* * *
The drawn-out battle finally ended when Tia, who had held her position like an unshakable fortress despite her injuries, collapsed.
Even Tony, who had stubbornly stayed by Lowell’s side until the end, fell to the ground.
“There’s nowhere left to retreat. If you hadn’t been this incompetent, you might’ve at least managed to escape. What a pity.”
Count Clark, who had seemed flustered by the unexpectedly fierce resistance, now strode toward Lowell with mocking ease, as if that hesitation had never existed.
“S-Stay away…”
Tony, drenched in blood, tried to crawl toward Lowell with the last of his strength to protect him.
But Count Clarke heartlessly kicked him aside.
The impact must’ve been severe—blood gushed from Tony’s mouth as he collapsed.
The floor beneath Lowell’s feet was soaked with the blood of fallen knights.
Lowell clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears as he looked over the collapsed knights.
Cold sweat drenched his body, and he trembled uncontrollably.
He couldn’t tell whether the trembling was from guilt for still standing while his comrades had fallen—or because his fever was spiking again.
“This will be the last time things go your way.”
Despite everything, Lowell’s voice didn’t waver.
It was both a warning to Count Clarke and a desperate reminder to himself to stay focused.
“Still got your tongue, huh? Restrain him.”
Rough hands grabbed Lowell, dragging him down to the ground.
His body may have fallen, but his mind refused to break.
‘If I can just endure this moment… I’ll make it back to normal life.’
That belief was the only thing keeping Lowell centered.
The moment his feet touched the cold, damp floor of the underground prison, a putrid stench assaulted his senses.
The rank smell of accumulated death was so thick, it overpowered even the scent of the knights’ spilled blood.
It was as if the prison itself whispered that one more death wouldn’t even be noticed.
Lowell was thrown onto the freezing floor of the farthest cell.
The dull thud of flesh hitting stone echoed through the dungeon.
“Ugh…”
He no longer had the strength to cry out—the faint groan was all he could manage.
His fever, which had briefly subsided, flared up again, making his whole body ache.
Strangely, the new pain from the impact barely registered—perhaps that was a small mercy.
‘Or maybe… just another curse in disguise.’
Even if it was only self-deprecating, he clung to those thoughts to stay conscious.
He couldn’t afford to lose himself—not until they left him alone.
“You’ve lived comfortably for too long, haven’t you? Let’s see how far above your station you’ve been living.”
Seeing Lowell weakly squirm and struggle to sit up, Count Clark’s eyes burned with incomprehensible hatred.
It was clear he blamed everything on Lowell.
‘Your plan failed because it was destined to fail…’
Lowell wanted to retort, but even moving his lips felt impossible.
His sickly appearance made Count Clarke click his tongue in disdain.
“No need to heal him completely, but keep him alive. Torture the knights—get every bit of information about Felix out of them.”
“Yes, sir.”
The priest, panting from rushing down, bowed deeply alongside the knights.
It was the same priest who had once healed Lowell’s wrist—and the one who’d told him he was pregnant.
The priest’s eyes briefly flicked toward Lowell’s noticeably swollen belly, now impossible to hide.
With a hesitant expression and cautious glance at Count Clark, the priest finally spoke, seemingly having reached a decision.
“What should we do about the child? The mother’s—no, the carrier’s condition is unstable. It could be dangerous.”
As if just remembering, Count Clarke turned back to Lowell with a cold smile.
His indifference toward Lowell himself was palpable.
“Why should I care about the hostage’s brat? If it’s born, it’ll be either a demon like Duke Felix or a fool like this idiot.”
Count Clarke stroked his chin, grinning cruelly.
Despite his own schemes to summon evil to the surface with black magic, he still dared to call Felix a demon unfit to live.
It was a textbook case of projecting his own wickedness onto others—twisting his desires into some warped form of justice.
The realization made Lowell’s stomach churn with disgust.
“I’ll kill that idiot when he’s no longer useful anyway. Whether the brat dies now or later doesn’t matter. No need to worry about it.”
A sharp pain radiated from Lowell’s belly.
As the physical pain worsened, his mental defenses began to crack.
The doubts lurking beneath his consciousness surged to the surface like crashing waves.
‘Can I really survive until this is all over? How long can we keep Felix from finding out I’ve been taken? I have to escape before they use me as a bargaining chip…’
His mind spun with no clear answers.
He couldn’t tell when everything had spiraled so far out of control.
His vacant gaze drifted into the air.
Sensing Lowell wasn’t coherent enough for conversation, Count Clarke sneered and left the prison with his men.
“Excuse me.”
The priest entered the cell, watched closely by a guard.
Lowell curled in on himself, wary.
“Why…”
His voice was so hoarse and broken it barely echoed within the cell.
Even so, the pitiful sound, mixed with heavy, labored breaths, would evoke pity from anyone with a shred of empathy.
“Your strength has run low. Please stay still.”
Though the priest seemed to understand what Lowell wanted to ask, he avoided answering.
With a heavy expression, he began the healing process—much more diligently than Count Clarke had instructed.
Light slowly trickled into Lowell’s battered body.
It wasn’t enough to magically restore his strength, but his ragged breathing finally settled into a manageable rhythm.
“You’re a priest… yet you side with those defiling the land with black magic… Why?”
The moment his voice returned, Lowell shot the question like a blade.
His words lacked force, but his disdain was unmistakable.
“This has nothing to do with the temple.”
The priest lowered his eyes, whispering faintly.
‘A personal reason… Either blackmail or a debt.’
Lowell instinctively analyzed the situation, but his eyelids drooped.
Pointless—figuring that out wouldn’t change anything.
Better to focus on disabling the tracking magic and finding a way to escape.
The priest mechanically continued healing, ignoring Lowell’s weak questions—until his hand moved toward Lowell’s belly.
That moment, Lowell gathered every ounce of his remaining strength and shoved the priest away.
His sharp gaze accused him without words: What are you trying to do?
“Priests cannot do anything beyond healing and protection. You may rest assured.”
The priest subtly conveyed that he had only tried to look after the child, sneaking glances at the soldier.
It was his final shred of conscience to maintain his divine powers.
Realizing there was no hostility from the other side, Lowell relaxed his body again.
“There are no major issues. It seems you’re both enduring while influencing each other positively.”
The priest whispered something cryptic.
Though Lowell didn’t fully grasp his words, he clearly understood one thing—the child was safe.
His body lost its tension.
It was the first hopeful news he’d heard amidst this hopeless situation.
“If you’ve finished the treatment, you should leave immediately.”
The soldier warned, perhaps thinking the priest had lingered too long with Lowell.
“Yes, it’s done now.”
The priest stood up, leaving without hesitation, as if his role here had ended.
Lowell, having no expectations for more, leaned back against the wall.
The wall was damp and cold, but to Lowell’s feverish body, it was oddly comforting.
Despite his extreme exhaustion, sleep eluded him.
The sounds of torture beyond the wall stabbed at Lowell’s ears.
Though Felix’s knights refused to utter a word, not even a groan, the lash of the whip and the sound of flesh being torn were impossible to conceal.
Only after the sun disappeared and darkness descended did those gruesome sounds finally cease.
Though confined with no sense of time, Lowell could roughly gauge the flow by that.
Half-asleep, listening to water dripping from the ceiling, Lowell noticed footsteps mixed within the sound.
The knights, who should’ve been alert to unfamiliar noises, were strangely nodding off.
‘What is this…?’
Sensing something off, Lowell narrowed his eyes at the approaching footsteps.
“Hello.”
A small, shy voice greeted him out of nowhere.
* * *
