Chapter 1.16

Before Liz could get a clear look at his face, Valentine mounted behind her.  

The weight of his presence pressed against her back, causing Liz to stiffen.  

She recalled the feel of Valentine’s firm grip as he untied her wrists, the warmth of his breath falling near her collarbone.  

Tense, Liz’s body leaned forward slightly, as if trying to escape.  

But the horse didn’t move for a long time.  

Instead, a low sigh brushed against the nape of her neck.  

Liz cautiously turned to look at him.  

Valentine was staring intently at her exposed back.  

For some reason, her back felt uncomfortably warm, as though it was burning.  

“Um, is there something wrong…?”  

Liz’s question made Valentine flinch visibly.  

“…Your necklace. It’s missing.”  

Valentine’s voice sounded strained.  

“Oh.”  

So that was it.  

Liz touched her neck.  

“It’s fine. We can search for it when it’s light. For now….”  

Valentine pulled Liz closer and whispered softly, almost to himself.  

“…It’ll be a bumpy ride. Stay close.”

Liz’s body slumped backward, leaning into Valentine.  

The sweet scent from the attic enveloped her.  

Was it really okay to leave things as they were? 

Liz swallowed her doubts and closed her eyes.  

The warmth pressing against her back was so comforting that she didn’t want to move away.  

Eventually, the horse began to move slowly.  

The rhythmic sound of hooves, the gentle rise and fall, and the soothing scent of his presence…  

Before she knew it, Liz had drifted off into an unconscious sleep.  

***

On the battlefield, the group most likely to surrender to the enemy was, surprisingly, snipers.  

Snipers had to observe their targets for a very long time, and in that process, they often became influenced by them.  

Moreover, snipers had to directly witness the death of the targets they had watched for so long.  

Unlike regular soldiers, who might not know exactly who they were shooting at, snipers saw everything.  

They had to capture every moment: the bullet piercing the target, limbs breaking apart, and the scope filling with a crimson hue.  

Thus, the greatest quality a sniper could possess was detachment.  

And Valentine Winchester had been Holt Kingdom’s best sniper during his service.  

The patience to endure for days under camouflage. Focus strong enough to hit a target even under extreme conditions.  

An unyielding coldness that allowed him to feel nothing for his target, no matter how long he observed them through the scope.  

These were the qualities that Holt Kingdom had prided itself on.  

But how had Valentine Winchester behaved today in front of his target?  

Or rather, what had his target even been in the first place?  

The Winchester Estate at dawn was silent. Yet the estate’s main staff were likely waiting for him nervously.  

Liz, however, was fast asleep in his arms.  

Valentine quietly halted the horse and asked, 

“We’ve arrived. Can you stand?”  

“Mm, yes….”  

Liz, barely awake, nodded.  

Valentine dismounted first and extended his hand toward her.  

Liz leaned heavily into him as she descended from the horse, but ultimately, she ended up collapsing into his arms.  

He couldn’t help but let out a faint chuckle. But the moment he lowered his gaze, the smile vanished.  

Her alluring white back made him hold his breath, and the faint scars on her skin made that held breath sting.  

He had watched the process of those scars being made through the scope from a distance.  

He could have rushed out immediately to deal with the assailant, but Valentine hadn’t done so.  

In a situation where the coachman was likely to use Liz as a hostage, revealing his presence would have offered no advantage.  

The best course of action was to strike the target at the most opportune moment, without them ever knowing who had done it.  

Thus, Valentine had to remain composed, even as he stared directly at Liz’s plight.  

It wasn’t difficult to stay calm when Liz struck the coachman with a rock.  

But when the coachman began binding Liz’s wrists, his composure started to waver.  

When the coachman shoved a piece of cloth into Liz’s mouth, his eyelids trembled as he looked through the scope.  

Even so, he maintained his composure—his cursed composure.  

But the moment he realized what the coachman intended to do as he straddled Liz’s body.  

The moment Liz’s pristine white skirt tore as she desperately crawled away.  

