Jeril slammed the carriage door behind her and began walking aimlessly.
She passed several identical training halls of the Knights’ Order and wandered down similar-looking corridors several times.
“Damn it…”
She was lost. So absurdly lost that she didn’t even feel like crying. She flopped down on a random bench.
Looking around, it seemed she was still somewhere inside the Knight Order’s complex.
“…I guess I’ll stop the next person who passes by and ask for directions.”
Her faint murmur echoed through the empty training hall. Jeril, sprawled across the bench as if lying down, recalled the events from earlier.
“Was I too harsh on him?”
Of course, it was Caron’s fault, but the sudden wave of shame made her lose her composure for a moment.
[Do you think saving others will forgive your past mistakes?]
Those words hit the mark.
She had almost caused his death with her own hands, and when she had become possessed in this place, she had thought:
This new life is the karma I’ve been given.
“…But this new life has been far too peaceful.”
The freezing days she had shivered through were far too short. She was immediately taken in by Marquess Rubian, raised warmly and well-fed.
From then on, a constant unease gripped her.
What if some unknown god appears and takes away this peace? What if that becomes my karma?
“That’s why I started doing it.”
The work at the clinic, rushing headlong to help anyone in need—this is how it began.
“…If a god ever appears to punish me, I thought I could at least beg for leniency, saying I’ve lived this way.”
Please, don’t take my life here from me.
Even now, she knew it was a cowardly self-comfort. Caron had just exposed her shallow reasoning, making her momentarily embarrassed.
“Maybe I should go home and send a letter. Try to reconcile.”
Does he secretly have a short temper? What if he uses my letter as kindling?
Imagining the possibilities, she sprang to her feet. After a brief period of self-recrimination, she had to get home before the sun set.
“First, I need to get out of this sand-filled training hall.”
At that moment, a warm gust blew under the shade where the bench was.
“Ah! Ow!”
The swirling sand stung her face. She instinctively cried out as grains scratched her eyes.
“Jeril?”
Looking for a handkerchief to wipe away the streaming tears, she heard a familiar voice.
Raising her reddened eyes, she saw a worried face approaching quickly.
“…Why are you crying?”
“Ah, Ian. It’s not that—”
Just as she started to hastily explain, she noticed the handkerchief in his hand.
“Is that my handkerchief?”
“Yes, you left it in the office, so I was about to bring it to you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. Will you give it to me?”
Ian hesitated slightly as he looked at her reddened eyes. Then, clutching the handkerchief, he bowed.
“…Ian?”
Jeril flailed her arms toward the general direction of his hand, her vision blurred by tears, and stumbled back.
“You’re crying so hard you can barely see ahead?”
“No, it’s not that…”
“Who hurt you?”
Soft fabric touched her eyes, carefully wiping away the hanging tears. The green eyes, catching the sunset, bent gently toward her.
What…?
Every time the handkerchief dabbed the moisture, the warmth of his fingers lightly brushed her skin. She frowned at the ticklish sensation, and his neat fingers froze. Ian flexed his fingers slightly and, as if satisfied, offered a faint smile.
“Here. Take it.”
Finally, the handkerchief was in her hands. Ian asked quietly:
“Tell me, Jeril. Who hurt you?”
“…The sand.”
“…The sand?”
A puzzled question echoed softly.
Just then, another gust of wind blew. Only then did Ian understand and raise an eyebrow.
“Did sand get into your eyes?”
“Yes. It stung a lot.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t a person.”
A faint smile appeared on his face as he straightened his bent posture to meet Jeril’s gaze.
Ian quietly observed her silver hair in the sunset, delicate as a thread that could break in your mouth. Whenever he stood before her, an odd sensation stirred inside him. He suppressed it and asked:
“…But why did you look upset?”
“Oh, that’s just…”
Jeril hesitated briefly. Mentioning karma or atonement to someone else would sound strange. She decided to bluff her way through.
“I was fighting with someone.”
She thought the conversation would end there, but his calm voice quickly pressed further.
“Was it Marquess Lepret?”
Jeril blinked in surprise.
Are commanders usually this perceptive?
Ian’s expression darkened from the moment she mentioned the fight. He asked, concern lacing his voice:
“Did he harm you?”
“…Huh?”
His tone left no room for doubt. Jeril found herself wondering:
Chelsea too… Ian too… Why does everyone ask this whenever Caron’s name comes up?
Then she realized: Caron Lepret, the Marquess, had always been like that.
A monster who kills when annoyed, hurls venomous words when displeased, utterly lacking guilt.
That’s the Caron depicted in the original story—and that’s who they’ve seen.
She felt a strange sense of clarity. When had she begun to separate the original Caron from the current one in her mind?
“Should I ask about your injuries?”
“No. He didn’t touch me.”
Even so, Ian’s expression didn’t relax. His piercing green eyes scanned her face, then noticed a faint bruise on her left temple.
“May I ask about this injury?”
“Huh? Oh, that’s from a fight with my brother. Haha.”
It had happened as they argued about who would leave through the side gate first, bumping into the doorframe.
“He has a bruise on his right temple bigger than this one, right?”
Jeril joked that she wouldn’t just lie down and take it, lightening the mood a bit.
A faint smile appeared on Ian’s face. He looked down at her clear face, still shedding tiny tears from the remaining sand.
“Shall we stop by the office to wash your eyes?”
“That sounds good. It still stings terribly.”
Just as they turned to walk, hurried footsteps came from the rear of the training hall.
Ian glanced back.
Night-like hair, red eyes flickering ominously.
Marquess Lepret was walking toward them.
“Jeril, wait a moment.”
As Jeril was still wiping her tears, he bent again, using the Order-emblazoned handkerchief to gently remove more tears from her white cheek. From a distance, the scene could be easily misinterpreted.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!”
Caron slowed his approaching steps.
Her reddened eyes and trembling gaze caught him, and his dust-covered shoes crushed the sand slowly.
Ian blinked his tired eyes and smiled, faint but perfect. He reached out toward Jeril, offering an escort.
“That’s enough. Shall we go?”
“Yes.”
Jeril fully turned her body, ready to follow.
