Lavi wore only black pants, no shoes. His thick, muscular upper body was spattered with dark red droplets of blood. Each time he moved, his well-defined muscles tensed, making the blood stains stand out even more. His aura was sharp and menacing, like a beast.

His eyes gleamed with the arrogant, dark gaze of a predator who had begun his hunt. He approached without a sound and reached out to grab Sel’s wrist. She winced, and Lavi growled in a low voice.

“Hold still. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Lavi was angry, his hands trembling slightly. Yet, despite his anger, his touch was surprisingly gentle as he tore the hem of his dark silk pants to bandage her arm tightly. With each movement, a faint fragrance of heated perfume lingered around him. It wasn’t the usual wisteria scent that she associated with him.

The scent was a mix of rose and musk—clearly a woman’s fragrance. Sel could guess where it had come from.

‘Wasn’t it Flora?’

Sel remembered Philip’s words before she came here. It was only natural. He was a man, after all. She knew that, yet her mouth felt strangely dry.

‘What am I even thinking at a time like this?’

Thinking she must be acting strangely, Sel silently looked down at her own arm. The villagers wanted to question Lavi about the possessed old man’s corpse. Yet, none dared to approach too closely. His cold demeanor and violent air made them hesitate.

Lavi seemed to shut out everything around him, focusing only on Sel. After he finished the first aid, he lifted her with one arm.

The way he carried her was as effortless as lifting a child. Awkward about being carried, Sel tried to steady herself by lightly holding onto his shoulder.

“I’m going to run fast. Bear with it if you get dizzy,” he said, his voice still as cold as ice.

Unable to respond, Sel merely nodded. As Lavi kicked off the ground, the force left the tiles on the floor sliding backward.

Just as he had warned, the speed was overwhelming. Sel had to wrap her arms around his neck to avoid falling off.

—

Under Edel’s care, Sel lay in a room on the fourth floor. Across from her, Lavi sat on a sofa, watching her with an impassive face.

“Thank… you for helping me, Commander,” she said hesitantly. But his reply was sharp.

“Are you crazy?”

“…Pardon?”

Something was different about Lavi. Sel couldn’t pinpoint the reason for his anger.

“What are you carrying around that old, manual pistol?”

At his question, Sel gripped the manual pistol lying nearby. It wasn’t just an old gun. It was precious to her.

“It’s mine, and I’m used to it…”

“I gave you a magical gun with mechanics.”

“That one needs the magic stones replaced frequently, and it’s expensive…”

“Why do you even work?”

“…”

“You fight to survive, don’t you? What if you’d died out there like some street animal?”

‘What if I had been even a moment later?’

Lavi punched his fist into the tea table in front of the sofa. The high-quality, intricately carved furniture splintered along the grain, collapsing. Lavi tightly shut his eyes, struggling to control his emotions.

The rising tension in his throat revealed his effort to swallow his feelings.

“…Sorry for yelling.”

He simply said, “Rest,” and left the room.

Lying on the bed, Sel stared silently at the ceiling.

—

“…What should we do about Flora, Lavi?”

Eric looked at Lavi, who had entered without even a knock, his face void of any emotion.

“Why hasn’t she left already?”

“She seemed determined to succeed today,” Eric remarked.

“Tell her not to come back,” Lavi replied irritably, flopping down on the long sofa.

“What’s this? You’re finally turning away a woman?” Eric asked.

Until now, plenty of women had clung to Lavi, enticed by his status and appearance, but every one of them had fled after witnessing his possessed outbursts.

Lavi had never turned away those who approached him, knowing they would leave eventually. A few of them, the bold ones, had managed to stick around for a while.

However, his prominent “affliction” eventually drove them away too.

That’s why the eldest son of the Penhac family was left alone, never having experienced a proper relationship.

The title should have passed to him already, but Lavi had refused it, citing various reasons. Flora, the woman now in his room upstairs, had relentlessly pursued him from the capital, determined to win him over. But it seemed that even with her tenacity, Lavi wasn’t reacting much to her presence.

When Philip had come pounding on Lavi’s door earlier, shouting that Sel was in danger, Lavi had rushed out without even bothering to re-dress after Flora had forcibly removed his shirt.

Watching this, Eric recalled the idea of “imprinting.” Like a chick that imprints on the first thing it sees, Lavi might have been uniquely affected by Sel. Or maybe he had an odd quirk of only being excited by people who threw a solid knee to his gut.

Either way, neither was a favorable conclusion for Lavi.

