“Kh… you bastard! What have you done!”

The man, slashed and left crumpled on the floor, roared. With his body heaving with blood, he forced out one last phrase, still glaring at Hatan as though he were cursing him with his final breath.

“You should have known when to stop.”

Hatan looked down at him indifferently. His languid expression and unfocused gaze seemed wholly out of place in the face of the carnage before him.

“Illegitimate wretch… no matter what you do, you’ll always be abandoned. You’ll never be anything but a bastard—”

“Is that your last will?”

Adjusting his grip on the bloodied blade, Hatan silenced the man who spewed venom at him.

“In the end, you were betrayed by your half-brother—”

Thud—

“I told you to leave a will, not to chatter.”

The sharpened steel pierced his heart, cutting his words short. His body collapsed like a puppet with its strings severed.

“Take care of it.”

After casting one last glance at the corpse, Hatan turned away.

But then he noticed something. In a room where everyone else should have been killed, except for him and his men, there was still a living person.

It was a woman, trembling pitifully with her arms wrapped around herself. Whether she was shaking from fear of him, the grotesque sight, or a phantom chill, he could not tell. Whatever the reason, she seemed fragile and miserable, shivering there.

Hatan paused, tilting his head in thought.

The weather wasn’t cold.

Even though she was shivering, she looked him directly in the eye. For a moment, his eyes lingered on her, but he resumed his steps, his face betraying no emotion.

Or he would have, had her voice not broken the silence.

“…Thank you.”

That frail word stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and stared at the woman, who was curled up in a ball. Her face was contorted with wretched fear.

Although she was slender and fragile rather than sensual, the length of her limbs lent her body a certain grace. Still, that was all.

The faint bruises and battered fingers were nothing more than fleeting images scattering within him.

Or so he told himself.

Yet, as though mocking his own judgement, a capricious command slipped from his lips.

“Spare that woman.”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

The moment he arrived at the Mutran estate, Hatan stripped off his blood-soaked shirt in one careless motion. The stench of iron clinging to his skin was unbearable; he wanted it washed away at once.

“Prepare the bath.”

No matter how often he scrubbed, the stench of blood had long since become part of him. Nevertheless, he hurried as though missing even a moment would cost him the chance to be rid of it.

The large bath, which could easily accommodate five people, had already been filled with steaming water, the fragrant oils of which were spreading a soothing haze throughout it.

“Haa…”

As he sank into the water, a heavy tide of fatigue swept through his muscles.

‘How long must I go on like this?’

It was a life he had chosen for himself. In truth, it suited him perfectly. He felt no sense of rebellion or resentment. It wasn’t a bad life, and for the sake of his bloodline, he would gladly go further.

Yet the stench of blood would gnaw at him forever. He did not find blood disgusting or terrifying. It was only the rancid, fishy odor that he could never tolerate.

“Pointless thoughts again.”

He twisted his lips and stirred the perfumed water lazily with one hand. Flower petals drifted on the rippling surface.

Hatan caught one in his palm and smirked without realising it.

Once a beauty that drew every gaze, it was now torn to shreds and left floating helplessly in the bathwater.

After staring at it for a while, he crushed the petal in his fist.

“Perhaps it was beauty itself that doomed it to such a fate.”

A faint laugh slipped from his mouth, empty and sharp.

“What a f*cked-up life.”

After finishing his bath, Hatan dragged his slightly lighter body into the bedroom. For once, all he wanted was to surrender to the sleep he had been avoiding for so long.

But as soon as he entered the room, his gaze was caught by something.

A figure stood there, its face hidden beneath a cloth; however, its slender form revealed its gender.

“What is that?”

The servant who had followed Hatan inside bowed his head and replied.

“It was Lord Caro’s instruction.”

“Caro?”

Caro, Hatan’s right-hand man, was adept at sensing his master’s moods. When Hatan’s desires intensified, Caro would sometimes place a woman in the chamber before receiving an order to do so.

