“You despicable bastard. You had no problem with other men bowing to you, did you? You didn’t just treat me like a wh*re – you had the audacity to tell me to give myself to another man. And now you’re blaming me for all this? Stop talking such ridiculous nonsense!”

Her heart was beating faster and her whole body was shaking – an ominous sign of an impending seizure. But Rosalyn refused to stop talking. 

“What will you do if I run away? There are soldiers outside the castle anyway – ugh!” 

A sharp slap rang out, cutting through the air.

She could taste a salty taste on the tip of her tongue, perhaps from her mouth being split open. The ringing in her ears continued. The tingling sensation that spread across her cheeks caused Rosalyn to raise her trembling hands to her eyes. But before her fingers could touch her cheeks, her hair was grabbed roughly.

“If I give you a chance, it feels like you’ll never stop torturing me. There’s a limit to how much you can humiliate me.”

“Let me go!”

She screamed, struggling to free herself from his grip, but the force with which he held her hair only tightened. Her small feet, unable to keep up with his pace, tangled and lost their balance.

Vincent, who had been dragging Rosalyn like a sack, suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor. At that moment, as she struggled harder to free herself from his grip, her movements froze.

“What are you doing?”

Her actions came to a sudden stop at the voice from above.

“This is a family matter, so please mind your own business.”

Despite the stern warning, Johannes’ gaze was fixed on Rosalyn, who was still being held by Vincent. It was as if her feet had been scraped on the carpet as her skin was red from toe to ankle.

Her usually well-groomed golden hair was a mess, making it difficult to see her face properly.

But it was clear from the strange sounds of her laboured breathing that something was wrong with her restless body. Johannes spoke quietly, staring at her.

“At first I thought you were dragging a dog in here.”

Vincent burst out laughing at the words.

“If you had eyes you’d know. The way she’s panting, she’s no different from a dog. A beating is too mild for a mad dog.”

With his somewhat exaggerated tone, Johannes let out a short laugh and withdrew his hand from Vincent’s grip.

“I have no objection.”

As if realising that they were finally on the same page, Vincent smiled and tried to walk past him. No, he was about to walk past.

Just as Vincent lifted his foot to move, Johannes quickly drew his sword and smacked him in the face with the scabbard.

With a sharp scream, Vincent was thrown backwards and landed some distance away. The impact released Rosalyn from his grasp, causing her to stumble and fall. Gasping for breath, she crawled frantically across the floor, desperately trying to get some distance between herself and Vincent. 

Her tangled hair obscured her vision, but the sheer urgency of her flight was unmistakable. Like a cornered animal, she scrambled across the carpet, her trembling hands hastily gathering her dishevelled hair to shield her face.

After collapsing helplessly, Vincent lay motionless, his face buried in his hands, unable to raise his head. A soft moan of pain escaped him as he slowly lowered his trembling hands, revealing the damage. 

Rosalyn inhaled sharply.

A single blow had broken his nose completely – the once straight bridge now slightly crooked, blood smeared across his face in a ghastly mess. 

Vincent stared at his blood-soaked hands, his breath ragged with rage. His body tensed and he lunged at Johannes in a blind rage. 

Vile curses erupted, echoing violently through the corridor.

But his attempt at retaliation ended in utter failure. Johannes effortlessly overpowered Vincent and threw him to the ground without the slightest difficulty. 

Vincent struggled to get up, but his efforts were in vain. The moment he pushed himself to his feet, Johannes delivered a brutal kick to his stomach. A sharp gasp escaped Vincent’s lips as his body crumpled to the cold floor. 

Before he could recover, Johannes’ smooth-soled boot came down hard on his already battered face. Vincent struggled, flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to shake off the weight pressing down on him, but Johannes pinned them down effortlessly. 

He gripped Vincent’s arm tightly, his fingers tracing the length of it as if silently measuring its strength. His cold blue eyes shone with an unreadable light – an eerie mixture of calculation and quiet menace.

Sensing something was wrong, Vincent quickly changed his posture and grabbed Johannes’ shoe with his other hand.

“Wh-what are you doing, sir…”

Johannes’ lips curled into a crooked smile.

“You said a beating was too mild for a mad dog.”

“I’m giving you exactly what you want.”

Then, with a horrible sound of twisting bones, Vincent’s arm was grotesquely bent out of shape.

