Chapter 93………………………………
: More Fox Than Dog
Celia drew Dietrich’s sword from his scabbard and pressed it against the viscount’s throat.
The knight, hidden behind Dietrich’s imposing frame, hadn’t even realized she was there.
Viscount Brillion felt only bewilderment that a knight would suddenly attempt to kill him.
Even with a blade pressed to his throat, the viscount firmly believed his life wasn’t in danger.
After all, would Dietrich—the lover of Celia—ever allow her to kill her own foster father?
Yes, he had been tempted by Gabriel’s words and had stirred up rumors, branding Celia a witch.
He thought that if he maligned her with enough venom and got Dietrich to abandon her, Celia—left with nowhere to go—would fall into his hands.
He had taken in a girl with nothing. That made her his.
What was so wrong about trying to return things to how they once were?
“Sir knight, don’t get so worked up. Man to man, let’s be honest, shall we? When Celia lived in my estate, she was pure. Many men courted her, but she never once let another man’s hands touch her. She was such a clean, untouched girl.”
The viscount rattled on, never suspecting that the knight with a blade to his throat was Celia herself.
“But… well, she was too beautiful, wasn’t she? Many tried things with her, yet not one of them succeeded. Whether it was some strange power she had, or if she really was a witch, as the rumors said… isn’t it curious?”
Celia’s grip on the sword tightened, and beads of blood welled up on the viscount’s neck.
Frowning, the viscount looked more closely at the knight’s face.
Through the slit of the helmet, emerald-green eyes were revealed.
Staring into them, he suddenly laughed madly, tearing his mouth wide.
“…So it was you. Celia!”
Forgetting his own peril, the viscount greeted her as if overjoyed.
“Armor suits you so poorly, I didn’t recognize you. A dress that shows your chest suits you much better. Now, now—enough of this game. Tell your lover to take us back to the estate, you and your father together.”
“Insane bastard.”
At Celia’s curse, the viscount’s brow furrowed.
“Hmm? What did you just say?”
“Father? A scarecrow would be more of a father than you.”
The viscount blinked in surprise.
“Where did you learn such wicked words? Weren’t you sweet and obedient when you lived at my estate? Do you truly think the duke will protect you for the rest of your life?”
“He’ll protect me forever. And…”
Dietrich added in his steady, low voice:
“That’s none of your concern.”
Only now did the viscount realize he might actually die.
“W-wait. I’m Celia’s father—would you kill me? Celia, you wouldn’t really kill your own father, would you?”
“Where are the others? Hariel, and your children.”
Sweat poured down the viscount’s forehead.
“Celia, what are you doing? Stop this at once—”
“Shut your mouth.”
Her venomous words drained the color from his face.
“Tell me where the rest of your family is, and I’ll spare your life.”
“…”
“Well? What will you do?”
Swallowing hard, the viscount asked:
“If I tell you, you’ll let me live?”
“Of course.”
The chance to survive made his decision easy.
“Number 430, Ventamin Street, the capital. A shabby inn with a faded green roof, no signboard. Room 302.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed.
“Gabriel and Hariel are there too?”
“Y-yes. They’re in the next room, 303.”
That was why they had remained uncaught—no one would expect such decadent people to hide in a dingy inn.
“I told you the truth. You’ll release me now, right?”
His face shone with a greasy gleam, as if slick with oil.
Celia lowered her sword and called to Dietrich.
“Dietrich.”
Dietrich struck the viscount’s skull with the hilt of his sword.
The viscount collapsed without even a scream.
“He’s unconscious. Won’t wake for at least half a day,” Dietrich said.
Celia nodded, handed his sword back to him, and finally removed her helmet.
The setting sun dipped beyond the ridge, the sky darkening in Celia’s eyes.
“…First, we’ll confirm if what this man said is true. Let’s find Illeon. The day’s already fading.”
Of all people, Celia most wanted to punish the Brillions, who were less than human.
But she didn’t lose sight of her true goal—she only looked forward.
Dietrich silently gazed at her profile.
Her long silver hair fluttered in the breeze. When Celia noticed his eyes fixed on her, she turned her head.
“Is there something on my face?”
Dietrich removed his gloves and brushed his hand against her cheek, tenderly, as if she might shatter at his touch.
“No. Nothing at all.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned down to press his lips to hers.
Their lips touched lightly, then parted.
When he drew back, smiling gently, Celia had been about to scold him—but she changed her mind.
Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him back.
His eyes widened, then curved into a captivating smile.
When she tried to pull away, Dietrich drew her closer, deepening the kiss.
Their lips pressed so tightly together that no breath could escape, their kisses stealing each other’s breath.
The heat of it made Celia’s mind go hazy.
Dietrich cupped the back of her head with one large hand. She grasped at his arm, but felt only cold armor beneath her fingers.
His other hand intertwined with hers, finger by finger.
When Celia struggled for breath, he released her only briefly—just long enough for her lungs to fill—before kissing her again.
His love was overwhelming.
Only after a long while did Dietrich let her go.
Though she had been exhausted from wandering in armor all day, Celia now felt renewed, her strength restored.
She smiled brightly at him.
“Now that I’ve got my energy back, shall we go?”
“So I’m your stamina booster, am I?”
“…No. You’re my everything.”
His lips curved softly at her words.
With eyes full of affection, he placed the helmet back on her head.
“You must be the only master in the world who calls her dog her everything.”
Celia gave him a flat look.
“Dietrich, you’re my lover. Not a dog.”
“Then I’ll be both your dog and your lover. Because I like that you’re my master, Celia.”
Celia’s face grew serious.
“…Wait. No. If that’s true, then it means I kissed and did… things with my dog. That makes me some kind of weirdo, doesn’t it?”
“Hahaha!”
Dietrich burst into hearty laughter.
Celia glared at his mischievous grin.
“Why on earth do you want to be a dog?”
Dietrich slowly opened and closed his eyes, replying:
“Because a dog never betrays its master.”
Celia narrowed her eyes.
Through the visor, he could read her thoughts as if they were plain as day.
“What? Does it sound strange for the ‘Emperor’s Mad Dog’ to say such things?”
She nodded.
“…The emperor only ever used the three dukes as tools to draw them into the palace. There’s no way I ever thought of that trash as my real master.”
Dietrich had called the late emperor trash without hesitation.
Celia knew well how much contempt he held for him.
“It must’ve been hard, living so close to a man you despised. You were stuck with the title ‘the perverted emperor’s mad dog’ too.”
She patted his hand as though comforting him.
The truth was, Dietrich himself had spread the rumor of being the emperor’s mad dog. But he liked her comfort too much to admit it—not until Avalon lay in ruins.
“It’s fine. Because now, I have you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it, pressing his lips down like a brand.
His red eyes, filled with nothing but her, curved gently.
Looking at him, Celia thought:
Dietrich was less a loyal dog, and more like a fox that bewitched people.
