* * *
Creeeak, crreeeeaak—groaning slowly, the door began to shift.
Pain surged up his spine, and he nearly screamed, biting down on his lip until it bled.
The sudden taste of iron sobered his racing heart.
“Ren, just wait a little. I’ll bring help. Just a little longer, okay? You’ll make it. The Grand Duke must be on his way.”
Nael kept speaking.
Maybe to calm himself, maybe out of fear.
Ren gave no reply, but the faint mist from his parted lips was proof he was still alive.
Nael was grateful for that.
Now it was a battle against time.
Gritting his teeth, Nael finally dragged his legs free.
Even as he escaped the wreckage, he didn’t let go of the sword.
“Hhhh…”
His ankle throbbed where it had been pinned.
Everything below the knee felt as if it had been crushed and no longer obeyed him.
Crawling on his knees wasn’t an option.
He had no choice but to drag himself forward with his arms.
A short distance from the carriage lay the coachman—limbs twisted, utterly still.
Already dead.
Eyes wide open, blood vessels burst, staring blankly at the sky.
Terrified. So scared he thought he might die right there.
The land was barren, frozen with a crust of frost.
Not a single sprout grew.
Only a few withered branches scattered across the wasteland.
No footprints, no signs of life.
He thought he’d crawled a fair distance, but when he looked back, he hadn’t gone far at all.
“Master…”
He should’ve protested more, begged not to go alone.
No—if Killian had come, he might’ve been seriously hurt too.
Even with that bear-like frame, he was still human.
The thought of Killian being pierced through the gut was unbearable.
‘Ren, please hang on. I can’t go back like this. What face will I show Norman… Hhk…’
His face, stained with tears and sweat, burned with heat.
Even his ears flushed red.
A faint vibration rippled through the ground.
Nael dropped flat.
He needed help, but he had to stay cautious.
There was a reason Ren gave him the sword.
He said to kill anyone not familiar.
Thud-thud-thud.
Hoofbeats, pounding the ground like a drum.
His heart pounded harder the closer they came.
Eventually, a horse stopped nearby, and someone dismounted.
Crunch—snow underfoot marked their path.
Not one person. Two?
“The coachman’s dead.”
The sneering voice pierced his ears like a blade.
“Good. Let’s move.”
“One of them—”
Footsteps approached.
No—Ren…!
“He’s dead.”
Hhk—Nael couldn’t swallow the sob that escaped.
He quickly slapped his hand over his mouth, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
His body shook.
He knew he had to hold it in, but there was no way to stop the sobbing.
There wasn’t a single bush to hide behind.
Maybe “escape” had been an impossible fantasy from the start.
With trembling hands, Nael clutched the sword tight.
He couldn’t let go.
Over and over, he drilled the thought into his brain: Don’t drop it.
The slow footsteps halted.
Nael took a deep breath.
If the man got close, he’d stab him.
He would stab.
He had to.
The man nudged Nael’s leg with his foot.
Pain surged through him, and he nearly groaned.
“Did he faint?”
“Pick him up gently. Doesn’t matter if he’s hurt. We just need to deliver him.”
Thud!
A kick to the ribs sent Nael’s torso twisting—and in that instant, he thrust the sword.
“Ugh!”
The blade clanged against the ground.
A second man had kicked Nael’s arm, making him drop it.
“Bold little thing.”
“Hh—”
The man grabbed Nael by the collar and hauled him up.
His head jerked back, choking him.
“Should I kill him now?”
“No. Let’s take him. We can tell Sir Dylan he died, or sell him. Or…”
Sir Dylan?
Nael had never heard that name before.
His face drained of color as the man dragged his hand across his own throat mockingly.
“Or we cut him up and send the pieces to the Grand Duke.”
“Mmgh…”
“First, let’s shut him up.”
SMACK!
And then, darkness fell.
“Ahhk.”
“You’re awake.”
A heavy voice snapped him back to reality.
As Nael fluttered his lashes and half-opened his eyes, he caught sight of a hazy figure standing in a shaft of sunlight filtering through a small window.
“Huff.”
“Oh? What’s the rush?”
The unfamiliar voice was deep and weighty, completely unknown to him—he had never heard it before.
Suddenly, his surroundings came into focus: a strange ceiling, a hard bed, rough bedding, and a cramped space barely large enough for a few people to stand in.
The small window rattled faintly in the wind.
“Where am I?”
“Wrong question. That’s not what matters.”
“…”
A dry, burning thirst clawed at his throat.
He licked his cracked lips and winced at the stinging pain.
“Ugh!”
Agony surged through his foot, jolting him fully awake.
A pained groan escaped him as his breathing turned ragged.
The man smiled gently and stopped him from moving.
“Don’t get up. You’ve injured your ankle—there’s a splint on it.”
Just as he said, a thick splint was fastened around Nael’s ankle.
The memory of being crushed under debris flashed through his mind.
That’s right… he was hurt. Still, he had to return somehow.
A chilling sense of dread settled deep within him.
He had to get back and explain everything—and retrieve Ren’s body.
Nael forced himself upright.
Even the slightest movement made his muscles scream in protest.
“My master must be looking for me.”
The man lowered his gaze and smiled—a kind, almost fatherly smile.
“Oh, Nael.”
He cupped his hands over his ears as if to draw Nael’s focus.
“Do you hear anything?”
“…”
Other than the eerie howl of the winter wind and the rattle of the window frame, there was nothing.
No footsteps.
Not even the faintest murmur.
It was like being buried in a snowfield, cut off from the world.
His tone was gentle, but his expression was rigid and cold.
A growing sense of unease twisted inside him.
He had too many questions, but one thing was clear: this man could not be trusted.
Hadn’t he said he didn’t care if the one who brought him here died?
I have to survive.
“No one’s looking for you.”
“…”
“Which means… even the Grand Duke doesn’t know you’re here, Nael Baker.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Hah. Did you think the Grand Duke could hide you away so easily? There’s already a mountain of land and wealth piling up in your name in the North.”
“…”
“That look says you didn’t know.”
Nael clenched the stiff bedding in his hands.
“What are you talking about?”
The man’s twisted smile cracked as his voice dropped—mocking, like a false savior.
He extended a thick hand toward Nael.
A ring on one finger gleamed unnaturally, jarringly out of place—like a gentleman putting on airs.
“Are you Sir Dylan?”
“…So they mentioned my name. Idiots. That’s what you get with muscle-for-brains thugs.”
He scratched his forehead as if embarrassed his identity had been revealed, then softened his tone as if proposing a deal.
“I can send you south.”
He’d ordered the carriage, killed the driver and Ren—and now he was suddenly offering safe passage?
Nael looked at him with deep suspicion.
He wasn’t foolish enough to fall for sugar-coated lies.
Judging by how long the carriage traveled, they were likely still near the villa—or inside it.
He had to find a way for his master to come find him.
The eerie silence bothered him.
No voices.
That must mean they hadn’t figured out his location yet.
* * *
