Chapter 30

The streets were mostly deserted, as most people had returned home early. Thanks to that, he didn’t need to slow down at all and finally arrived at the five-story inn building where he had barely managed to forget the hours of despair in the woman’s arms.

He roughly dismounted from his horse and immediately pounded on the door. From beyond the firmly closed door, muffled shouting could be heard.

It was Selma, gathered with the staff in the dining hall, her voice trembling with tears as she angrily ranted.

“That damned bastard spiked my drink to throw that young girl to that scoundrel! And that quack of a doctor—how dare he call himself a physician! What were you all doing instead of stopping this? How could I have collapsed? How could I pass out when I have you all depending on me?”

It was a full-blown outburst.

It had seemed strange when the village chief had persistently held her back until sunset. Even more bizarre was that someone like her, who could hold her liquor better than anyone, had been reeling after just a few glasses of whiskey. She had barely managed to sneak out as twilight fell—when no one from Oedel would dare set out—only to find everyone shocked, asking if she hadn’t been hospitalized at the doctor’s house. Selma herself had been even more surprised.

“That scoundrel refused to drink and left early—how could I not have seen it coming…!”

She had thought he was just giving the villagers space to enjoy themselves in peace…!

Selma was furious at her own carelessness, but rushing to the doctor’s house now wouldn’t change anything. A slender woman like Selma could never hope to stop a lust-driven brute. If anything, it would be faster for her to die along with the girl.

Sending servants wasn’t an option either, as night had already fallen. Though they all cared for the young girl, none of them were likely to risk freezing to death during Magiella’s night.

What could I do? What was I supposed to do…?

It was at that very moment that Karel knocked on the door.

For a brief instant, everyone in Selmane was startled as if they had seen a ghost—a tall, dark figure standing against the backdrop of falling snow. But that shock soon turned into tearful relief as they welcomed Karel’s arrival more joyfully than ever before.

“Sir Knight…!”

“A disaster, a… a disaster has happened…!”

“Right now, the girl…!”

Everyone began speaking at once, their words tumbling out without order or coherence, but all of it reached Karel’s ears. Their gratitude and joy at his return were set aside. This was a plea—an earnest request—and it reached someone willing to hear it. Having spent the last several weeks outdoors, Karel was far more resilient to the cold than those who had only worked within the inn.

No, if there was anyone willing to stake their life on ensuring the safety of the woman, it was him and him alone.

After entrusting his horse, Karel sprinted toward the doctor’s house.

***

When Karel pierced Randolph’s throat, a wave of exhilaration surged through his heart as he watched the blood spray.

He had returned alive.

Though so many had wished for his death—this shameless old man in the northern backwoods, the high-ranking figures in the royal capital, even his own father—despite all of them, he had survived.

He had protected himself and saved one person.

He, who had spent his life incapable of protecting anyone, who had repeatedly killed others for his own survival, who had only ever caused trouble for his lord—he had, for the first time, saved someone.

As Karel looked at the snow piling up on the corpse, he clenched his gauntleted hand tightly.

He had broken down the door, wedged it back into the frame, and braced it with a cabinet and a sofa to ensure it wouldn’t budge. To be extra cautious, he had secured the lock tightly. Bang! Bang! He hammered the hastily reattached hinges with his fist, bending them completely out of shape.

The door rattled faintly, as if trembling under the Fairy Mother’s wrath, but there was no longer any fear of it being opened. The faint howling of the northern wind grew distant and almost inaudible—a sign that they could endure Magiella’s night.

Karel climbed the stairs once more.

The trail of blood droplets he had left on the floor reflected faintly in the dim corridor light. As he retraced the path, he arrived at the only room in the house with its light still on.

Through the long, dark terror of death, he had finally claimed survival.

And the will that sustained his life…

When Karel stepped into the room, he finally took in its disarray.

Blood pooled on the wooden floor, spilled from the corpse he had slain. Nearby, his trusty iron sword, which he had relied on for the past eight years of war, lay discarded. A whiskey bottle, knocked over during the body’s fall, rolled on its side. And on the bed, a woman, wrapped tightly in blankets, trembled.

