* * *
Time itself seemed to malfunction, each movement unfolding painfully slowly, as if etching itself permanently into his mind.
The stench of burning flesh clawed at his nose, and thick, black smoke billowed into the sky.
Killian turned to the gathered crew and declared,
“From this moment forward, anyone who dares to break the rules of this ship will meet the same fate.”
“Ugh… Let me go!”
Nael, barely holding onto his senses, felt as if everything around him had blurred.
His heart felt as if it had been torn apart and thrown into the fire alongside the barrels.
There was no time to grieve—it was already turning to ashes.
This was madness.
The words of the head steward echoed in his mind.
“The Bloodthirsty Grand Duke of the North.”
A man who killed without hesitation.
A man who traveled from battlefield to battlefield, thirsting for the scent of blood.
Killian locked Nael, who was desperately struggling to break free, in his arms.
“It was necessary.”
His tone was not one of comfort.
Nael, trembling, covered his own mouth to stifle a sound he did not want to make.
An overwhelming, formless fear coiled around his throat, suffocating him.
Killian carried him back to the bedroom.
Nael collapsed to his knees. Killian’s shadow loomed over his trembling form.
Outside, sunlight still poured through the windows, and the large candle in the room burned steadily, casting no darkness.
But the space where Nael sat—only there did shadows pool like an abyss swallowing him whole.
“Hic… Why, why did you do this? Why are you doing this to me?”
Tears streamed down his face, his voice breaking.
“Those men… they…”
“They beat you. They tried to rape you.”
“That’s… But still—”
“If I had let them live, it would have happened again. Even if not to you, someone else would have suffered the same.”
Nael could still feel their hands grabbing at him.
The grimy fingers that had touched him, their faces, slick with grease, grinning down at him.
The way they had laughed as he tried to escape.
The sensation of their flesh pressing against him—something that, until now, only Killian had touched—refused to fade.
Nael quietly shook his head.
“Be good. That is all you need to do.”
“My lord… what about the young master? Are you going to kill him too?”
“He’s still alive. For now.”
I minced his pinky finger and mixed it into his meal.
He thought it was just meat, chewing happily—until he realized the truth. It broke him.
He’s locked away now.
He won’t be able to reach for you again.
Killian spoke with unsettling composure.
Everyone aboard the ship must have seen Nael’s face in Killian’s arms after today’s events.
War and long voyages stripped people down to their primal instincts.
The shorter one’s lifeline became, the more they were consumed by the urge for reproduction.
To suppress this desire even slightly, a few male courtesans were brought aboard.
However, due to the superstition that forbade women on the ship, the number of courtesans was woefully insufficient.
Those who grew weary of waiting for their turn often resorted to assaulting the newcomers.
Even amid the unpredictability of war, there were times when, upon hearing groans, I would enter a room only to find prisoners being violated.
Beating the perpetrators within an inch of their lives would still not have been enough.
These atrocities happened in secret, and it was impossible to address each one individually, so I entrusted the matter to my knights and put it out of my mind.
But those bastards dared to lay a hand on Nael.
Allowing them to live until Nael’s body recovered was already an act of great mercy.
Just then, Ren entered, pushing a trolley with soft bread and soup.
“The portion is too small.”
“Norman said that if he eats too much suddenly, it might upset his stomach since he’s still in shock.”
“……”
“I’ll bring more.”
It was a subtle rebuke.
The ducal family’s physician had been tending to Killian since he was a child.
Even if Norman had said so, the amount was far too little.
“I… I’m fine, Ren.”
Nael barely managed to open his mouth to stop Ren, who was about to bring an entire feast.
He wanted to escape reality.
The duke always seemed to be testing whether he could endure by his side, throwing trials his way without warning.
The pebbles he cast so thoughtlessly were incredibly painful.
How could he so casually be concerned about a meal, knowing full well what I had just witnessed?
He was impossible to predict.
My master was as demanding as they came.
Drowsiness overcame him at the most inappropriate time.
His mind, desperate to escape the cruel reality, invited sleep.
Though he had rested plenty, his eyelids felt unbearably heavy, as if he had just performed grueling labor.
Sleep was more urgent than food.
He didn’t know how long Killian planned to keep watching him, but every spot his crimson gaze touched burned.
Killian carefully scooped up the soup and cut the bread into bite-sized pieces, feeding them to him.
Even when Nael tried to insist on eating alone, Killian’s silent glare made him drop his spoon helplessly.
With nothing else to do, Nael fidgeted with his fingers as he accepted the food Killian offered.
By the time he had eaten about half, his head started nodding forward.
He rubbed his heavy eyelids, trying to fight off sleep, but his long lashes fluttered down like curtains.
A large hand guided him to lie down comfortably on the bed.
Sleep dragged at his ankles.
Killian’s palm touched his eyelids.
A familiar scent and scenery unfolded before his eyes.
Nestled among large trees with lush green leaves was a small cottage.
Nael looked down at his feet.
He stood barefoot on the yellow dirt floor.
When he wiggled his toes, he could feel the coarse grains of dirt.
Wisps of pale smoke rose endlessly from the small chimney atop the cottage’s roof.
Had he prepared plenty of firewood?
His memory was hazy.
Worn-out clothes.
It was the same faded shirt and trousers he always wore.
The chamberlain had mended them for him, grumbling about how fast he was growing.
Everything was just as he remembered.
His slow steps quickened into a brisk pace before he even realized it.
He had come home!
His palms were damp with cold sweat, and he wiped them roughly on his thighs.
The wooden door handle was just as he remembered—cracked, in dire need of replacement.
Slowly, he pulled the door open.
His sister, stirring a pot of potato soup, turned and beamed at him.
“Welcome home, Nael.”
Her face, once gaunt with illness, looked different.
No cough, no signs of weakness—just a serene, healthy glow.
Nael smiled just as brightly.
“Oh my, where are your shoes? Where did you leave them?”
“Sis… You’re not sick anymore?”
“Mm-hm.”
She smiled radiantly and cleared her throat.
“What do you think? I’m fine, right?”
Lily ladled soup into a rough wooden bowl and set it in front of him.
A piece of hard bread accompanied it.
It must be my lucky day.
* * *
