For some reason, she didn’t dare look back.
It must be high, right? Definitely high.
‘What if it’s over ninety?’
“What insolence is this!”
The Crown Prince, having come to his senses, shouted in outrage.
Watching his pathetic display, Jeril was disgusted that she’d ever thought him might resemble Karon, even for a second.
Since her mask was still on anyway, Jeril decided she might as well go all out.
“You were behind this, weren’t you?”
“…What?”
“Mekel Province, and today’s massacre. Don’t pretend you don’t know—it’s infuriating.”
Their faces, first startled, soon twisted into smirks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the Crown Prince calmly.
“There are plenty of witnesses. You can’t just deny it.”
“Witnesses?”
The Saint, who had been pinned to the floor, burst into wild laughter. Her silver hair—so like Jeril’s—whipped about as she laughed herself breathless.
“…How pure of you.”
Her expression went from mocking laughter to utter blankness, as if nothing had happened. The sight was grotesque.
Jeril’s vision began to spin.
Was it anger?
No—her fingertips were trembling uncontrollably.
As though the argument bored him, the Crown Prince raised both hands.
“Muriel, get up. Let’s go.”
She glared as they slipped away, pretending not to flee.
“Tch.” Karon clicked his tongue, deep in thought. From the way they strutted off, he could tell—there was no point trying to dig deeper.
“Rubian, let’s go too.”
“….”
There was no reply. Just as Karon frowned and took a step toward her—
—choke.
Blood gushed violently between Jeril’s trembling fingers as she covered her mouth.
A ringing filled her ears. Only now did it occur to her how strange this was.
‘…Of course. There’s no way the side effects would end that easily.’
It was a spell that had once left her bedridden for a week just from attempting it. Karon’s life force must have only been a temporary patch.
Through her dimming vision, she barely saw his frantic face.
And above it—his karma score.
“Jeril!”
That was the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness.
She was sick for a long time.
Like drowning underwater, distant noises reached her muffled ears.
“Help…!”
“Get a doctor!”
“It’s no use…”
“Please calm down, my lord…”
It was all too loud. When Jeril groaned faintly, the room instantly fell silent.
“…Rubian?”
A faint, trembling voice—she thought she heard it before drifting back into the comforting dark.
Through that drowsy half-sleep, a forgotten voice spoke to her.
[Sister.]
Don’t die.
Sister.
I’m sorry.
Jeril didn’t answer. That child couldn’t exist anymore.
What a terrible dream, she thought, pressing her hands to her ears.
The voice distorted in anger—maybe it was just her hallucination.
[…Sister, why did you kill me?]
And with that final whisper, she woke from the long nightmare.
The first thing she saw was an old, wrinkled hand.
Blinking to focus, Jeril found herself staring up at the Marquis Rubian.
“….”
He blinked his bright red eyes slowly, staring at her in shock.
“….”
He was staring so hard she thought he might burn a hole through her.
Jeril’s lips trembled as she tried to speak. Or rather, she tried to.
“Keck…”
…Shouldn’t she be sighing weakly like an invalid? Why did she sound like someone choking on a sweet potato?
She tried again, but her stiff vocal cords refused to cooperate.
The marquis’ eyes widened. He suddenly leapt up and shook the bell at her bedside like a madman.
‘That thing’s going to break.’
It did.
He threw the snapped handle aside, flung the door open, and bellowed—
“Call the doctor! She’s awake!”
So it hadn’t been a voluntary silence after all. He’d simply been too shocked to speak.
‘…Is it really that surprising?’
Jeril didn’t know, but she had been unconscious for two weeks. It was already the end of May.
“Hey!”
Leon arrived before the doctor did—half-falling, half-running into the room and nearly colliding with the bed.
His trembling hands grasped her face, feeling as though to confirm she was real.
“…You’re not dead, right?”
“Keck… keck, keck.”
Which roughly translated to, “That’s the first thing you say to someone who just woke up?” or “Get your hands off my face.”
“…What did she say?”
“…Kack.”
“I’ll give you water. Drink slowly.”
Finally, someone makes sense.
After gulping down the water, Jeril fixed him with a piercing stare.
‘How did it end?’
“You’ve been lying here for two weeks.”
Not the answer she wanted. She narrowed her eyes and tried again, speaking with her gaze.
‘No, I mean—what happened?’
“I’ve never seen someone cough up that much blood, seriously.”
‘Not that!’
“The Grand Duke Lepert went completely white…”
She could probably have better luck communicating with Karon’s cat.
Finally giving up on “talking with her eyes,” Jeril froze at his last words.
“Kar…”
Her faint voice barely formed the first syllable—
—when the doctor burst in and immediately covered her mouth with a cold hand.
“Don’t speak! You’ll strain your vocal cords.”
Jeril debated whether to bite his fingers, then decided against it and nodded meekly.
You could’ve said that sooner.
Satisfied, the doctor examined her, shining light into her eyes and muttering under his breath before declaring gravely,
“You’ve passed the critical stage, but you must remain on strict bed rest. Understood?”
“….”
“Say it with me: strict bed rest!”
You just told me not to talk, she retorted silently.
Her expression said it all, and the doctor flushed awkwardly.
Either way, Jeril was alive.
And slowly, the reality of it began to sink in.
There was one more person who heard the news.
A few hours after Jeril awoke, heavy footsteps stormed through the gates of House Rubian.
As always, the air around the man was harsh, volatile.
The guards, ordered by the Marquis not to let anyone in, tried to stop Karon Lepert—and regretted it immediately.
“M-My Lord, please return—ah!”
A small explosion went off at their feet. It was the size of a firecracker, but enough to make them jump.
Leaving the frozen knights behind, Karon sprinted up the stairs and stopped before Jeril’s door.
“….”
He only had to turn the handle—yet his hand trembled.
Behind his closed eyelids flickered memories from just days ago:
The blood gushing endlessly from that small body,
the face resigned to death,
the wet, sticky weight of her in his arms…
Creak.
The door opened—not by his doing, but from inside. Leon Rubian stepped out, wiping hastily at the corners of his reddened eyes.
“…Grand Duke Lepert?”
“….”
Karon’s red gaze lingered on the narrowing gap of the door.
Inside, Jeril’s pale face lay still, silver hair draped neatly over frail shoulders.
She looked drained of all color—like a person already halfway faded.
“….”
A strange thirst burned in Karon’s throat. His crimson eyes glimmered like waves, but he couldn’t move.
Hadn’t they said she was awake?
Was she…
“…Is she alive?”
“Excuse me?”
What kind of question is that to ask someone’s family?
Leon gawked, too shocked to speak. But Karon pressed again.
“I asked if she’s alive.”
He looked seconds away from breaking the door down. It was… unnerving.
“She’s dea—”
Leon had meant to say ‘dead tired’, but the moment he got out “dead—”, the look on Karon’s face was so terrifying he froze.
“I mean—!”
But he didn’t get the chance to clarify. Karon had already grabbed the handle, fumbling it with trembling hands as he rushed inside.
Watching him, Leon felt… something odd.
‘What was that…?’
Still, he didn’t dwell on it. He had more pressing matters—like dealing with the mob gathering at the front gate.
‘Seriously… can’t they just let her rest?’
After being given a sedative, Jeril slept deeply.
When she finally awoke again, the faint scent beside her was familiar.
Even without turning her head, she knew.
“…Kal?”
No reply.
Jeril’s eyes darted sideways—and there he was, sitting quietly.
Strangely, he looked… a little frightened.
