“Ugh.”

As he slowly tried to raise his upper body, a sharp pain spread through his chest. Glancing down, he saw that his torso was wrapped in neat bandages.

Who had treated him?

This thought crossed his mind as he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

On the bedside table beside him were a glass of water, a single apple and a generously sized shirt, folded with care. His throat was parched, but after a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the shirt first. It wasn’t new, yet the fabric was of fine quality.

Clack.

He was putting it on when he heard the metallic sound of a key turning in the lock. Instinctively, he put his hand on his hip, ready to draw his weapon, but the slightly ajar doorway was empty. He could have sworn it had been closed just moments earlier.

“…My sword.”

The words rasped from his throat. The weapon at his hip had disappeared. So had the scabbard and the belt. It seemed likely that whoever had tended to him had taken them.

Keeping watch, he crossed to the door and grasped the handle. The brass was worn smooth and polished by years of use, and it still held the faint warmth of a touch.

He eased it open to reveal a long corridor beyond. The stone walls, high ceilings, and wide windows suggested that he was inside a vast manor house or even a castle.

And yet…

How aged it is.

The wooden beams were straining under the weight of the ceiling, the corridor was bare and devoid of ornaments, and the window frames were worn and cracked. He calmly concluded that his benefactor must once have lived in splendor, but had fallen on hard times and was no longer able to maintain the house.

As he began to move forward, something scattered across the floor caught his eye.

“…Leaves?”

They were tiny fragments of grass, scattered in a line. They were arranged so precisely that they almost seemed to be pointing the way.

After hesitating for a moment, he started to follow them. If it were a trap intended to harm him, it would hardly be laid so innocently.

His footsteps fell in slow echoes through the hushed halls. Each time his weight pressed into the worn yet carefully tended carpet, he found himself moving more carefully, almost reverently.

So intent was he on the rhythm of his steps that he did not realize where they had led until he stood before a door opening to the outside. The trail of leaves had not brought him to the grand entrance, but to a quiet back door instead.

The moment he stepped across the threshold, sunlight struck his face. He winced, eyes closing against the sudden brilliance, before slowly opening them again.

Through the haze of light, a small figure began to take form—a slender frame, bent slightly at the waist.

He blinked, and at last, his vision came clear.

Before him stood a woman, her flaxen hair tied up, dressed in a pale yellow skirt and a white blouse.

Her rolled-up sleeves revealed her pale arms, and her neck was just as fair beneath her gathered hair. Bright green eyes glimmered beneath her lowered lashes, revealing an expression of concentration. However, the faint flush on her cheeks, the straight line of her nose and her small lips softened this, stripping it of severity.

‘She looks more like a small creature…’

With her fresh, delicate appearance, she resembled a rabbit.

He didn’t realise that the feeling stirring within him was a rare curiosity. All he knew was that he wanted her to look at him. He wanted to see what kind of light would fill her eyes.

Unconsciously, he took a step forward — just as the woman stood up from her work and noticed him. The watering can in her hand made it clear that she had been tending the soil.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

She gave him a faint smile, her face carrying both welcome and a trace of unfamiliarity.

“Do you know where you are? This is Cheringen—on the southeastern edge of the Tropez Empire.”

She spoke as she put the watering can back in the wooden box.

He glanced around. The silence remained unbroken, except for the faint presence of small creatures, such as rabbits, nearby.

“I don’t know how you were injured, but I found you collapsed in an alleyway outside the village market, so I brought you home. There were some dangerous items among the things you were carrying, so I put those to one side. Your bag as well. I’ll return them to you soon.”

She added, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her cheek and tucking them neatly behind her ear.

‘Dangerous items… she must mean the sword and daggers.’

So he thought, his gaze fixed instead on the delicate curve of her ear and the fine down of hair beside it. They looked impossibly soft.

“Um… are you all right? The wound was rather deep…”

Her green eyes were filled with worry as she asked her question carefully, her long lashes fluttering gently around them.

‘…Have I lost my mind?’

The sudden urge to reach out and touch each one overtook him, and his hand began to rise—

“Mother.”

A bright, childish voice rang out, followed by the sound of light footsteps running away. The presence he had mistaken for a rabbit earlier turned out to be a child.

The woman turned towards the sound and smiled radiantly; her smile was full of warmth.

“My daughter!”

The next moment, a little girl with pink plaits in her hair ran over and threw herself into the woman’s arms.

‘Mother… daughter…’

He blinked slowly as the thought settled.

‘…So, mother and child.’

Which meant, in all likelihood, the woman before him was married.

Two faces—both rabbit-like—turned to him. And just like that, his mind snapped fully back to reality.

⭕ ⭕ ⭕

“Hmm.”
“Hmmm.”
“Huum.”

Three pairs of curious eyes were fixed on him.

The first to speak was Maximilian.

“So, your name is?”

“I am called Laska.”

Laska, the man who had survived his injuries, sat on the bed and responded in a relaxed and friendly manner. As a patient, he had returned to the same room as Selaia and Rote to rest.

Vera and Maximilian had come to see him after hearing the news of his awakening, and now stood around him, looking at him curiously.

“No family name?”

That next question came from Vera.

“None, that’s right.”

His lack of a surname marked him out as a commoner. Laska only nodded, wearing a sheepish smile. The corners of his lips curled up, his eyes softened, and they turned downwards. This disarming, gentle expression could lower anyone’s guard — it was one of his weapons.

“My mother was the one who brought Laska here. She worked so hard to heal him—put medicine on his wounds, washed his face too.”

Rote was the last to look at him. She blinked and explained with precocious clarity. Her steady, direct gaze suggested that she was expecting something from him.

A short distance away, Selaia wore an embarrassed look.

‘It was my decision to bring him here—I only meant to take responsibility for it.’

Yet when listening to Rote, it sounded as though Selaia had cared for him with nothing but pure devotion. Before she could humbly correct her daughter, Laska’s thankful voice came first.

“My deepest gratitude, madam. Had it not been for you, I would have perished helplessly in the street.”

“Ah… yes.”

His dazzling smile was framed by half-lidded blue eyes. A little while ago, in the garden, he had seemed absent, as if his spirit had wandered far away. Now, that man was gone.

He was handsome enough to draw admiration from anyone. While his gentle expression and courteous tone were kind, they also conveyed an unreadable depth.

‘I’m imagining things.’

Selaia told herself, shaking her head as she shifted the credit toward her daughter.

“It was my daughter who found you collapsed, Mr. Laska. Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to help.”

When the attention turned to her, Rote lowered her head with a shy dip of her chin.

“My name is Rote.”

Laska chuckled softly and inclined his head toward her.

“My thanks to you as well, Miss Rote.”

His lips curved into a smile, showing even, white teeth. The expression softened his already handsome face until it seemed impossibly gentle.

‘If a cherub in a painting were to grow into an adult, would it look like this?’

Startled by the beauty so close before her, Rote’s eyes grew round. Her little lips parted in innocent awe.

“The wound isn’t deep, but you lost a great deal of blood. You nearly died from the loss. How did it happen?”

Maximilian’s question was delivered in a plain tone, concealing neither suspicion nor wariness.

Laska opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut in first.

“You’ve got the Teian accent. You must be from the kingdom—so why have you come into the Empire?”

Striding into the room, Haider fixed the seated man with a cold stare.

“Lord Elden.”

Selaia’s voice was strained as she called to him, too distracted to notice that Laska’s gaze had already shifted to her.