In the wake of a biting gale, a torrential rain came pouring down.

Through the darkness of a street where not even an inch ahead could be seen, a single chestnut carriage emerged.

Its wheels tore through the muddy ground at a reckless pace, the tracks they left behind swallowed almost instantly by the rain, vanishing without a trace.

Before long, the carriage entered the outskirts of a small clustered village. Thanks to the gas lamps lining the path, finding the entrance was not particularly difficult.

The coachman, gripping the reins, looked deathly pale. Soaked through, he exhaled ragged breaths, each one spilling into the air as faint white vapor. The early winter night was merciless, its cold sharp enough to slice through flesh.

In the dead of night, while everyone slept, the carriage sped forward, splashing through pools of gathered rainwater—until, upon spotting a lone house standing apart on the edge of the village, it began to slow.

Wind and rain battered the structure so fiercely that even the windows rattled.

Vincent, who had been unable to sleep, stirred at the commotion outside.

He reached for the spectacles resting on the bedside table and slipped them on. Throwing on a heavy coat, he moved at once toward where his shotgun was kept.

But just then—

A violent knock struck the door, as though it might break.

“Is anyone there?”

A stranger’s low, restrained voice mingled with the howling wind, sending a chill down Vincent’s spine.

He swallowed dryly, stifling even his breathing as he carefully retrieved the shotgun hidden beneath the kitchen counter.

“I’ve come to see Dr. Lugner.”

Vincent’s hands paused as he was loading the shells.

His gaze slowly shifted toward the tightly shut front door.

“I need the doctor’s help.”

After retiring, Vincent had moved to Valta to spend his remaining years in quiet solitude. He had never once spoken of his past to any of his neighbors.

And yet, the uninvited guest in the middle of the night already knew who he was.

Sensing that something was deeply amiss, Vincent set the shotgun down on the table and hurried to the entrance, pulling the door open.

A freezing gust of wind rushed in, heavy with rain, instantly stealing away the warmth inside the house.

“Who are you?”

Vincent looked up at the silver-haired man standing before him, his eyes trembling.

The man gave a slight bow in greeting, then turned without hesitation and opened the carriage door behind him.

Shhh—

Beyond the carriage, the forest stretched out, swallowed entirely by darkness. Amid the violent storm, it almost sounded as though some savage beast was howling within it.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed at the sight of black boots stepping onto the soaked ground.

Slowly, his gaze followed upward—drawn along the man’s tall frame.

“W-What on earth…?”

His eyes widened in shock.

In the arms of the man cloaked in black, his face hidden beneath a hood, lay an unconscious woman.

At a glance, Vincent could tell—there was not a single part of her body left uninjured.

“Quick, get her inside! Hurry!”

Who they were, how they had found this place—none of that mattered right now.

Vincent rushed back inside, pulling away the blankets scattered across the bed and quickly preparing a place for her.

As the visitor stepped in, wet footprints marked the wooden floor in a clear trail.

The man gently laid the woman onto the bed Vincent had prepared.

Vincent’s hands trembled as he searched for the medical kit he had long since shoved into the back of his wardrobe, untouched for years.

“There was an accident.”

Bringing the kit over and setting it on the bedside table, Vincent quickly examined the woman—her skirt soaked red with blood—as he took out the necessary instruments.

“What kind of accident?”

“The carriage fell from a bridge.”

Vincent gave a short nod and carefully lifted her eyelids, checking the response of her pupils.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed that thanks to prompt emergency measures, the worst had been avoided.

But considering the carriage had fallen from a bridge, her external injuries were not as severe as one might expect.

Still—that did not mean she was out of danger.

After carefully identifying the areas that would require surgery, Vincent lifted his head and looked at the man.

The man, who had not taken his eyes off the woman lying as though lifeless on the bed even for a moment, finally reached up and removed his hood.

Eyes of silver-gray, tinged with blue, fixed on Vincent with a cold, commanding presence.

And the moment Vincent saw the man’s rain-soaked black hair—as if struck by lightning, he realized who stood before him.

Raphael de Frederick, Duke of Frederick.

