* * *
“It’s not the sturdiest, but it belonged to one of the soldiers. It should work. But don’t swing it wildly. If someone tries to grab you, aim for their stomach at close range. It’s the easiest spot to strike without being noticed.”
Tia, feeling like she was entrusting a child with a weapon, even taught him how to stab.
Standing behind her, Lowell practiced the motion several times.
“Tony and Celine will guard Lowell. The rest of us will hide in the cells closest to the stairs.”
Attacking at the stairway meant they could trap the enemy in a narrow space, but it also risked the Count escaping.
If that happened, it was only a matter of time before Zephyros’s betrayal was discovered.
‘It’s better to follow Tia’s plan—let the Count come inside the prison, then attack. At least the cramped space means we won’t have to face overwhelming numbers all at once… that’s the only good thing about this.’
After they finished preparing, it wasn’t long before footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Judging by the heavy steps, at least twenty men were descending.
“There’s a strange smell. Let’s go check it out.”
“Where’s the soldier who was supposed to report in?”
Sensing something was off, the soldiers pushed in first.
Seeing the empty cells, they seemed to think the knights had escaped and hurried to inspect each cell.
“What’s going on?”
Count Clarke arrived late, pausing near the stairs, waiting for a report.
Just then, Tia, who had opened the cell door, darted out at a speed no one could catch, cutting off the Count’s escape.
“How…? We confiscated all their weapons.”
For a brief moment, the Count furrowed his brows, assuming the knights had managed to escape and retaliate.
But he quickly reassessed the situation.
“There’s a traitor among us… The priest? Or that idiot prince?”
His sharp deduction twisted into a sneer.
Lowell, listening from afar, felt a chill run down his spine.
“They said you were brainwashed. Shouldn’t have trusted His Majesty when he claimed you’d make a good witness.”
The Count spoke insolently, his tone dripping with disrespect for the Emperor, showing just how little authority the throne actually held behind the scenes.
“Capture them all! Bring Lowell to me, on his knees!”
The underground prison instantly turned into a battlefield.
The knights, knowing the longer the fight dragged on, the worse their odds, immediately targeted the Count.
But the enemy was also focused on finding Lowell, meaning they couldn’t devote themselves solely to the attack.
“How much longer are you going to struggle against half-dead opponents?!”
The Count’s voice roared with fury, making the enemy’s attacks even fiercer.
“Lowell Clarke is here!”
The moment one of the enemies broke through the defensive line and spotted Lowell, he shouted loudly.
Though Tony managed to bring him down, their position had already been exposed.
The knights, now more desperate, charged in Lowell’s direction with renewed vigor.
For the knights, failing to protect Lowell or losing the Count were both unacceptable outcomes.
They were holding out with sheer will alone, but it was clear that if this situation dragged on, they would be forced to choose between the two.
To the knights, protecting Lowell took priority; to Lowell, protecting the Count did.
“Stay close to me!”
Lowell instinctively stepped back, thinking he would only get in the way standing beside the knights.
But Tony immediately followed with quick, retreating steps, sharply warning him.
He had judged that giving the enemy any opening was far more dangerous than Lowell being in the way.
‘I just want to protect myself, at least.’
Lowell fidgeted with the dagger hidden up his sleeve.
For now, his best option was to stay out of sight and avoid becoming a target.
“Ugh!”
Blood from an enemy struck down by Tony splattered onto Lowell’s arm.
The hot liquid ran down his pale, goosebump-covered skin, leaving vivid traces before dripping onto the floor.
With each drop of blood that fell, Lowell felt as though it was his own.
Having lived an ordinary life until now, Lowell was already exhausting his mental strength just by managing not to faint on the battlefield.
“M-My Lord, Count!”
Among the sounds of clashing swords and battle cries filling the prison, a new voice echoed.
The man appeared as if he had rushed to deliver urgent news, but the chaos of the prison seemed to overwhelm him, causing him to momentarily forget his report.
“What is it? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a battle? Call everyone left upstairs down here now!”
The Count’s sharp response came as he swung his sword to protect himself.
Despite the situation, Lowell strained his ears, drawn to that voice.
He had a feeling the news he had been waiting for had finally arrived.
“Y-Yes… Argh!”
The knight, hastily turning to leave, was grabbed from behind by Tia and collapsed.
Yet, the Count didn’t flinch; rather, it was as though he had been waiting for that moment.
He broke through the defensive line and charged forward.
Unfortunately, Tia staggered due to the injury on her left leg, unable to respond properly.
But what was unexpected was that the Count wasn’t heading for the stairs—the escape route—but deeper into the underground prison.
“Protect Young Lord Lowell!”
The knights, realizing the Count’s true intentions, moved in perfect coordination, but the enemies desperately blocked them to defend the Count’s charge.
In the blink of an eye, the Count reached Lowell’s location, his eyes quickly scanning the area.
Compared to the knights, it was easy to pick out the smaller figure, unarmed.
“No!”
Tony and Charis, engaged with six enemies, tried to intercept the Count but were quickly surrounded themselves.
Slipping past them with ease, the Count charged Lowell, his sword cloaked in dark magic.
In that moment, Lowell instinctively knew—his reflexes weren’t fast enough to block this attack.
‘Felix…!’
Clenching his teeth, he forced his stiff body to move, but it was no use.
At this rate, the sword would pierce him straight through the abdomen.
Just then, Tony ignored the knights attacking him and sprinted toward Lowell.
Blades stabbed into Tony’s arms and legs, but he didn’t stop moving.
“Young Lord Lowell, get down!”
Tony barely caught up to the Count and shoved Lowell aside, swinging his sword even as he staggered.
“Ugh!”
The blade slashed into Lowell’s side, tearing through flesh.
A twisting, searing pain radiated through his waist, making his body curl in on itself.
Wincing in agony, Lowell’s dazed eyes snapped back into focus at the sight of Tony collapsing beside him.
If Tony hadn’t pushed him, the sword would have pierced his abdomen directly—a lethal blow, one that would’ve put him at death’s door instantly.
‘Tony…’
But now, thanks to Tony’s sacrifice, the one at death’s door… was Tony himself.
“How dare you…!”
The Count, rising to his feet, tried to attack again, but Charis, arriving a moment too late, subdued him.
Lowell, his legs giving out, collapsed to the floor and checked Tony’s condition.
Already severely wounded, Tony now bore additional, grievous injuries.
His body trembled as he let out pained groans.
“Don’t move. Your wounds will reopen.”
Lowell wiped the blurring vision from his eyes, tearing fabric to stem the bleeding.
The floor was soaked in Tony’s blood.
‘I wiped my tears… but why is everything still blurry?’
To apply pressure, he needed to focus, but his vision kept swimming, making it hard to concentrate.
Thinking it was just tears, he repeatedly wiped his eyes with his sleeve, but the fabric remained dry.
‘Huh…?’
* * *
