‘That was the first time I had ever seen a corpse like that.’
The body was so withered, as if there wasn’t a single drop of moisture left in it. The skin was marred with scratches that looked like they had been scraped with rough nails.
The physician murmured in terror, saying that the Count had turned into that state overnight. At that time, no one knew.
‘Who would have thought the entire Count’s family would die like that.’
It wasn’t just one or two deaths. Following the Count, the Countess and all other people connected to the Rainland castle died one after another. Meanwhile, the wealth of the family continued to grow day by day.
The Count’s title was succeeded by the eldest son, Cedric Rainland, who was the very picture of a nobleman born with a *silver spoon in his mouth but without any real ability. However, every business he laid his hands on became a huge success.
‘How could that be? Even now, it’s strange to think about. Well, thanks to the suspicious deaths of the Count’s family, we were able to devise a plan to take away Erne’s title.’
Cedric was consumed by an obsession with wealth. His passion for business was borderline madness. He didn’t care about who died, not even if it was himself.
‘Even while coughing up blood, he was clutching those documents. Ah, I shouldn’t think about it.’
The sight of Cedric’s gruesome corpse, blood flowing all over, made Cliff want to avoid entering the mansion as much as possible. Even if that weren’t the case, the Count’s mansion was eerie enough to make it seem like a dozen ghosts could appear at any moment.
“……….!”
A g-ghost?
Cliff’s face turned pale as if he had seen a ghost when he spotted a man walking out of the mansion’s front door. He quickly hid behind his horse.
Although the man’s face was hard to see due to the hood pulled over his head, his gait and build were all too familiar. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Erne.
His fingertips trembled uncontrollably as a gust of wind blew the man’s hood back slightly, revealing a smooth jawline, a straight nose, and sharp green eyes.
“E-Erne?”
The man he had poisoned and even held a funeral for was walking around alive and well.
“Why… why is he alive?”
The corpse he killed had returned.
***
Thunk!
Judith jolted awake as her body tilted forward. It seemed she had dozed off while organizing dyes and pots. Outside, it had already become pitch black.
“Ugh, my back…”
Stretching her body with a groan, Judith suddenly recalled what had happened earlier in the day. After drinking the water Erne had given her, her mind had remained hazy.
Even so, she had forced herself to work, finishing her tasks for the day. But it was all a blur, as if her mind were shrouded in mist. She couldn’t even recall how she had made the candles or eaten dinner.
“Was it because Leon grabbed my hair earlier?”
How could a man who only played cards at the gambling house have such monstrous strength? Her scalp was still throbbing.
One day, she swore, she would get her revenge on Leon Harrington.
While grinding her teeth and organizing the household items, Judith flinched at the sound of a heavy thud, like something massive colliding with a wall.
“What was that? Sir Erne?”
Judith cautiously picked up an empty pot used to melt wax and slowly opened her door.
“W-what is this…”
What had crashed into the wall was a person. A man wearing a pitch-black mask, his face covered in blood. A pool of dark red blood had formed beneath his feet.
What… is he dead?
A cold chill ran down her spine, and if she hadn’t been holding the door for support, she might have collapsed on the spot.
Blocking her pale, terrified vision was a familiar figure. Blood dripped from the tip of Erne’s sword.
“S-Sir…”
“Don’t come out.”
But Judith couldn’t help herself from responding.
“I’m already out.”
Erne, who should have kept his eyes fixed on the enemy, broke the golden rule and glanced back at her.
“…What is this? Is the drug still in effect?”
“Drug? What drug… Ack!”
Before she could even question him, a flying dagger shot toward Judith. Erne swiftly deflected the dagger and grabbed her arm, shoving her back into the room.
“Stay inside.”
Frankly, Judith wanted to do just that.
“Uh, Sir? There’s one more person who came in through the window.”
If only there weren’t a shadowy figure standing by her window, staring her down. Erne glanced inside through the crack of the door, then pulled Judith toward him without hesitation.
“Did you make any enemies? It’s unlikely these are mercenaries hired by your brother.”
While keeping an eye on the assassin approaching from the front and the one coming out of Judith’s room, Erne carefully backed away.
If he included the two he had just dealt with, there were now four assassins in total.
Considering that assassins are usually sent in pairs at most, having four of them could only mean the grudge was serious.
“Enemies? I have no such thing.”
“Are you sure? Think carefully. It seems like there might be.”
Erne slowly pushed Judith toward the wall.
“Stay still there. If anything flies toward you, smack it away with that pot.”
Judith glanced down at the pot in her hands. It had felt sturdy when she was making candles with it, but now, when facing assassins, it suddenly seemed pathetically weak.
“Even if you’re scared, try not to close your eyes. If you keep them open, you’ll be able to deflect everything.”
Does he think daggers are baseballs?* Does he seriously expect me to watch them coming and swat them away? But, unfortunately, there was no other option at the moment.
“Sir, there are two of them. Are you sure you can handle them alone?”
Worry filled Judith’s voice. In the original story, Erne was portrayed as one of the most skilled knights, but after observing him for the past few days, she couldn’t help but feel a bit skeptical.
