"Lythian…?"
Hearing my name from the young lord's bloody mouth forced me to let go of my grip and take a few steps back— though the sword remained lodged deep in his back.
For a moment, I simply stared.
I was unable to process what I was seeing. My thoughts refused to form as my gaze flickered between the young lord, the wound, and my own trembling hands.
This… wasn't right. I had never liked the young lord, that much was true— him wasting the blood he was born with, locked away inside the manor as many would die to be in his position.
Even when I challenged and provoked him, I merely wanted to prove that he was unworthy of the blood he carried. I had never once thought of harming the young lord like this.
"I didn't…"
Even as I said them, my body remembered the weight of the iron sword in my hand and the moment I drove it forward.
A cold chill crept down my spine.
Because none of it had felt like my own will. It was as if someone took hold of my body and moved on its own, while I could do nothing but follow.
"I didn't do it…"
I turned and began to run, leaving the young lord there with the corpse of an imp.
The forest blurred past me as I fled from the camp, my thoughts spiraling into something I could cling to just to keep myself from breaking apart.
I didn't do it.
There was no witness.
If the young lord died, then it wouldn't be me but the imp.
I repeated those thoughts again and again as if the words alone could make it true, even as my hands refused to stop shaking.
By the time I reached the yard of the manor, the knights were already returning. But they all paused the moment they caught a sight by the door of the manor.
Forcing myself to slow down, I saw a body near the entrance.
A knight.
A dead knight, specifically.
"My lord!"
The maid exclaimed, rushing inside the manor.
The vice commander followed, as well as the other three knights, unsheathing their swords. One examined the deceased knight and recognized him, his expression turning in a frown as he looked around.
I had no idea about this one.
I simply escaped from home from my father's nagging regarding how I challenged the young lord and slept in the camp's cabin to pass the night— and again, before I knew it, my body moved on its own.
"Lythian…?"
I flinched when someone called my name, turning just enough to see that one knight who checked the corpse's body.
"What are you doing here at this hour? Wait. If you came from the camp, have you seen the young lord—"
"Beti!"
Another knight rushed out the manor and approached the knight before me, panting.
"Caspian, Gaston, and Thierry had lost their lives, while the young lord was nowhere to be found. Sir Heinrich asked me to inform the knights in the village and gather for a search at—"
"I'll do it! I'll go down to the village."
I said almost immediately, this was a chance given to me.
I didn't wait for his response. My steps quickened despite my attempt to stay composed, but my thoughts were already racing again, looping back to the same thing over and over.
I didn't do it.
This way, I could make myself escape the suspicion.
Bump.
I collided with someone, and the impact forced me to stop.
A woman.
She stood before me, unmoving, her platinum hair catching the faint light of the moon as her eyes remained closed.
She then opened her eyes.
"—ukh…"
A crushing pressure fell over me.
I dropped to my knees, my hand flying to my throat as if that alone could help me breathe. But the air itself felt too heavy and dense like it was pressing down on my lungs.
Even the two knights behind me clutched their throat in the same way, gasping, struggling, completely overwhelmed by the invisible force that filled the air.
"I can't move…"
Her gaze lowered briefly, passing over me without interest, and in that single glance, I felt as though I had been completely seen through.
Then, just as suddenly, she was gone.
No.
Her figure was already far ahead, crossing the distance toward the camp with a speed that left no room for comprehension.
The pressure vanished.
I dragged in a deep breath, coughing as air finally filled my lungs again, and my body trembled from the aftereffect.
"Who—?"
"The young lord's eldest sibling."
The knight behind muttered, and my eyes widened as I gulped and looked at the direction of the camp.
"Upon her arrival, the imp swarm along with a yeti stampede near the village was dealt with instantly."
I barely registered the rest of his words. If that woman really was the firstborn of House Hart, then I might be in trouble.
"I… didn't do it…"
- – – 777 – – -
In the camp.
"Iria…"
Seven limped through the cabins, leaving bloody handprints on the walls.
