* * *
Admitting to resistance against poison would be as good as confessing he was an assassin.
So now, Ranshel had one decision to make.
When to jump.
And how to use the false belief that his legs didn’t work.
Victory or death would hinge on a split second.
He would need to avoid the blade, twist his body, and fling himself out of the wheelchair in one fluid motion.
There hadn’t been enough space in the alley for this.
The main road—this was what he’d needed.
But the charging carriages?
That, he hadn’t quite planned for.
“This’ll hurt innocent people…”
Still, there was no other choice.
Instead of leaping out immediately, Ranshel gave a flick of his wrist.
Screech—his shirt was sliced by the blade, revealing the hidden dagger in the inner pocket.
His movement was subtle, precise.
[Unique Skill: ‘Short Sword’ activates!]
An assassination technique allowing instant, precise strikes with a dagger.
Every part of Ranshel’s stats was designed for this fleeting, silent moment.
Even without strength or stamina, in speed and precision—he was second to none.
Once more, he flicked his wrist.
Shwick!
Through the torn edge of his shirt, the dagger flew.
Cutting through the air like an arrow, it pierced the wheel of the nearest carriage.
SCREECH—!
The smoothly turning wheel jammed on the embedded blade.
The forced lock pushed against the still-turning axle—twisting the whole carriage into chaos.
“W-what the?!”
The coachman, who had only just noticed the wheelchair, yanked on the reins, but one of the wheels had already broken, twisting loosely to the side.
The carriage, moving unsteadily, suddenly veered and lurched violently.
That was the moment Ranshel had been waiting for.
Just an instant—when Doter’s attention was drawn to the swaying carriage and the wheelchair came to a stop.
Ranshel seized that single second to grab the blade pressed against his neck with his bare hand.
Snap—
The blade sliced through flesh and lodged into bone.
Gritting his teeth, Ranshel twisted it further to ensure it stayed caught, making it harder for his opponent to pull it free.
Drip, drip.
Blood ran down his black glove.
A grinding sound grated between his clenched teeth.
“Disgustingly painful…”
The pain was indescribable, but he could endure it.
It was Ranshel’s body, not Cha Eunsung’s—that made all the difference.
The neighing of horses, shouting, screams, chaos…
And amid all of it, a calm conversation floated through.
“That was reckless.”
“Fingers won’t kill me if they get chopped off…”
Controlling his ragged breathing, Ranshel flexed and released the tips of his fingers still gripping the blade.
Fortunately, he could still feel them.
The nerves weren’t damaged.
A deep wound, but it just needed stitching.
“So? What now? Got any other ways to kill me?”
“……”
Ranshel asked in an even, flat tone.
No answer came.
Maybe the next attack was already in motion.
He sharpened every nerve in his body, bracing himself.
He wouldn’t be taken down so easily again.
If he hadn’t been so distracted earlier, he wouldn’t have exposed a vital point like that.
What a joke.
Why had he been so rattled just because someone had tousled his hair?
Pathetic, not even realizing a blade was coming at him from behind.
Just then, Doter spoke in a voice laced with amusement.
“Well, this is awkward. What should I do now?”
“…Don’t have any ideas? Want me to give you one?”
“Sure. Enlighten me.”
“Run away now or turn yourself in. Or you could just wait here and let the guards drag you off.”
Their casual exchange was underpinned by a taut, crackling tension.
Truthfully, Ranshel hoped Doter would run instead of pressing the attack.
He wanted to capture him—desperately—but not now, not while he was injured.
The wound wasn’t fatal, but if it worsened, he wouldn’t be able to handle a weapon for a while.
And that meant he wouldn’t be able to protect Zavad.
Unless Doter truly meant harm to Zavad, Ranshel would have to push dealing with him down the priority list.
There was a reason he had to.
Then came a low chuckle—the same laugh he’d heard when the wheelchair had been shoved toward the carriage.
“I don’t like any of that… What to do? Looks like I’ll have to go with another option.”
‘Damn it.’
Ranshel gripped the embedded blade tighter.
In that same moment, his wheelchair spun sharply around.
For the first time, he was face-to-face with Doter, who had until now been speaking to his back.
It all happened in a flash.
“Watch out!”
Even in the midst of chaos, the surrounding area was filled with confusion and noise.
The carriage that nearly struck the wheelchair had barely managed to stop, but the street was already a mess.
Another speeding carriage couldn’t halt in time and swerved sharply, knocking over a stack of crates.
Dozens of apples spilled out, rolling everywhere, and the startled horses began to rear and buck.
“What the hell? What’s going on?”
“Did a carriage break down?”
People going about their day stopped in their tracks, startled by the sudden scene.
“Hey! Over there! Did someone get crushed?”
Someone pointed toward the broken carriage at the front.
Beside the coachman, who was struggling to calm the panicked horses, a toppled wheelchair lay on the ground.
One wheel spun uselessly in the air.
A crowd began to gather around it.
One passerby shouted toward the coachman:
“Hey! Where’s the person who was in this?”
“Whoa, whoa!”
The coachman, busy yanking at the reins, couldn’t answer.
People peered around the carriage, searching for the wheelchair’s occupant—but there was no one to be found.
Of course not. The temporary owner of the wheelchair… was being carried away. In Doter’s arms.
They had already slipped back into the alley they’d passed earlier.
Doter sprinted lightly across the ground, and Ranshel, in his arms, held the embedded blade to his neck.
The weapon lodged in Ranshel’s hand was not a knife, but a specially forged arrowhead, sharpened like a blade.
The weapon aimed at Ranshel’s throat had been an arrow all along.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Ranshel barked, suppressing his pounding heart.
When the wheelchair spun to face Doter, he had braced for a frontal assault.
But instead, Doter had scooped him up from the chair.
Ranshel immediately raised the blade to his throat, but Doter only smiled brightly and said:
“First things first—let’s run.”
And then he really ran for it.
Ranshel, arms looped around Doter’s neck and legs supported beneath him, remained tense, expecting a weapon to appear at any moment—but Doter did nothing but carry him and run.
“See, the plan was to kill you. But the situation changed.”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“You’re no longer my target.”
Ranshel, gritting through the pain, tried to read his intentions.
And just as Doter had said, the killing intent that had once pierced his skin was now gone.
Was it really possible for someone to change this completely, this suddenly?
But not knowing the reason only made Ranshel more suspicious.
Holding the arrowhead firmly against Doter’s neck, he demanded:
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Because killing you now wouldn’t mean anything.”
“That’s just fluff. I’m asking for the reason behind that judgment.”
“So prickly.”
Seriously?
Did he expect Ranshel to be cheerful in this situation?
Frowning, Ranshel shot him a glare.
Doter, still smiling like nothing was wrong, replied:
“Because I realized you’re more capable than I thought. That’s why.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Before that, let me ask you something.”
Doter turned at the end of the alley and slipped into another.
“Ranshel… were you sent here to kill young master Zavad?”
* * *