The Duke—master of Blancheau, the great city in the northern region of Rotten, a man who held both the economic heart and the military stronghold of the land in his grasp.

Why, then—had someone like him come all the way to Valta, a small village on the outskirts of the capital?

Blancheau already had its share of exceptional physicians and state-of-the-art medical facilities. There was no reason to come all the way to the outskirts in search of a retired surgeon.

Watching Vincent hesitate mid-treatment, Raphael’s brows drew together.

“I came because I know you possess exceptional skill in this field.”

“But I…”

“Save her.”

He was a man accustomed to giving orders—and one whose commands could not be defied.

Valta, where Vincent resided, was still a small city under Blancheau’s domain.

“Make sure this remains strictly confidential. No one must learn of this.”

At the duke’s cold warning, a chill crept down the back of Vincent’s neck.

Drawing in a deep breath, Vincent lowered his trembling gaze to the woman on the bed.

Her breathing was faint—so fragile it seemed it might stop at any moment—as she teetered on the edge between life and death.

Just who was this woman, that the duke would go to such lengths to save her in secrecy?

But there was no time to dwell on it.

“W-We need to bring more surgical instruments from the storage.”

Having made up his mind, Vincent moved quickly once more. At Raphael’s subtle gesture, the attendant waiting behind him sprang into action without delay.

Cold sweat soon gathered across Vincent’s lined forehead.

***

After the storm had swept through, Valta—once known for its scenic beauty—looked more like a desolate ruin.

Even ten days later, the villagers whose homes had been damaged still could not bring themselves to begin repairs. The destruction had been far worse than expected.

Though the sky had finally cleared into a flawless blue, not a single villager stepped outside to welcome the crisp air of early winter.

Vincent, who had been dozing off in a rocking chair by the fireplace, his head tilted at an awkward angle, suddenly jolted awake at the sharp chill that brushed against him.

A sudden gust of cold wind had dimmed the fire in the hearth, leaving the house uncomfortably cold.

He quickly pushed more firewood into the flames and waited for the warmth to return.

Only after confirming that the fire had caught again did his gaze drift—at last—toward the half-open bedroom door.

“……”

A strange unease settled over him.

As if drawn by something unseen, Vincent slowly stepped toward it.

And the moment Vincent grasped the doorknob and peered inside, his eyes widened in shock.

“You’re awake!”

The woman, who had been staring blankly at the ceiling as her dazed eyes blinked slowly, turned her head at the sound of his voice. Her gaze settled on the older man approaching her.

In her dark brown eyes, a deep fear rippled like waves.

“I’m the doctor who treated you. Are you in severe pain anywhere? Or is there anything that feels uncomfortable?”

Vincent’s voice trembled with tension as he examined her condition.

The stab wound on her right thigh had fortunately been well stabilized, making the surgery relatively manageable. Her fractured ankle would take time to heal, but it was not life-threatening.

However, the blow to her head—though it had narrowly avoided becoming fatal—had been severe. Even after the surgery, there had been no telling when she might regain consciousness.

And yet, far sooner than Vincent had expected, the woman had awakened—almost miraculously.

Relief slowly softened the stiffness in his expression.

“Ah… this won’t do. I must inform the duke at once—”

“My memory… there’s nothing.”

Vincent, who had been about to step out after signaling for her to wait, froze as if rooted to the spot.

Her fragile voice slipped out, scraping faintly against her throat. When he turned back, he saw that her brown eyes were glistening with tears.

“I can’t remember anything.”

Her lower lip trembled as she bit down on it, as if trying to endure the pain.

“…You mean you’ve lost your memory?”

A heavy weight pressed down on Vincent’s chest at her unexpected words.

“Nothing at all?”

The woman gave a weak nod.

In that instant, the color drained from his face. He staggered slightly, bracing himself against the wall.

A woman of unknown identity.

And yet, the mysterious woman who had been carried in the arms of Duke Frederick—whose authority was immense despite his notorious reputation as Rotten’s prodigal—could not recall a single thing from before the accident.

Not even who she was.