Chapter 8
“Lost your memory?”
Arnulf nodded in response to the question, which didn’t quite fit the situation.
“Yes. When I came to, I couldn’t remember anything at all.”
“You’d better not pull any tricks, Joseph Pomozein.”
Sigmund replied coldly.
“Tricks? No, not at all. If you really doubt me, you can confirm it with a doctor at the hospital.”
Until then, Arnulf had been frowning, pushing aside the pin that was inspecting his hand.
Pin, hesitating and stepping back, finally realized who he had been blocking and froze in place, keeping a cautious distance.
Unfortunately, he accidentally stepped harshly on the thigh of a thug who was sprawled on the ground and still dazed.
“Ugh!”
“Gah!”
Startled by the scream from below, Pin panicked and clung back to Arnulf.
Arnulf patted Pin on the shoulder to calm him and looked around.
By now, the thugs who had regained their senses had recognized Sigmund and fled, while the rest were slowly getting to their feet, keeping an eye on them. The situation suggested no one else would dare to attack.
The elderly man and the child who had been bullied were huddled in a corner, watching cautiously. Arnulf had expected them to flee immediately during the fight, so it was surprising.
The old man’s eyes met Arnulf’s. Seizing the opportunity to show gratitude, he struggled to his feet and bowed deeply, almost touching the ground with his forehead.
“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving us.”
His voice trembled. The child, also crouched beside him, timidly stood up, clasped their hands, and said thanks in a small voice.
“Any injuries?”
“No.”
“Good. Then you should go.”
“B-but…”
“No. Looks like even your grandson might be hurt, so go get him treated.”
Arnulf waved his hand, the one wrapped in a handkerchief, at the hesitant old man. He had only intervened because he couldn’t stand seeing the weak harassed by many. Even on the battlefield, he had never ignored such a scene. So, he didn’t think he needed thanks.
The old man, however, kept expressing gratitude several more times before leaving with the child.
Sigmund watched the entire scene. This behavior was completely unlike the Joseph he knew.
Joseph fighting thugs just to help others? It seemed far more fitting for him to be the one causing trouble. The thought even crossed Sigmund that it wasn’t just memory loss—perhaps Joseph’s very soul had changed.
‘I’m starting to think all sorts of things now.’
Amused by his own thought, Sigmund chuckled quietly. Arnulf, noticing, returned his gaze to Sigmund.
“You said you lost your memory…”
The voice came softly. Arnulf turned toward Sigmund, sensing something unusual in the words.
Their eyes met, and a smile, clearly mocking, appeared on Sigmund’s lips.
“Then why are you acting like I’m someone you’ve known for a long time?”
Arnulf’s eyes twitched in surprise. Only then did he realize how casually he had treated Sigmund.
Of course, Joseph and Sigmund had been close for a long time. Joseph had followed Sigmund since their academy days. Later, when Sigmund traveled to the border, he sent all sorts of letters and gifts. After returning to the capital, rumors said he lingered around.
So Arnulf had not been surprised when Joseph met him at a social club party. He assumed the conversation and toast had merely been a result of the moment’s excitement.
Few knew that Arnulf had a bad reaction to peaches: the queen, her nanny, the steward, the chef, and Sigmund.
‘Who could it be…’
No, there was no need to dwell on it. Right now, he had to deal with Sigmund.
‘Still, this version of Sigmund feels unfamiliar.’
When they last met at the hospital, Sigmund had grabbed him by the collar and glared as if he intended to kill—also strange. Sigmund was quiet, but not particularly kind. On the surface, he seemed calm and harmless, but on the battlefield, he devised ruthless strategies no one else could imagine.
Sometimes his extreme tactics even caused arguments with Arnulf.
Perhaps those moments would never come again. Arnulf felt a sudden pang of regret as he looked at Sigmund.
Sigmund furrowed his brow sharply, as if wondering why Arnulf was staring at him with such a longing gaze.
“Answer me, Joseph.”
Sigmund pressed again. Snapped out of his thoughts, Arnulf nodded and answered calmly:
“Yes. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember who I was, my age, whether I had family—nothing at all.”
Of course, he couldn’t force anyone to believe him. Arnulf finished casually with a shrug.
Sigmund stared at him intently. Something about him was strange—familiar yet unfamiliar. Why? Why Joseph?
It unsettled Sigmund slightly.
“Anyway, I’ve heard that I’ve wronged Prince Arnulf greatly. And I’ve realized I’ve been rude to you, Sigmund, so I’m apologizing.”
“You’ll behave yourself?”
Sigmund smirked crookedly. Arnulf returned a small smile deliberately.
“Yes. From now on, nothing like the past will happen again. Since I’ve lost my memory anyway, I’ve decided to live as a new person.”
He was laying groundwork for when he left the duchy later, so Sigmund wouldn’t misinterpret his departure as a retreat. After reflecting on his past, he wanted to appear as someone returning home with newfound resolve.
Memory would not return. Not that there was anything to return to. If Joseph’s old self ever came back… well, he would consider that later.
“A new person, huh…”
Sigmund narrowed his eyes and looked down at Arnulf. His face looked much clearer now that his sweat had dried.
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
Sigmund twisted his lips in a mocking smile and stepped back. As the distance grew between them, Arnulf let out a soft sigh, realizing how tense he had been. It was natural—facing Sigmund, who knew both him and Joseph so well, would be nerve-wracking even for the usually composed Arnulf.
“Then, Sigmund, I’ll be going first.”
Having finished the farewell neatly, Arnulf signaled Pin at the alley entrance to move on. No words or obstacles came as they walked past Sigmund. Thankfully, it seemed Sigmund was keeping watch but not interfering.
Exiting the alley, the market buzzed with life. The fight that had happened inside seemed unnoticed, and Arnulf’s tension eased.
“Joseph, let’s go to the hospital first.”
Pin trailed closely behind, her voice trembling. The handkerchief wrapping her hand was now soaked with blood.
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt much.”
Arnulf replied indifferently, not even looking at Pin. Though mature and composed, Pin still worried.
“What if something happens later? You remember the last fight—you came back completely beaten and were bedridden for three nights.”
What if he regained consciousness in that state? Pin fretted, imagining the old Joseph returning, and what Arnulf would think. Fortunately, Arnulf couldn’t read her mind, though he gave her a slightly incredulous look.
“Was that true?”
Three days of illness from a mere fight? Arnulf’s question carried that meaning, but Pin misinterpreted it, thinking he worried about her.
“Of course! You were in so much pain, and the doctor came several times. You couldn’t even eat properly.”
He had struggled to rise and eat at all. Knowing his stamina was low, she realized he was far more fragile than she had imagined. How had he survived drinking, medicine, and indulgent habits? It was astonishing.
“Unbelievable.”
Arnulf, used to a regular, healthy, active life, sighed in disbelief.
“Quickly, Joseph. Let’s go. Your hand is already swelling.”
Pin urged again, glancing at his hand. Arnulf checked the hand wrapped in the handkerchief.
She wasn’t exaggerating—his hand was indeed swelling and felt warm. He could have dismissed it, but he didn’t want to worry his timid servant. A simple treatment and bandage would suffice. Fortunately, a clinic was nearby.
“Alright, then.”
Pin, finally convincing her master, beamed. Arnulf smiled faintly and turned toward the clinic.