Vincent let out a beastly scream, his body convulsing under Johannes’ unyielding boot. The more he writhed, the more pressure Johannes applied, grinding his heel into Vincent’s face with cold precision. 

Rosalyn recoiled instinctively, her breath shallow, her pale face frozen with fear. Only when her back was pressed against the icy wall did she realise how violently her body was shaking. 

Although Vincent and Johannes were of similar height, their physiques were very different. Johannes carried a refined strength – broad shoulders and a lean, balanced frame – while Vincent was visibly more muscular, his bulky form built for brute force rather than precision. But at this moment, none of that mattered. No matter how much Vincent struggled, Johannes was firmly in control.

However, the person who had easily subdued the large and unruly man, without using any other means, had a face of unbelievable calm confidence. Even as a pitiful, beastly scream came from beneath the man’s bloodied mouth as his body lay crushed.

Rosalyn stared blankly at the scene before her. The man’s features, shadowed in the darkness, were strikingly clear. As her eyes slid down his straight forehead to his sharp nose, her eyelashes fluttered slightly.

His expression remained indifferent – no different from the day he had severed her father’s head. But why? Why did she feel this way? 

Unlike that day, when she had been consumed by suffocating despair, Rosalyn now felt something quite different – relief. A quiet, undeniable relief. 

And with that realisation came a sharp pang of guilt that sank deep into her chest.

Suddenly, his greyish-blue eyes met hers. As their gaze locked, a shallow breath escaped Rosalyn’s lips.

Soon Vincent’s struggles stopped. He seemed to have lost consciousness from the pain. Johannes lifted his foot and gestured in one direction.

“Don’t let him go outside.”

Rosalyn’s eyes followed Johannes’ movements. She hadn’t noticed when they arrived, but soldiers had approached, grabbed Vincent’s arms and dragged him to his feet. Though his body hung limp, drained of strength, he was still alive – a faint groan escaped his lips. 

As the soldiers dragged Vincent away, Johannes continued without hesitation. 

While the others moved on, Rosalyn remained seated, her body still and motionless. For a long time she just stared at Johannes’ retreating figure.

***

After that incident, Delmart Castle returned to its usual calm, as if nothing had ever happened. Life resumed its normal rhythm, undisturbed. 

But for Rosalyn, the memories of that day refused to fade. Instead, they grew sharper with time, etched more vividly in her mind, leaving an unsettling weight in her heart. 

It was the first time she had ever seen someone punished so brutally. And more than that, Vincent, who had grown up without ever receiving a single blow from her father, had been the one on the receiving end. 

Although part of her felt relieved, the guilt clung to her like a shadow. No matter what he had done, Vincent was still the only family she had left. 

Shouldn’t she have stopped him?

Rosalyn paced her room, biting her nails in fear, her face clouded with worry. Vincent must have been badly hurt. Had the soldiers called in a competent healer? 

Though a flicker of concern stirred within her, she couldn’t bring herself to go and see him. She simply didn’t have the courage. 

It wasn’t the first time Vincent had caused trouble – far from it. But that didn’t make her any less afraid of the punishments he meted out. Just because she endured beatings every day didn’t mean the pain had diminished. It never did.

Vincent – her only brother – had always been someone Rosalyn had had to endure, to tolerate. Her father had often said that to do what was best for Vincent was to do what was best for the family, and so Rosalyn had grown up believing it was her duty. 

But since they had been trapped together in the castle, Vincent’s increasing violence had begun to wear her down, driving her to the edge of her sanity. 

Perhaps there was some truth in what Vincent had said. Even if she stayed in the castle a few more days to watch him, what would really change? Nothing. 

Maybe he was right – leaving as soon as possible would be the wiser choice. 

If she stayed much longer, it was only a matter of time before things got completely out of control.

As Rosalyn stared endlessly into the darkness outside, she found herself biting her nails. It was easy for her to imagine the scene when the Emperor’s envoy arrived from beyond the horizon. And when she thought of her own end, it would probably be no different from her father’s.

After spending a quiet time like any other day, it would only be when the soldiers grabbed her arm that she’d realise it was the last day of her life. No elaborate preparations would be necessary.

She would be dragged into the courtyard, forced to kneel on the cold stone floor, and when the Emperor’s knight drew his sword… the one who would strike her down would be…

“…Ah.”

As the cold stare flashed across her mind, the tip of her nail broke. As she watched the blood slowly form droplets, Rosalyn sprang to her feet.