Her violet eyes, usually far removed from any expression of fear, now shimmered with helplessness, as if she might die at any moment without his protection.

Her bangs, which had always been frustratingly in the way, had been roughly cut above her eyebrows, fully revealing her face. Specks of blood, not yet wiped away, clung to the corners of her eyes.

The expression on her face revealed a mix of relief, from narrowly escaping the cruel tide of fate, and lingering fear. Gone was the usual calm arrogance or the gaze that had once looked down upon him.

As Karel took in the scene, a faint warmth crept into his eyes. Swallowing the lump rising in his throat, he forced out a bitter remark.

“…What a sight.”

A short laugh escaped his lips. The previously stern look on his face softened, and the woman’s heart melted.

She had already felt relief at his arrival, even more so when he kissed her, but it was his breaking composure that finally brought her peace.

It wasn’t a dream.

He had truly returned. He had truly saved her.  

Could it be that the Fairy Mother had sent him for my sake?  

Once again, tears welled up in her eyes and began to fall, drop by drop.  

Watching her, Karel thought of how, just like on that day long ago, a corner of his heart, filled only with survival instincts, felt as though it was being squeezed tightly.  

The man did not understand love. He knew what it meant to feel lust, but he had no awareness of the pounding heart or yearning emotions that came with it. Whenever he thought of a woman, his body would react, and he had concluded that his feelings toward her were simply carnal desire. To him, the hardness of his arousal spoke louder than the racing of his heart.  

Now, too, it was likely the same.  

Fixing his gaze on the violet eyes of the woman shedding tears, his hand moved lightly, undoing the clasp of his cloak. The fur-lined cloak fell to the floor, covering the pool of blood. Following that, his hands moved across his body, and with each motion, pieces of his armor fell to the ground. The dull thuds of metal hitting the wooden floor echoed through the room.  

The woman stared blankly at Karel, watching his actions.  

This was her first time in the master bedroom of the doctor’s house. The fear that had gripped her just moments ago. The nobleman who had struck and tried to defile her. The sight of someone being killed by a blade for the first time in her life. And now, the man she had fallen for at first sight standing before her, dressed as he had been then—this was the peak of unreality.  

The man who had once ridden a massive warhorse, exuding noble strength, now stood in this low, cramped, and shabby space, looking down at her.  

When all the armor had been removed, leaving only a tunic and leather pants, the man, now dressed in attire familiar to her, looked down at her once more.  

When he had been clad in solid armor, his blue eyes had gleamed like the morning star amidst his stern expression. They had been brilliant yet calm and cold.  

But now, as he discarded his tunic, revealing his muscular body before her—  

The man’s blue eyes—  

Within them burned a faint yet undeniable flame. A distant heat flowed, and at the same time, they were endlessly shaken by some inner storm.  

Before she knew it, the man had placed one knee on the bed, leaning his upper body closer to her. The cold air from downstairs, which had cooled the warrior’s skin, wafted over.  

The woman’s shoulders trembled slightly.  

Karel’s hand, moving gently yet firmly, pulled away the blanket she had wrapped around herself. Removing the fur coat still draped over her arms revealed the chemise dress that had been shredded by Randolph’s indiscriminate use of scissors. The neckline was torn to the point where it barely existed, and her milky-white skin was marked with small cuts where the iron blade had scratched her.  

Karel’s eyes lowered slightly as he took in the sight.  

“…You must have resisted.”  

Even as he embraced her to dispel the fear weighing her down in the face of inevitable death, he had often called her a witch consumed by lust. Though it was her first time, he had accused her of craving the taste of a man and clinging to him daily like a succubus.  

He had known the truth—that she was not like that—but had belittled her nonetheless because he couldn’t bear the weight of his own responsibility otherwise.  

…No, she must indeed be a witch.  

If she weren’t, there was no way her image would have lingered before his eyes every time he closed them while wandering the Gray Mountains. She wouldn’t have caused him to have nocturnal emissions or made his body react at the mere thought of her, hardening him completely.  

But, but…  

The man’s fingertips gently traced the random bloodstains on the woman’s chest. In truth, this woman was utterly pure in the eyes of any other man but him…