“Are you done?”

“Far from it, but this will do for now.”

Though Lady Mifaro didn’t recognize him due to his fully concealed appearance, she accepted Aiger’s informal tone without question.

It was partly out of respect for the one who had rescued her, but perhaps, on an instinctive level, she had recognized his overwhelming presence—the natural authority of someone meant to rule.

Lady Mifaro lowered her head in a polite bow and replied firmly,

“Thank you for asking.”

Unlike her now-relieved expression, Aiger looked visibly displeased.

He shifted his gaze toward Raylin, who wore an eerily similar expression.

And just like that, a wordless understanding passed between them, drawing them closer than before.

Raylin, pressed closely against Aiger’s back, whispered something, causing his eyebrow to twitch.

“You want to take that knight with us? Instead of dealing with him right here?”

Aiger looked at Raylin in confusion as he asked.

She nodded and answered, “Yes. There are things I need to ask him. But we have to take him quietly. I’ve prepared a blindfold to cover his eyes and a sedative to put him to slee—”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Aiger’s figure vanished.

The next moment—

Thud!

With a heavy, dull sound, the knight collapsed onto the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“We’ll take him.”

Aiger, his face indifferent, dusted off the hand he had used to strike the knight’s nape.

It was partly due to the overwhelming shock of hearing his beloved woman’s lavish tirade of curses, but ultimately, the knight stood no chance against Aiger’s sheer difference in strength.

Raylin, momentarily stunned by how quickly her request had been fulfilled, soon regained her composure.

She walked over to Aiger’s side, gazed down at the motionless knight, and asked, “That worked really well. He’s not dead, is he?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Then that’s fine. We should move him.”

With that matter-of-fact remark from Raylin, the scandalous elopement of the young lady and her knightly escort ended abruptly.

***

Kertan held his frail, calloused younger sister’s hand and closed his eyes.

Two hours ago, the frivolous man who had gone searching for his sister had beckoned him over and grinned.

“Go to Greuga’s duchy.”

He had said nothing more, and Kertan had needed no further explanation.

He ran as if possessed.

“I don’t know when she will wake up, but I’ve done everything possible. Fortunately, she’s out of immediate danger until she regains consciousness… Hmm, in any case, she should recover now.”

‘She will recover. She has to.’

Kertan adjusted his grip on his sister’s hand, though he could barely muster the strength to hold it firmly.

It was a little cold, but the faint pulse at her wrist reminded him that she was still alive.

All those days spent desperately praying for her survival now felt meaningless.

If he had known she would survive in such a wretched state, he should have prayed for her to live comfortably instead.

No, rather than wasting time on prayer, he should have done whatever it took to find her and bring her back to his side.

Like a sinner awaiting judgment, Kertan pressed his forehead against his sister’s emaciated hand and closed his eyes—only for them to snap open moments later.

Her breathing, which had been weak but steady, had changed.

Could it be…?

As if in response to his thoughts, his sister’s eyelids, which had remained motionless until now, trembled slightly.

Kertan hurriedly spoke.

“Are you awake? It’s me, your brother! I’m right here!”

Desperation colored his voice as he tightened his hold on her frail hand.

In response, his sister slowly forced her eyes open.

Though one eye could focus properly, the other remained hazy, as if covered in mist.

Kertan’s expression twisted at the sight of her unfocused gaze, but he quickly smoothed his features so she wouldn’t notice.

His sister’s lips, pale and cracked, parted as if to speak, but all that came out was a faint wheezing sound.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Kertan’s words trailed off as he gently brushed his fingers through her tangled, unevenly cut hair.

She blinked vacantly a few more times before finally parting her lips again.

“Bro…ther.”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Her right eye met his properly, while her left remained unfocused.

“It will be difficult for her vision to recover fully.”

Even the esteemed Greuga ducal family physician had said so—it was likely the truth.

Suppressing the surge of killing intent that threatened to rise, Kertan focused solely on his sister as he placed a damp cloth against her parched lips.

After a few breaths, she seemed to regain more clarity and gave him a subtle look, silently asking him to remove the cloth.

For a long moment, the siblings simply stared at each other.

She wanted to ask how he had survived, found her, and managed to pull her out of that hell.

There were so many questions, so many things she wanted to hear.

But the first thing she chose to say was—

“You came for me.”

Her sunken cheeks trembled slightly as she forced a small, fragile smile.

“…Welcome back.”

Kertan could not hold back the tears welling in his eyes.

A distant memory from childhood, now blurred by time—

“Brother, welcome back! Come eat this with me.”

Even while eating no more than a single boiled potato a day and returning from odd jobs in the village, she had once smiled at him, tightly gripping that small potato in her tiny hands, insisting they share it.

It was the same smile.

Time had weathered her and the world had worn her down, making it difficult to find traces of her childhood face. Yet, in his eyes, she was still the little sister from back then.

Kertan clasped her hands with both of his and bowed his head deeply.

Feeling his grasp grow damp, his sister tried to lift her barely movable other hand but gave up, choosing instead to speak.

“Brother… are you crying?”

There was no response, but his trembling shoulders and the stifled sobs spoke more clearly than any words ever could.

“Ahaha. You’re still such a crybaby, brother.”

She laughed as if teasing him, acting as though nothing had happened, but her eyes glistened with tears.

She had thought she would never see him again.

***

“That girl’s hands are steady! Hit her more!”

“She’s already skin and bones—what more use can she be? That’s enough.”

“Bah, what a waste. Completely useless.”

The father, whom she had only ever seen drunk since birth, sold her one day.

It happened on the same day her brother had been beaten mercilessly by cruel adults while desperately trying to find work in the harsh village to stave off their hunger.

“What about that boy? You’re not selling him?”

“Will you give more for both?”

“Hm. Fine. He’s got a good build for a kid. Looks decent enough.”

At least she hadn’t been separated from her brother as misfortunes go. But that luck was short-lived.

Not long after, the siblings were sold off to different places.

“Brother! Brother!”

Her brother, who had sworn never to be separated from her, was beaten so severely that he lost consciousness.

In her young eyes, his limp body looked lifeless. She had screamed his name until her throat went raw, a memory that still lingered vividly.

What followed was a common enough story.

A girl, sold from a poor household, with no survival skills or means.

At first, she slept curled up in a corner of an inn where she was made to do menial work all day.

As she began to lose the look of a child, the man who had bought her visited one day. He scanned her from head to toe and muttered,

“Hm. You grew up well. No visible defects. Let’s see your face—huh? Where did this high-quality product pop out from?”

Like a piece of meat graded before slaughter, she was soon transferred to one of the many backstreet businesses.

On the night she was given her first job, she had already cried herself dry, her tears unable to fall.

Time passed without waiting for anyone, and even the image of her brother, which she clung to in difficult moments, began to fade.

Then, one day—

Cough, cough, cough. Cough!

“Oh my god! She’s coughing up blood!”