While Eric pondered over it, Lavi lay on the sofa as if ready to fall asleep. Eric frowned at the sight.

He was worried Lavi, still unwashed, would get outside germs all over the couch.

“…This is my room,” Eric pointed out, implying Lavi should leave.

“This whole building is mine!” Lavi replied snappily, refusing to leave.

Eric sighed and went upstairs to evict Flora, who was likely waiting in Lavi’s room.

She was the Royal Capital’s head ballerina, having come all the way here to seek out Lavi. As beautiful as she was popular, she had many men lined up hoping to meet her. But Flora, for some reason, persistently followed after Lavi, though he seemed to feel little interest in her.

It appeared that his old condition, which had briefly improved, had returned. Shaking his head, Eric sighed deeply and entered Lavi’s room.

Inside, with the door wide open, stood Flora.

“Sir Eric, where is Lavirus…?” she asked, and Eric simply shook his head in silence.

Disappointed, Flora lowered her gaze and began to gather her things.

—

Lavi poured alcohol into a crystal glass etched with wave patterns. The clear liquid shimmered, releasing a strong alcoholic aroma.

‘…Sel.’

His name was unusual, and their first encounter had been odd as well. As a Sword Master, Lavi had the ability to see a person’s “energy” to some degree. But he couldn’t feel any energy from Sel at all. The only thing he could sense was the faint warmth his thin body emitted, like a doll with only its outer shell alive. His real face under that mask was like that too.

Lavi thought his lack of aura might be due to the goblin mask he always wore obsessively. While the mask’s grotesque appearance itself repelled people, it also emitted a sinister aura from the monster it represented. Yet, even without it, Sel’s energy remained faint.

Could it be related to that tattoo? The thought aroused a strange urge in him to pull his clothes aside and touch the tattoo, to explore it thoroughly. At that moment, Lavi thought he must have gone mad.

The alcohol swirled, crystal clear, in his blue glass, reminding him of Sel’s eyes. His gaze could freeze over like a winter lake when dealing with people or flare like a blue flame when facing money, yet it was always clear, like the open sky.

The skin under his mask was like the northern snowfields. Was it because he couldn’t go in the sun due to an allergy? His skin was so pale it even had a bluish tint. He imagined it would be the same color along his chin, neck, waist, and even the hidden places he hadn’t seen.

His lips were like a camellia blooming in the snowfields. Despite his small frame, he had managed to endure among rough mercenaries, perhaps because of the razor-sharp words and quick wit that issued from those petal-like lips.

Sel was both intelligent and incredibly skilled with his hands. Watching his delicate, long fingers handle rough components always made him grit his teeth, as if they tingled. That feeling led him to frequent the armory often.

He didn’t seem too frightened by his “possessed” state. Nor did he ever express expectations or demands based on his status or abilities. Sel simply looked at him for who he was, Lavi.

He thought they could be friends. So, he’d treated him with kindness and watched him intently.

‘Damn it. But why, on that day…?’

Lavi gripped the crystal glass tightly, his eyebrows knitting. With a crack, the glass fractured, splintering into countless shards, leaving alcohol dripping down his hand. He took out a new glass and poured more alcohol.

As the alcohol filled the glass, it overflowed, much like his current state of mind.

He’d seen countless n*ked men’s bodies growing up and had never once harbored idle thoughts while looking at them. Wasn’t it natural? He’d never felt anything strange. But that day was different.

Seeing the black tattoo peeking from beneath Sel’s clothes had almost driven him mad. Despite living a healthy lifestyle with the mercenary corps, Sel’s waist still looked like someone who hadn’t eaten in a month, hollowed and thin.

Where there should have been a six-pack on his abdomen and sides, he was simply toned at best. And the tattoo stretched from his hip to his lower back.

It was an intriguing tattoo. He had felt an aura from it at first, but when he touched it, the energy faded, making it seem like an ordinary tattoo. The black tattoo on his pale skin stirred something forbidden in him.

At that moment, an electric sensation raced down his spine. Every cell in his body seemed to reach for Sel. He wanted to explore it more, to pull up his clothes and find out how far that tattoo stretched.

If he hadn’t stopped him, he might have done something regrettable. And if those tools hadn’t fallen from above, he would have pinned his down right there.

In that moment, when he lean, underwhelming body that resisted muscle growth came within his reach, he felt as if a lost puzzle piece had clicked into place.

His blood ran hot, and his heart began to beat wildly.

That was the very illness he had struggled with all his life, the one that had plagued him. And at that moment, it seemed to be healed. It was both an unforgettable miracle and a horrible ordeal.