“Who ordered you?”
The voice was as cold and merciless as death itself.
“Guh… as if I’d… cough, cough!”
The assassin, fatally wounded, coughed up blood.
Chase narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip around the assassin’s throat.
“Ugh, ugh!”
The assassin’s face flushed red, as if it might burst from the tightening grip cutting off his air.
“I’ll ask you again. Who gave you the order?”
“Ha… argh!”
The assassin, still with some fight left in him, pulled out a hidden dagger and stabbed toward Chase.
It was an unexpected move.
Drip, drip.
Thick drops of Chase’s blood fell to the ground.
“Annoying.”
His eyes, dark and calm as a midnight sea, locked onto the assassin.
Fortunately, Chase had swiftly grabbed the dagger, preventing a more serious injury.
But a sharp blade was digging into the palm of his hand.
The flesh was torn deeply and blood oozed out without stopping.
Blood spurted out between the fingers that gripped the dagger, running down his hand.
“Y-you…!”
The assassin stammered in panic, his desperate last move having failed.
Chase’s face turned icy cold.
It wasn’t because the wound stung, or the blood wouldn’t stop.
It was because he told her not to worry and that he’d join her shortly.
Thinking about how this injury might make her worry was something he couldn’t stand.
Chase clenched the blade in his hand even tighter.
So tightly that the veins bulged prominently on the back of his hand.
“W-what…!”
The assassin’s face turned pale with terror at the inhuman strength of his grip.
Without showing any pain, Chase wrenched the dagger from the assassin’s hand.
Then, with a swift motion, he struck again, ensuring the assassin could no longer breathe.
“…”
The assassin fell to the ground, lifeless, his eyes closed.
Since he first learned to walk, Chase wielded a sword, and he had long since reached the level of a swordmaster.
Living under the name Halos, the empire’s only duke family, meant constant threats.
He had to learn the sword to survive.
To protect himself from external enemies—and from his father.
Chase had to grow stronger.
Drops of crimson blood fell from the blade in his hand, staining the ground below.
His sharp, cold red eyes scanned his surroundings, finally noticing something strange about the assassins lying on the ground.
He raised his sword and flipped back the sleeve of the assassin nearest him.
“A spider?”
On the assassin’s wrist was a black spider tattoo, its red eyes glowing ominously.
The tattoo was large, covering most of the man’s wrist.
He checked the wrists of the other fallen assassins. Each had the same spider tattoo.
Chase’s eyebrows twitched.
A spider.
When Raphel had suddenly fallen into that strange state earlier, there had also been a spider crawling across the ground.
Could Raphel’s reaction have been triggered by seeing the spider?
And was this spider tattoo somehow connected to Raphel’s lost memories?
He couldn’t say for sure yet, but he felt like he’d found the clue he’d been searching for.
At that moment, he sensed a suspicious presence behind him.
It was a chilling, dark murderous aura.
Without hesitation, Chase spun and flung the dagger in his hand.
“Your Grace! Watch out!”
Max’s warning came, but Chase already acted faster.
The dagger flew smoothly and swiftly, sinking right into the center of the assassin’s chest.
“Ugh…!”
The assassin, ready to strike, collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
The weapon in his hand fell with a metallic clink.
“I-I’m sorry! I let one slip past…”
Max ran up, out of breath.
His failure to catch the assassin earlier had nearly caused a disaster, but Chase’s quick reflexes prevented it.
“Clean this up.”
Chase commanded before starting to walk away.
The fight was over.
In the open space where no bystanders even passed by, the bodies of the defeated assassins lay scattered all over.
There were quite a few—at least ten.
“Your Grace. Are you all right?”
The knights who dealt with all the assassins chasing Lizelle and Raphel rushed to Chase.
They suffered minor injuries but were otherwise unharmed.
“Investigate the spider tattoos on their wrists.”
“Understood. But… Your Grace, are you injured?”
The knight, bowing as he answered, noticed the blood dripping from Chase’s hand and asked in alarm.
Chase finally looked at his hand closely.
The deep wound from gripping the dagger left his hand covered in blood.
“You need treatment immediately.”
“Finish up and follow me.”
Chase replied indifferently, as if the injury were someone else’s, and began to move.
His steps, which started slowly, gradually became faster and soon he began to run.
More than his bleeding hand or the cut on his cheek, he needed to know if she and Raphel were safe.
Chase, who had shown no mercy while cutting down his enemies, now ran with an anxious expression, his mind racing.
He had to reach Lizelle as quickly as possible.
* * *
“Raphel. Please, open your eyes. Raphel…”
Lizelle’s voice trembled as she gazed at Raphel lying on the bed, tears welling up in her eyes.
Raphel, whose seizures had finally stopped, now lay still, his eyes shut tightly as if he were dead.
His face was still pale as a blank sheet of paper, and his lips were absent of any color.
“Why is this happening? Do something about it!”
She snapped at the physician, who had only given a sedative.
How could the physician do so little when the child was suffering this much? Her frustration boiled from deep within.
“I’m sorry, but the examination results don’t seem to indicate any health problems. I’ve given him a sedative for now, so I think it would be best to wait and see how things go.”
The physician just kept repeating the same thing: it wasn’t a health problem, and he couldn’t determine the exact cause.
“Miss, please calm yourself.”
Raymond intervened, trying to soothe the agitated Lizelle. At the moment, she appeared more fragile than Raphel.
Her complexion, pale and bloodless, made it seem like she might collapse at any moment.
He studied her expression for a moment before stepping out, he needed to ensure no assassins followed them.
“Raphel…”
She bit her lip anxiously and held Raphel’s small hand tightly.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she felt the cold little hands.
When she saw the long, thick IV needle stuck into his delicate arm, the tears that she’d been holding back finally fell onto the bed sheets.
“Raphel, it’s going to be okay. You’ll be fine soon.”
Lizelle clasped his small hand in both of hers and pressed it to her forehead.
The unknown seizures. The physician’s insistence that there were no health problems.
Lizelle knew the truth.
All of this was because of Raphel’s lost memories.
In the original story, Raphel suffered countless seizures, tormented by those lost memories.
Even so, she demanded the physician do more because she herself felt helpless.
There was nothing she could do for the suffering Raphel.
All she could do was stay by his side.
That alone made her feel desperate to find something—anything—that could ease his pain.
She resented herself for being unable to do more.
Because the one who could truly save Raphel from his pain wasn’t her, but the story’s heroine.
She knew this. She knew it all too well. And yet, standing helplessly before this child in agony made her feel so powerless.
It was like being submerged in deep water, unable to surface.
“It’s okay. You’ll be okay soon.”
She whispered the words like a prayer.
It was meant for Raphel, but also for herself.
The thought that Raphel’s condition might worsen drove her to the edge of madness.
And now, on top of it all, an attack.
The fear of those masked men returning terrified her.
The threat arriving earlier than it should have, unlike in the original story, left her disoriented.
It should not have been this soon. Why was the assault happening now?
“What is going on…”
Lost in her turmoil, all she could do was hold Raphel’s hand tightly.
The anxiety, the overwhelming fear—it was unbearable to shoulder it all alone.
If only someone could stay by her side and be there for her.
If only there were someone to share this burden with, to tell her that everything would be okay, that nothing bad would happen…
“Wilhazelle.”
A voice came from behind, causing Lizelle to turn her head in a rush.