His finger pulled the trigger.  

It was the first time his trigger finger had acted out of his control.  

Recalling that foolish shot, his fingertips trembled.  

“Mm….”  

Liz let out a faint groan.  

Valentine gently pushed her away and spoke.  

“Isabel, can you walk?”  

“…Miss Belle?”  

Was she talking in her sleep? 

Valentine frowned slightly.  

“Are you looking for… Ah, I’m sorry….”  

Liz’s back flinched as if startled.  

Valentine let out a helpless laugh.  

Instead of waking her, he slid his hands under her knees and lifted her into his arms again.  

At the very least, he wanted to get that trembling, fragile back out of his sight.  

Not so he could freely admire the defenseless face of the sleeping woman in his arms—absolutely not.  

Valentine carried Liz into the estate.  

Walking down the hallway, he stopped in front of the stairs.  

The guest room was on the first floor, the maids’ quarters on the third floor, and Valentine’s bedroom was on the second floor.  

What was he going to do now?  

Liz’s fingers, which were loosely draped around his neck, seemed ready to slip off at any moment, yet they clung to him precariously.  

He turned to look back at the path he had walked.  

The answer was already decided.  

***

“…Other than that, there are no major injuries. However, her nutritional state will need attention.”  

The physician spoke as he rolled up the remaining bandage and placed it in his bag.  

Liz, with a splint on her leg, lay on the bed.  

Thanks to Martha’s quick work in cleaning her body with a damp cloth and changing her clothes, Liz looked neat and tidy.  

But Valentine, seemingly uninterested in the physician’s words, leaned against a chair at a distance from the bed.  

“She twisted her ankle quite badly, so even after it heals, she’ll need to wear comfortable shoes for a while. That’s all.”  

Instead of answering directly, Valentine looked at Martha.  

Quick on her feet, Martha responded immediately.  

“I’ll make sure to take care of it.”  

“Very well. Then, I’ll return tomorrow when she wakes….”  

“Understood. Thank you both for your hard work at such a late hour.”  

Valentine gave a polite nod, sending the two away.  

Martha descended to the first floor with the physician.  

“Hah….”  

Once the door was closed, Valentine let out a long sigh and looked up at the moon.  

A soft breeze blew through the slightly open window.  

The moon, previously hidden by clouds, shone brightly, illuminating Liz’s pale face.  

But soon, the moon disappeared behind the clouds again.  

Only after Liz’s face was once more cloaked in shadow did Valentine approach her.  

Liz’s complexion was pale, but her expression seemed peaceful.  

That fact eased Valentine’s guilt, if only slightly.  

Tonight, he had been disappointed in himself more times than he could count.  

Losing his composure while holding a gun was a failure as a sniper.  

Failing to suppress his desires upon seeing Liz’s battered state was a disgrace as a gentleman.  

Valentine stood, looking down at Liz.  

What are you, lying here before me?  

Why does my breath quicken, and my heart race? Why does my body defy reason, and my mind lose its clarity?  

Who are you, to make me someone I am not?  

“…Isabel.”  

He murmured, as if answering himself.  

That woman was nothing more than a stand-in for Isabel.  

If he called her Isabel, she would become Isabel.  

“Isabel.”  

He called her again.  

Liz flailed her arms slightly but didn’t wake.  

Her clumsy movements brought a faint smile to his lips.  

And that smile gave him a sense of relief.  

He thought to himself that amusement and contempt were intrinsically linked.  

Thus, it was only natural for the maid, who had been called Isabel, to amuse him.  

How ridiculous, for a maid to stand in for Isabel Myra!  

So this amusement must be a joy rooted in disdain.  

To solidify his conviction, he said it aloud.  

“How utterly… ridiculous.”  

Words spoken aloud often sound like the truth.  

And so, his heart felt somewhat at ease.  

Ridiculous. I find you ridiculous. You are nothing. I disregard you.  

He muttered endlessly as he looked at Liz.  

Before he knew it, his face was full of laughter.