But tonight was different. Above all, when he smelled of blood, Hatan would tolerate no one near his bedchamber, least of all women.

So why had Caro made such a mistake tonight?

“Even monkeys fall from trees. Take her out.”

Hatan sat wearily on the bed and gave the command. The servant seized the woman’s arm roughly and hauled her up.

“Ugh…”

A faint groan slipped from her lips. The voice—familiar somehow. A deep furrow carved itself into Hatan’s brow.

“Wait.”

At his gesture, the servant stepped back from her.

Only then did Hatan notice what lay beneath the sheer cloth: her arm, blotched with a bruise so deep it had darkened from blue into violet.

“Hah.”

Recognizing her, Hatan ran a hand through his hair and lingered on her slender frame with his gaze. The words he had once told Miltan resurfaced in his mind.

“Spare that woman.”

A humorless laugh escaped him.

Miltan was so sharp that it was sometimes chilling, and he would occasionally step forward. Just like this.

Hatan flicked an indifferent glance at the woman and gestured for her to be taken away once more.

The servant approached her again. This time, perhaps unsettled by her earlier reaction, he refrained from seizing her arm.

“You may go.”

“…”

Yet the woman did not move.

Hatan turned his head, shifting his gaze between her and the servant.

Feeling his master’s displeasure, the servant became anxious and lowered his voice as he urged her again.

“What are you doing? Get up, at once!”

But the woman only stared directly at Hatan, showing no sign of getting up.

The servant broke out in a cold sweat while Hatan gazed at the woman as though she were some kind of curious creature.

It did not last long. Losing interest soon afterwards, he made a casual remark.

“Useless. Leave.”

As if struck by a sudden thirst, Hatan poured water into the cup set on the table.

Drip—

The sound of liquid filling the glass echoed through the silent room. Cool droplets quickly beaded along its surface.

Even as he drained the cup, the woman did not move.

Hatan looked down at her with a weary expression.

“Are you deaf?”

“……”

Her eyes were fixed steadily on him, showing no sign of wavering.

Hatan chuckled faintly as he recalled the events of the day.

If she could meet his gaze so squarely now, could her earlier trembling really have been caused by fear of him or the scene before her?

“So it was the cold, then.”

At his low murmur, the woman gave a small nod.

Hatan lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, then turned toward the door.

“Miltan.”

The man who had been waiting outside entered at once. Broad-shouldered, he kept his eyes only on his master, ignoring the woman entirely.

“You called.”

Hatan gave a short command. A moment later, Miltan handed him a small pouch. Hatan tossed it to the woman.

“More than enough for a single night. With this much, you should be more than satisfied. Now go.”

At last, the woman stirred. She opened the pouch, and a considerable number of gold coins gleamed within. For a moment she stared blankly down at them—then shook her head and spoke.

“I have enough.”

With those words, she picked up a single coin and placed the rest on the bed beside her.

Hatan smirked. It was nonsense to call it excessive and take only one. In fact, even that was far too much, since he hadn’t laid a hand on her.

Whether or not she understood this, the woman bowed her head slightly and left the chamber with calm composure.

Hatan’s gaze lingered on the spot where she had stood.

“Interesting.”

She was a strange woman, leaving behind only the faintest trace of herself — yet that was enough to occupy his thoughts.

A laugh escaped him, unbidden.

He could not explain why he was laughing or what trace she had left behind.

But, as if under a spell, the laughter escaped him time and again. He smirked to himself for a long time until, at last, he erased her from his mind and turned towards the bed.

“……”

However, as soon as he lay down, he found that he couldn’t sleep.

He should have gone to sleep straight after his bath. Instead, he had wasted time and would now have to spend the night without sleep.

With a soft click of his tongue, Hatan rose, put on his outer coat, and left the room.

If he could not sleep, he might as well attend to the work awaiting him.

Thus, beneath the chill of the settling night-time dew, Hatan made his way alone to the study.