Ferociously glowing red eyes swept across Benjet’s boot, Ranshel’s hand pinned beneath it, and the scattered shards of glass in succession.
“…….”
Ranshel instinctively froze, his body tensing with nerves.
Zavad was approaching them with a face frozen in a chilling mask of frost, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword.
“…What do you think you are doing to my servant?”
His voice was heavily suppressed, laced with a terrifying rage.
Benjet pulled his foot away from the back of Ranshel’s hand and took several faltering steps backward.
His gray eyes shook violently, flickering toward the sword hanging at Zavad’s waist.
Though he appeared frightened, he clung to his pride and barked back.
“Where is ‘your’ servant? Every piece of property in this castle belongs to me!”
“…….”
“All authority in this castle is mine, and do not forget that you fall under me as well! You should be grateful enough that I’m not locking you back in the spire!”
Ranshel saw the veins bulging on the back of Zavad’s hand and hurriedly tugged at his trouser leg.
Blood from his cut palm smeared onto the fabric.
Zavad glared at the Duke with murderous eyes for a moment before slowly turning his gaze down to help Ranshel up from the floor.
“Are you all right?”
Ranshel nodded slowly and peeked at the window before his eyes.
[There is a change in contribution.]
[Event Contribution]
The Soul Breaker: 3▷12%
Ranshel swallowed a sigh that caught in his throat.
The long-standing antagonist on the contribution list, ‘The One Who Breaks the Soul,’ was indeed Benjet Pomel.
It wasn’t a great surprise, but the sudden spike in the percentage was concerning.
“Send a healer to my chambers. Right now.”
“Ah, yes… yes!”
The maid clutched her skirts in a panic and bolted out.
As Zavad led Ranshel out of the room, he looked back and threw out a cold warning.
“You will certainly pay for this share—several times over.”
“…….”
The Duke, who had been averting his gaze in a stunned silence, only began to explode into another fit of rage once the door was nearly closed.
Zavad, appearing completely indifferent to the old man’s desperate pride, held Ranshel’s wrist with extreme care as they walked.
“…Young Master, you should have dried your hair before coming out.”
“What does that matter?”
“It matters. If my Young Master catches a cold, I’ll be so sad.”
“…If I were to fall ill over something like this, I’d have to surrender the Gold Medal of the Knight Commander.”
Returning to the room, Zavad immediately sat Ranshel on the bed and knelt on one knee before him to inspect the injured hand.
Ranshel grew worried seeing his expression; such a minor injury shouldn’t be this distressing.
“I’m okay, Young Master. You don’t need to worry so much.”
“How can I not worry when you were stepped on over glass shards?”
“Maybe because the Duke is old, he didn’t have much strength. They didn’t even dig in that deep—”
“Ranshel.”
As Zavad called his name lowly, Ranshel’s mouth snapped shut.
Zavad let out a long sigh into the now-quiet room and looked up at him.
“I feel sad when you catch a cold, too.”
“…….”
“When you are hurt, it is unbearably painful to me….”
The face looking at him was etched with vivid pain.
Ranshel’s heart ached so sharply it was hard to bear.
“I wanted to slit his throat right then, rip open his belly, and pull out every organ in his body. I mean it.”
“…….”
“The only reason… I barely held back was because of you.”
Zavad leaned his head against Ranshel’s knees.
Ranshel stroked his dark hair with his uninjured hand.
“If I were to become a parricide who killed his father and were stripped of my rank as Commander for recklessly wielding the sword meant to protect the Empire….”
“…….”
“I wouldn’t be able to protect you….”
“…….”
“It isn’t easy to forgive myself for being so weak.”
His heart trembled at the gesture of Zavad rubbing his cheek against his knees.
Ranshel truly didn’t know what to do whenever Zavad became vulnerable.
He became as restless as if he had encountered a lost child, filled with an urgent desire to do something for him.
“Young Master….”
Ranshel leaned down deep and pressed his lips against Zavad’s hair.
As he stroked the shoulders that were slumped like a wounded beast and kissed the back of his neck, Zavad slowly lifted his head.
“…I simply cannot act this instant, but there is a way.”
The eyes that had been trembling softly while looking at Ranshel were suddenly filled with sharp, murderous intent.
“The Empress has made it clear she will support me with the Imperial allies while she handles the Holy Legion. As long as the justification is met, the Council will take my side as well.”
Ranshel flinched slightly at the mention of the Holy Legion. Zavad hadn’t explained it in detail, but as he thought, was ‘The One Who Calls the Storm’ removed from the list because Baha had died?
“I have no intention of letting the Duke sit back and leisurely weigh his options between me and Stein.”
Zavad’s eyes were full of deep bloodlust.
“I plan to hand him over to trial, charge him with treason, and seize the very title he cherishes so much.”
Treason. Ranshel blinked slowly, his mouth hanging open unconsciously.
“I will take away everything he claimed was his, and even after his miserable life ends, I will make sure his name is known to posterity as a soul of disgrace.”
Zavad added, as if to reassure the surprised Ranshel.
“Normally, the crime of treason involves the forfeiture of all property and rights of the entire kin, but the story changes when an internal whistleblower carries out the condemnation themselves. Once the raid on the Archbishop’s prayer meeting is over, it will be the Duke’s turn.”
Ranshel rubbed his cheek against Zavad’s hair to hide his wavering eyes.
It wasn’t because he was surprised or afraid of the heavy charges.
‘It’s following the original story.’
Zavad was moving to bring the hammer down on the family that ruined his childhood, just as the game’s narrative dictated.
The only thing that had changed was that he himself was not included among the targets to be condemned. The man now before him only wanted to protect him.
Ranshel feared Zavad might hear his violently pounding heart.
He wanted to say something to this man who willingly lowered himself to tend to his wounds.
He wanted to pour out some kind of grievance, and he desperately wanted to beg for forgiveness.
Fortunately, a knock on the door caused Zavad to stand up, and Ranshel didn’t have to struggle with his thoughts any longer.
He cleared his mind like a blank slate, acting the fool as he had before, while his hand was treated.
“…If we were in the capital, we could have had the Saintess’s help.”
Zavad frowned in lingering regret.
The healer applied ointment and wrapped the bandage meticulously, but it was natural that it couldn’t compare to Frey’s holy power, which could erase all injuries in an instant.
“Well, I’ve been using too many shortcuts lately anyway. Ranshel only thought about wanting the man who couldn’t take his eyes off his hand to feel better. It felt good to be cherished and valued like this, but he preferred seeing Zavad’s face when he smiled softly.”
“The medicine is so good that it doesn’t even hurt anymore. If the wound hasn’t closed by the time we go back to the capital, I can ask her then.”
“…You shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place.”
Zavad’s voice still sounded mournful.
Ranshel gave a bitter smile and leaned his head on the shoulder of Zavad, who was sitting beside him.
“Well, it might be a bit inconvenient not being able to touch water for a while.”
“…You’re hurt, what are you planning to do? Just stay still.”
“Then is the Young Master going to do it for me instead?”
Ranshel slid his bandaged fingers over the back of Zavad’s hand.