"I must get to Iria…"
Even with the gaping hole from his back to chest, he refused to give up. Frothy blood painted the snow red as he passed. Blood consists of 7 to 9 percent of a human body, losing this much should have already taken his life.
But in the end, Seven fell on the ground.
A minute of silence passed.
"Is this… how I die…?"
He let out a breathless laugh, recalling Lythian's words earlier— though he believed it somehow. He wouldn't have made that expression of horror if he had planned to do that in the first place.
Controlling a person, such was only written at the later arcs of the novel.
"If… I die, will I go back to… Earth? Damn it. I hope that's the case…"
Seven's vision darkened, seeing nothing but a fuzzy static interference screen.
Fwoosh!
A sudden gust of wind tore through the camp, colder than the winter snow itself.
It swept past Seven's body, slicing through cabins and tents in a single horizontal line before surging toward the forest beyond the fence.
The trunks of the trees were also cut cleanly at the same time.
At the edge of the clearing stood a figure cloaked in black, its face hidden beneath a mask and a tall, shadowed hat. From its back extended six arms, each one weaving magic circles in perfect synchrony.
The air trembled as the magic circles flared, but… it wasn't able to fully block the simple gust of wind.
It cleaved through the circles as if it were nothing, shearing off two of the figure's arms and sliced the top half of the hill behind it.
Such a powerful attack came from the woman who had just arrived at the camp. Her platinum hair shimmered beneath the moonlight, the camp was unprepared for the irruption she unleashed.
Boom!
A cloud of smoke screen erupted, and the figure disappeared and escaped when it cleared.
Without a word, the woman stepped forward and knelt beside Seven's motionless body, not bothering to chase after the figure that disappeared.
Carefully, she then slid one arm beneath his neck and the other under his knees, lifting him with ease before laying him across a flat wooden bench.
"…Abaddon."
A figure emerged as if stepping out from the air.
Half of his face was concealed behind a wolf-shaped mask, while his pale white hair spoke of age rather than nature.
Eden remained silent, but her gaze at him told everything the figure needed to know.
"I offer my apologies for remaining on standby, Lady Eden. However, the directive issued by the Archduke is absolute. Intervention is not permitted, regardless of circumstance."
"Hand me the Abyssal Ichor."
The figure stiffened.
"…I must refuse, Lady Eden. Its usage is not to be exercised without sanction."
"It is mine."
"You are entirely correct, Lady Eden. But to expend it here would be deemed—"
"Who decided that?"
A suffocating pressure filled the air, but the figure didn't seem to be affected— such only affected those who are weaker than the caster.
Still, Eden did not yield.
"The Ichor was bestowed upon me during my ceremony. What I choose to do with it is not subject to your discretion."
Upon her command, the figure bowed slightly.
"At your word, Lady Eden."
A tear in space opened beside him, dark and soundless. He then reached inside and retrieved a small vial before the rift closed as if it had never existed.
The vial rested in his palm, faintly glowing.
Eden took it without a word.
Inside, a deep, shifting liquid pulsed like a living thing. It was not entirely blue, nor entirely black, but something in between like the color of the ocean at its deepest point, where light could no longer reach.
Faint streaks of silver coiled within it, resembling veins, moving slowly as if they had their own wills.
It did not look like something meant for mortals.
Nonetheless, Eden removed the stopper then brought the vial to Seven's lips and poured it in.
Eden placed two fingers gently against his throat and a subtle pulse of force traveled through her touch, guiding the ichor down, forcing his body to accept what it could not on its own.
Time passed in silence.
Moments later, the knights arrived and the masked figure vanished without a trace— the knights froze at the sight.
The cabins and tents were all split cleanly in half, the top half lying on the ground. Beyond it all, the hill had its upper half completely gone.
Their gazes shifted to the very person that was likely the one responsible for this:
Eden Hart.
The woman that sat on the bench, gently resting Seven's head upon her lap as her fingers brushed lightly through his hair. His clothes were soaked in blood, yet no wound remained on his body.
No one dared to speak as a soft lullaby slipped past her lips:
— "Sleep now, goodnight, the stars above shine bright~ o'er the lilies pale, lies, my dear little brother tonight."