entered the room.

"Finally, she’s gone," one of the men grunted. He raised his cup. "Now, let’s continue our event. A toast, to the 77th bornday of our great patriarch, Sir Drake Devan!"

Others followed. Glasses clinked. Laughter filled the air. The party resumed.

Drake smiled wide, celebrating his long life with the family he cherished without the one he believed had tainted their name.

All were smiling.

Except Martha.

She stared into her untouched wine, her thoughts drifting far from the celebration, her heart heavy with regret and shame.

---

I was walking along one of the main streets of the city. Even though it was nearly midnight, the place was still bustling with people. I was in the Uptown District, a lively area that only opened at night. The street stretched far, lit by countless flame lanterns hanging from the stalls.

Most of the vendors sold food, so much food. I found myself drown by indecision. If Bob were here, he have just bought everything. But with our limited gold, I had to be careful.

After some deliberation, I settled on chicken wings, fried rice, and a fizzy soda drink. I was surprised how similar the food in this world was to the food from Earth. It felt oddly comforting... and thankfully, digestible.

Thirty minutes later, I was full and starting to feel sleepy. I headed back to my room. But just as I reached the junction leading to my building, a guard stopped me.

"This road is closed for the night Uptown," he said firmly. "You can either take the detour past the cemetery or go back and use the longer route."

What? When I first came through here, there were barely any stalls. Now the whole street was packed with vendors. This must be the back end of Uptown, which explained why it was so lively now.

"But can’t I just go through? My place is just ahead," I asked, trying not to sound desperate. My legs were killing me, and walking all the way around sounded like torture. And the cemetery at night? No thank you.

The guard shook his head.

"This area’s restricted for now. With the carnival coming up, we’ve got triple the crowd. We’re trying to keep the main path clear to avoid accidents."

I sighed. I looked at the other road. It would take around 20-30 min to make a circle back to my room. Then i looked at the cemetery. Thanks to language card [Word Set - Human (Estrilla)], now i can understand the writings of human in this world. It said Cemetery of Rose City.

Gulp.

I swallowed my saliva.

There should be no ghost right in this world?

I then slowly forced myself towards the entrance of the cemetery.

---

"London Bridge is falling down... falling down... falling down..."

After about five minutes of walking, I found myself in the heart of the cemetery. Darkness pressed in from every side, with only the dim moonlight peeking through gaps in the trees. Thankfully, I had [Torch Bug Net] card, its faintly glowing web of light surrounded me like a halo, casting a soft meter-wide glow. A pretty clever design, especially for a common-rank card.

Still, the unease lingered.

I kept singing old nursery rhymes to break the silence, my voice echoing softly in the cold air. After finishing five songs, I started the set over again.

Then... I heard it.

Wuuuuu... wuuu...

A long, low wail drifted through the graveyard.

At first, it sounded distant, barely there. But with every step I took, it grew louder... and closer.

And then I saw it.

A figure standing motionless by a tomb.

My blood turned to ice.

"G-G-G-Ghost!"

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