Several hours later, the apothecary was summoned to the guest chamber of the border outpost.

The duke tossed the clump of black hair onto the table before him and asked.

“Is it dyed?”

“May I examine it more closely, Your Grace?”

“As you wish.”

“It may take some time.”

“Very well.”

The apothecary examined the hair with practiced ease. First, he took out a large magnifying glass and studied it for a long time.

Opposite him, the duke crossed his long legs with unhurried composure.

His black, knee-high leather boots and thick thighs brought to mind the powerful legs of the warhorse he rode.

Henrik sat stiffly, swallowing repeatedly.

The duke fixed him with a sharp gaze, as if he were a beast poised to tear him apart.

‘As I suspected.’

The duke was a suspicious man.

He must have thought that the hair Henrik had brought did not belong to the Baron’s young lady. He was undoubtedly still convinced that his woman was alive.

The apothecary carefully separated a few strands of hair with tweezers and dipped them, one by one, into prepared solutions.

After repeating this process several times, he finally lowered his head and spoke.

“The hair was originally black. It appears to have been dyed a reddish hue at one point, and then dyed black again afterward.”

***

On the night the apothecary left, Aiden ran out into the endless snowfield, fully armed.

The cursed snow had piled up to his calves. A merciless gale swept across the plain, scattering the snow. Fine, powdery flakes burst and whirled around like the froth of waves.

“She must be cold.”

She was a woman who shivered even in midsummer. She could only fall asleep once the blankets were pulled up to her chin and she was wrapped in his arms, providing warmth.

How cold must she be now?

She might be crying until her cheeks were sore and red. Perhaps she was biting her lips until they turned white, enduring it alone.

His impatience was beyond control.

“I must go. I must find you. I must find you and hold you.”

Aiden murmured as he drew his sword.

Shrring!

The blue-tinged blade emerged, ringing clearly.

He flung the scabbard aside. It didn’t matter if it was lost. He had no intention of sheathing the sword again.

There was only one goal: to find Sveta.

It had always been that way. In truth, nothing had changed.

“Hair. Just hair.”

He muttered under his breath and forced himself to think logically.

Black hair was common.

‘And that proves she is dead?’

No.

His woman was delicate. Even her tears left her cheeks chapped. Would her hair be coarse, too? It had once been as soft as silk.

It could easily have caught on a branch and been torn off. A passing wolf might have swallowed it by accident.

Or perhaps someone who had dyed their hair twice as much as she had had been devoured instead.

As for the bloodstained trousers — what nonsense.

Aiden let out a short, derisive laugh.

“Blue-gray garments are hardly rare.”

Such clothing was owned by everyone, from farmers tilling fields to the queen’s most exalted aides.

So if trousers of the same color as hers were found in a wolf’s stomach, that would be nothing out of the ordinary.

If a wolf could swallow stray hair, why would it turn down a discarded pair of trousers?

“As expected. It was not her hair.”

His conclusion was unmistakable.

So was what he had to do.

Until now, they had searched during the day and rested for several hours at around midnight. This had been their routine for months.

The reason was simple.

That was when the wolves began to hunt.

The Ballok wolves’ ancestors were once monstrous beasts — descendants of an ancient creature that had plunged the continent into terror in a distant age that bordered on myth.

In an era when curses thrived and magic still walked the earth — when the First Empire was born — remnants of that creature survived.

They were not ordinary wolves.

Their sheer size made that clear. Their ferocity far exceeded that of any ordinary beast.

As a commander, suspending the search at night was the only rational choice.

‘But why should that matter?’

The question rose suddenly.

“Wolves… are no reason to stop.”

Only then did Aiden recognize his mistake.

If he could not risk the search party, he should have gone alone.

‘Sveta must be alone. Curled into herself, trembling.’

He had promised to protect her—and yet he had left her alone again.

She would surely resent him. She would seal her small, soft lips in stubborn protest and refuse to eat.

“No!”

Her sharp voice brushed softly against his ears.

Staring blankly into the night, Aiden let out another quiet laugh.

She turned her head away but couldn’t pull her hand from his grasp.

He could see it so clearly.

And so he laughed.

“Ha… haha….”

He ran a hand through his hair as he laughed—then suddenly fell silent.

In his imagination, she had begun to sob.

Those beautiful eyes, swollen with tears, were filled with reproach. As though asking, I am crying—why are you laughing?

His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.

“Sveta.”

He whispered her name as though it were a breath slipping from his lungs. His harsh exhale rose in a cloud of white vapor, obscuring his vision.

And then—

Grrrrrr!

A savage snarl erupted from the darkness, rattling the frozen ground beneath his feet.

The mist from his breath cleared, and Aiden dropped into a fighting stance without hesitation. It was pure instinct.

