Chapter 18
Demor’s prediction that a stabbing would occur had spectacularly missed the mark.
The people of the Norverdic Duke’s house greeted everyone and left the room faster than light.
As they exited, they didn’t forget to tug on Crinbero’s nape.
“Aren’t you leaving?”
Only Cleor remained in the room.
Isabella asked, puzzled.
Cleor moved the sofa next to the bed.
“Yeah, I’m not leaving. I’ll sleep here.”
Cleor flopped onto the sofa.
“I-I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
The bed was Cleor’s.
Cleor suddenly sat up again.
He glared at Isabella with burning eyes.
“Ah! If you’re worried about blood, it’s fine. The maids already changed the sheets.”
Cleor sighed as if frustrated, then repeatedly wiped his face with his dry hands.
He moved closer and sat beside Isabella.
The mattress tilted slightly.
Isabella’s body fell onto Cleor’s chest.
Cleor immediately embraced her.
“No, Isabella. That’s not it.”
“What isn’t?”
Everything you’re talking about.
It wasn’t about apologizing for the commotion, nor was it about thinking I wouldn’t sleep in the bed because of blood—it was none of that.
But Cleor couldn’t speak.
A heat surged within him, making his voice tremble.
The next day, Cleor doted on Isabella almost obsessively.
“Isabella, here’s some water.”
Seeing Isabella fumbling toward the nightstand, Cleor jumped up and handed her a glass of water.
“Ah, thank you.”
Isabella accepted it.
She drank slowly, as if chewing the water.
Even water upset her stomach when she wasn’t feeling well.
Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t experienced any stomach issues since coming to the North.
Isabella noticed that she had forgotten about her physical condition since arriving in the North.
Her condition was surprisingly good.
Much better than when she had to constantly monitor herself at the Count’s mansion, struggling to reduce her suffering.
Nothing in particular had changed—so why?
Isabella tilted her head in thought.
“What are you thinking about?”
Cleor took the glass from Isabella’s hand and placed it on the nightstand.
“My body…”
“Hurt?”
Before she could finish, Cleor furrowed his brows and asked sharply.
“No, no. My body feels much better. Thank you.”
Isabella wasn’t inconsiderate.
She simply didn’t have the strength to pay attention to others when her own body struggled.
“If you’re in pain, just say so.”
“Yes, I will.”
Cleor looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe it, then turned his gaze away.
He sat at the desk by the window again and focused on reading the documents.
The scar on his cheek stood out.
“When did I get that?”
It hadn’t been there just yesterday.
Hmm?
Isabella was taken aback.
By her own curiosity about him.
Time passed quickly, and it had already been fifteen days since she arrived at the dukedom.
“Miss, it’s time for your bath.”
At Betty’s voice, Cleor closed the documents he was reviewing.
“If you need anything, be sure to tell the maids—”
“If I feel unwell, I’ll call you.”
Isabella finished Cleor’s sentence for him.
Cleor smiled.
As soon as he left the room, Isabella pulled out the medicine bottle given to her by Johan.
“This is the last one.”
The only medicine Johan had given her before coming to the North that eased her condition.
Even though she had rationed it carefully, it was down to the last drop.
Isabella poured the medicine into her mouth.
Its bitter taste spread across her tongue.
Frowning, she put the empty bottle deep back into the nightstand.
As soon as Cleor left the room, Demor appeared from somewhere and handed him a note.
Cleor’s cold eyes skimmed the paper.
He crumpled it and tucked it into his chest.
“Tell Clara to spend time with Isabella.”
“Yes, understood.”
After glancing back at Isabella in her room, Cleor quickly crossed the corridor.
He soon mounted his black horse.
A few knights followed him.
“I’m going alone.”
“But—”
“I’m just going for an inspection. I can handle it alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
The knights stepped back without insisting.
Even if they went with him, they wouldn’t be much help.
Cleor alone could sweep through a group of mid-level monsters, and since the second monster hunt had recently concluded, no high-level monsters were expected.
He waved off the knights as he departed.
The castle gates opened.
He ran like the wind.
—Johann has been captured.
That was the message on the note sent by Whitney.