He spent most of his days lying around, complaining about food, and drinking endlessly. He claimed to be investigating his own death, but it was Henry who did all the work while Erne merely listened to the reports.
True, he had managed to subdue Leon once, but technically, Leon had run away after seeing the sword. Calling that ‘subduing’ was a bit of a stretch.
“I’ve already dealt with two of them.”
“It’s different when you’re protecting me and dealing with two people at the same time.”
Erne turned to look at Judith as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
“Isn’t everyone supposed to protect themselves?”
Judith’s grip on the pot handle tightened involuntarily. If only she could whack Erne on the back of the head with this… but that wouldn’t end well for her.
“Look forward, look forward! That guy’s about to throw something!”
Judith spun Erne around and raised the pot like a shield. As he turned his head, daggers flew in from both sides. The thin blade of Erne’s sword deflected them, scattering them in different directions.
At this rate, they’d be stuck defending forever. Even Judith, who didn’t know much about combat, could tell that the situation was unfavorable.
If Erne moved to the right, the man on the left would attack, and if Erne moved to the left, the man on the right would strike.
While Judith was pondering how they could escape, Erne suddenly reached behind him, grabbed her arm, and pulled her forward.
“You’re using me as a shield?!”
“I’m not, so stay still.”
As Erne pulled Judith into his embrace and twisted to the right, a sharp sound of something piercing flesh rang in Judith’s ears. The sharp, violent noise felt like it was digging into her eardrums.
There was no time for her to scream. Erne’s sword slashed through the thigh of the charging assassin and sank into his shoulder.
“Ugh…”
The assassin collapsed forward. At the same time, Erne grabbed the back of Judith’s neck and shoved her toward the wall. A flying dagger that had been aimed at her instead embedded itself in Erne’s shoulder.
“Sir Erne!”
Judith shrieked in panic, but Erne, with a frown and a slight raise of his brow, didn’t even glance at his injury.
He simply regripped his sword and stepped forward toward the remaining assassin. Blood dripped from his left hand, tracing his movement like a crimson path.
His sword cut straight toward the assassin’s neck. In desperation, the assassin threw a dagger. Deciding to sacrifice his wounded left shoulder, Erne didn’t hesitate and charged straight ahead.
The assassin, retreating, threw daggers that resembled sharp needles. Erne deflected most with his sword, but a few managed to pierce his right forearm.
With the throwing needles still lodged in his arm, Erne slashed his sword in a long diagonal line. Blood sprayed through the air, making it impossible to tell whose blood it was.
“Urgh…”
The dark figure of the masked assassin was the first to fall.
Without hesitation, Erne plucked out the needles embedded in his right arm as if they were nothing. He grabbed the assassin, who was now gasping and writhing on the floor, by the hair and pulled his head back.
“Who sent you?”
The assassin muttered something, but it was too faint for Judith to hear clearly.
“So, you’re saying the daggers were coated with poison, and I’ll be next? Did I ask you that? I asked, who sent you?”
It seemed the throwing weapons were laced with poison. Even with poison flowing through his system, Erne looked more irritated by the assassin’s off-topic response than the threat to his life.
Is he seriously insane? While Judith blinked in disbelief, Erne grabbed the assassin by the hair and shook him.
“Don’t die on me yet. Keep your eyes open.”
“…All…”
“Can’t say, huh? Fine, then at least tell me who you were here for.”
The assassin coughed and choked, his throat gurgling as he tried to speak. Judith, filled with curiosity, strained her ears to catch his words.
“What? He’s already gone? Hey, come back for a second.”
Erne gripped the assassin’s chin and shook it from side to side, as if that would bring him back from the afterlife.
Judith clicked her tongue internally but soon focused on something more important. Her eyes caught sight of Erne’s wounds.
“Ah, Sir Erne, are you okay?”
A dagger was still embedded in his shoulder, and blood trickled down his cut forearm, dripping off his fingertips.
“Not okay.”
“Does it hurt a lot?”
“I should’ve asked Miss Judith Harrington about all the terrible things she’s done to deserve this, but I missed my chance.”
He let out a sigh as if genuinely disappointed. Judith was left speechless, her eyes fixed on him.
“This is strange. Sir, you just saved my life, but somehow I don’t feel the least bit grateful.”
“Well, that’s because you have a remarkably *flexible conscience.”
Erne tossed the assassin’s limp body aside and rose to his feet, muttering to himself.
“Actually, you might as well say you has no conscience at all. Let’s be honest. From now on, just say there isn’t one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Forget it. I don’t need a thank-you.”
🍓;
*Does he think daggers are baseballs? : This is a sarcastic remark suggesting that Erne’s advice to “deflect” flying daggers is unrealistic. It’s comparing daggers (dangerous weapons) to baseballs (safe and predictable objects) to highlight how absurd the situation is.
*Flexible conscience : This implies someone has a very loose or adaptable sense of morality, often bending their principles to suit their convenience or justify questionable actions.
*Silver spoon in his mouth : This idiom means someone was born into wealth and privilege, implying they didn’t have to struggle or work hard to achieve their status.