Two crimson eyes burned in the darkness.

The Ballok wolf had appeared without warning.

There was no time to think.

Aiden shot forward across the snow, gliding over its surface, and leapt in a single bound.

Clang!

The wolf’s claws flashed as its jaws snapped open wide, colliding mid-air with his blade.

They crashed down together onto the snow.

Rolling once, Aiden sprang back to his feet and lunged again.

This time, the wolf opened its massive maw as though intent on tearing him apart.

Seizing the wolf’s hook-like fangs with one hand, Aiden drove his sword deep into the creature’s neck — into a beast nearly twice his size.

Graaagh!

The wolf recoiled with a howl of agony.

But only for an instant.

With the blade still lodged in its throat, the wolf lunged at Aiden in a final, frenzied attack.

Aiden twisted his waist smoothly and slid across the snow. Drawing the dagger from his hip, he slashed open its belly in one swift motion.

Blood cascaded down like a crimson waterfall. Steam rose violently from the wound.

The beast’s hot entrails spilled over him.

It was revolting.

Then, like a blow to the chest, a memory struck him.

“Disgusting.”

Why had he said that?

Why had he called her filthy?

To the woman who had picked up the handkerchief he had thrown away?

To the woman who had been drenched in tea when Lady Noma had cruelly thrown it at her?

And yet Sveta — gentle Sveta — had whispered that she loved him.

She had wept, begging him to answer her and saying that she loved a man like him — garbage that he was.

“Sveta…”

It felt as though his heart had melted into a dark, viscous liquid.

With hollow eyes, he pushed the dead Ballok wolf off him.

The night sky above was startlingly clear.

It was just like the night before she ran away.

The sky was the same as it had been that day.

So why wasn’t she at his side anymore?

Gripping his chest, Aiden murmured.

“This is enough. I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. So now… come back.”

Come back. Come back…

“It’s cold. So come back.”

No matter how he whispered, only the desolate wind broke the stillness of the snowfield.

She did not answer.

His woman—too beautiful for this world—was unbearably cruel.

***

A translucent dawn broke.

Slowly, Aiden rose.

His body was smeared with beast’s blood, with half-digested remnants spilled from its entrails.

It was filthy.

A reflexive thought.

“Disgusting.”

But the instant he felt revulsion, he felt nauseous — because what truly sickened him was himself.

His vision blurred completely.

Aiden lifted a bloodstained hand and dragged it across his cheek.

His eyes were dry.

The blood smeared over his skin, staining his face red.

He tore the sword from the dead wolf’s throat and slowly bent forward at the waist, lowering himself with deliberate calm.

At the edge of his vision, he saw five pairs of crimson eyes glowing in the darkness.

***

“This is driving me mad. What on earth is he doing?”

Henrik parted the curtain slightly and looked outside. Worry was etched across his face. The duke had fled the outpost in the middle of the night without an escort.

Henrik had not dared to follow him.

He was afraid.

At this hour, the Ballok wolves prowling beyond the walls were terrifying. So was the duke.

“Should I not have given him the hair?”

As soon as it was confirmed that the hair belonged to Baron Luce’s young lady, Henrik looked the duke in the eye.

His green eyes, already sunken like a stagnant marsh, seemed on the verge of cracking apart. For a moment, his eyelids darkened.

It was terrifying.

It was as though he could hear something collapsing inside the duke.

The man had believed she was alive. The shock must have been immeasurable.

But there must be a process of accepting death.

“Yes. I did the right thing.”

Henrik was guarding the north-eastern gate of Prisada for one reason alone: to ensure Sveta Luce’s escape.

Duke Bayton was highly satisfied with the secret ledger that Henrik had obtained from Baron Luce.

It contained damning evidence proving that the barons had been involved in human trafficking for over a decade.

Henrik had been granted temporary authority over border control under the pretext of protecting the informant who had helped him obtain the ledger.

“I thought two weeks would be enough…”

But when the Duke of Strilland settled in this place, Henrik’s temporary authority had naturally been extended.

With it came greater responsibility.

‘I am sick of this search.’

Everyone must have felt the same way.

Everyone, that is, except the Duke of Strilland.

Put plainly, he seemed unhinged.

Didn’t Queen Leparda often say that a madman required the rod?

Yes. This was a kind of mental scourge.

The Duke of Strilland had to acknowledge her death, even if it drove him mad in the process.

“Yes. It was for the best. I did well.”

Henrik repeated the words like a vow.

Yet even as he gripped the dark blue curtain, he could not pull himself away from the window.

“I did the right thing… didn’t I?”

At the end of his trembling gaze, the moonlit snow shimmered like silk.

Suddenly, the night he had rescued Sveta rose before him in winding clarity.