Silver hair, fragile as if it would crumble the moment sunlight touched it, shimmered before his eyes. It looked like it would collapse at the slightest touch… and yet it did not.
He smoothed the throbbing of his nape and turned his gaze to the documents.
“Damn it.”
But he did not last long in that posture. As someone had guessed, the truth was simple.
He was afraid of Jeryl.
To be precise…
He feared that one day he might give up killing himself because of Rubian.
That day—we shouldn’t have brought her by carriage.
A regret arrived too late. Since that day it had repeated in his mind every hour of every day.
[I'm greedy in this life; I don't want to lose anyone.]
[…]
[That includes you.]
He had not wanted to hear those words. Thinking of them still made him laugh hollowly.
He had spent his whole life planning rebellion and his own death.
[The royals of this country are all irredeemable filth. They all deserve to die.]
Ever since he heard the last words of the chamberlain’s son—the only childhood friend who had acted like his parents—he had sketched out a blueprint to eradicate the seed of every royal.
But sometimes… want arose.
Occasionally, a desire to live would bloom. There was no particular trigger—just seeing ordinary people, watching families promise tomorrow to one another, he wished he too might have a future. He did not want a life with an already-decided end.
“How pathetic.”
No one would want to meet the future version of themselves. As if scolding that small selfish thought, the madness worsened. The brain-rending pain was unspeakably terrible, and the thought of one day being unable to endure it and having his head explode in a miserable death terrified him.
So he had planned to end his life.
If his lifespan was short anyway, he thought, better to end it himself than die miserably.
“But just because of—”
…that woman’s single sentence might make him want to live; the terrifying thought that he might prefer to bear a miserable death. That fear was unbearable.
“Damn.”
Caron exhaled hotly and closed his eyes. Better to converse with his madness than to think of Rubian now.
His luxurious leather chair reclined. The dry swallow of his throat trembled.
Regret, attachment, fear—his bloodshot eyes shimmered between long lashes and disappeared.
Think of something else…
But when he closed his eyes, an image pounced on him: reddened eyes, a single transparent drop falling.
[Do not cry.]
Ian Persh’s sentence rang clearly in his ear. After that, nothing could be heard. He remembered crying—he had behaved like a dog and made Rubian cry.
【I hate that woman.】
The madness, which had quieted a bit through his racing thoughts, spoke. That was almost a relief.
He answered in a way he normally would not.
“Why.”
【When she’s near, it’s unpleasant.】
“So why.”
【I don’t know, I’m just annoyed!】
It was the sulk of a child.
He remembered how blue magic had silenced the madness before.
“Is it because of blue magic?”
【No! Don’t even mention it!】
“Blue magic can’t erase you anyway.”
【Still—I don’t like it, I said I don’t like it!】
If blue magic were the key to solving his madness, dark mages who had existed for thousands of years would not die young. Blue magic only provides a temporary Sabbath amid torment; true, permanent rest for him would only come from death.
【Do you want to get away from her? Do you hate her too?】
The sulking voice asked quietly. A pain like his brain being split swelled—signaling that the madness was bulking up.
“Yes. I want to distance myself.”
【Then distance yourself! I’m sure you’ve already grown tired of her!】
…If only the affection would fall away. If that happened, the brat that loved to trample on people first wouldn’t be cruel to others.
【Go away from that woman. Keep hurting her. Until she loathes you.】
Go away!
The small voice began to scream. He answered as if cutting it off.
“All right.”
That wasn’t bad. If he behaved like a dog—as in the day Rubian cried—then there’d be no reason to want to live and no miserable end to endure.
Behave like a dog.
He muttered that curse-like sentence. Then—
“Your Grace! Lady Rubian has been buried in a cave-in!”
The phrase he’d been murmuring inside his mouth lost its path. Every thought halted.
His stomach turned.
‘Sir Persh is commanding the First Order in the rescue operations.’
When the butler’s report reached him, Chamstone Park’s atmosphere was tragic.
Children cried loudly; First Order knights stood in positions everywhere; a middle-aged man wept that his child had gone into the cave.
‘It’s already been an hour since the accident. The cave completely collapsed; we can’t guarantee life or death…’
His eyes, black as if stained with blood, sank into a murky light. A familiar stinging spread through him. He still did not know why.
Voices buzzed around his ears like stuffed animals come to life.
“What’s the chance of survival?”
“Considering the collapse time and entombment, roughly eighty percent [chance of death].”
“So little chance of survival, then.”
He suddenly felt choked and tore open the top button of his collar. It did not help.
“Commander, give additional orders.”
“…….”
“Commander!”
Caron approached Ian, who stood nearest the collapse. In front of the pale knight lay a creature resembling a mole that had been brutally butchered.
Judging by the way its whole body was soaked in blood, Ian had killed it himself.
The First Order’s deputy glared at Ian’s hollowed face.
“Commander, if we delay any longer the chance of death will increase. It’s already eighty percent…!”
“Chance of death.” The phrase lodged in Caron’s ears.
His steps felt slow, like walking in a dream—he felt he moved forward, but turning around left him in the same place.
“Ian Persh. Get a hold of yourself.”
“……”
Caron did not wait. He slapped the stunned knight across the cheek.
Crack. A sharp sound tore the air.
Only then did Ian’s green eyes regain focus and his lashes tremble.
“…I should have been trapped instead.”
“Why haven’t you started rescue operations yet?”
“The manuals I studied had no situation like this…”
“You talk nonsense even now. You teach new recruits the emergency response manual every year—are you really making excuses?”
“It’s not the knight order—!”
Caron, who had no patience for such nonsense, grabbed the deputy who hovered nearby and barked,
“Report the progress.”
“Your Grace Duke Leppert?”
“Don’t make me say it twice.”
“……we called mages capable of levitation magic to lift the stones, but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“When do you intend to lift all these rocks?”
“There’s no other way.”
“Move aside. I’ll command the site from now on.”
He let go of the deputy’s collar roughly and strode forward.
Facing a vast amount of rock, Caron summoned dark magic.
When his jet-black hair turned tinged with crimson, the deputy—alarmed—stumbled forward.
“Your Grace, you mustn’t use explosive magic!”
The desperate pleas did not change Caron’s expression. The panicked deputy stamped his feet and blurted out anything.
“If you use explosive magic you can remove the stones, but those inside will be endangered too!”
“…….”
“We should at least try to recover the bodies intact!”
The chance of survival was already slim.
Since one of the entombed was a noble, finding a preserved corpse for a report would be more useful.