The large bathtub was filled with hot water. It had clearly been prepared in advance, as the whole bathroom was warm.
One, two, three, four, five.
Five maids had come to assist Isabella with her bath.
“Miss, leave it to us.”
Betty had been the one who fainted the day Isabella had a nosebleed.
Isabella nodded lightly.
When she reached out her hand, Betty held it to prevent her from falling.
While another maid made bubbles in the tub, Betty helped Isabella undress.
Soon, Isabella, now naked, dipped her toes into the water.
The foam that touched her toes was soft, like cream made from the chef’s exhausted wrists.
She parted the foam and submerged her feet.
The warm, fragrant water wrapped around her calves.
“Please sit, Miss.”
Holding Betty’s hand, Isabella carefully stepped into the tub.
Her long-contracted muscles relaxed automatically in the warm water.
The maids scooped water with small ladles and poured it over her shoulders repeatedly.
“We’ll give you a massage.”
Two maids kneeled on either side of the tub, gently holding Isabella’s hands.
Like touching delicate glasswork, their careful hands brushed against her, making Isabella’s eyes slowly close.
In the middle of a forest, Isabella stood alone.
In her dream, she looked perfectly healthy.
Rosy cheeks, a well-proportioned face, and a dress that left her shoulders bare despite the wind.
Even in a dream, it was nice to look healthy.
—Isabella, Isabella!
Someone was calling her desperately.
The voice calling her was full of affection.
Who is it?
Who is calling me so tenderly?
Isabella turned her head.
She saw a pair of feet—leather pants revealing toned thighs, a sword at the waist, and…
“Miss, Miss. If you stay too long, you’ll catch a cold.”
“Ah…!”
Isabella opened her eyes.
It was a dream.
She must have fallen asleep during her bath without realizing it.
After sleeping so deeply, her mind felt clear, but her mood wasn’t good.
I wanted to see who it was.
She desperately wanted to know who had called her so tenderly.
Cleor soon arrived at a small village in the duchy.
He pulled down the mask that had covered his eyes, revealing his handsome face.
As he dismounted, a bent stableman appeared from a hidden alley, as if waiting, and received the reins.
Cleor knocked on the door twice, then three times, then twice more with intervals.
After a while, the wooden door creaked open.
The interior was dark despite the noon sun. And it was quiet.
“You came early. Were you waiting?”
Cleor lightly struck Whitney’s abdomen as she smiled slyly, then strode into the basement.
A basement in a house—an unusual combination.
Yet considering the building’s purpose, it made perfect sense.
This was one of the hidden headquarters of Cleor’s secret intelligence organization.
The North was cut off from the outside world, so there was no way to know external events without special effort.
Information was essential for surviving in the harsh North, so Cleor had meticulously built this secret network.
“I thought I’d die from exhaustion.”
“Then you should have.”
Whitney regretted her moment of whining.
One shouldn’t assume people change just because they treat the prospective duchess well.
Cleor was a cold-blooded, ruthless man.
So cold that when he mercilessly killed newly born adorable monsters, shouting “If I can’t kill you, I’ll kill you myself,” he seemed to be made of ice rather than blood.
“Do you think you can pierce me by staring like that? If you want a hole in my body, draw your sword. I doubt you could wound me.”
Today, Cleor was unusually sharp-tongued.
If his usual sharpness was a regular tea, today’s was the finest, rarest blend in the world.
“Why are you like this?”
Whitney asked.
Cleor pressed his lips tightly together.
He knew very well that he wasn’t in a good state.
The reason was simple.
Isabella and Clara were together.
He had to guard her bedroom like a dog to prevent Clara, Angela, and Victor from approaching Isabella.
His feelings as he entrusted her to Clara today were the same as when he had gone to hunt a dragon for the first time and returned terrified—utterly despondent and solemn.
“Open the door. We need to finish quickly and return. Was there nothing unusual while you were fetching Johann?”
Fetching? He stole him.
Whitney pouted.
“The Paladins of Solstella chased us?”
“Not that.”
“Hmm, was it that I was grazed by an arrow?”
“Enough. Don’t say anything more.”
Whitney exhaled deeply.
If she quit, she’d have to return all the money earned from selling monsters.
“Quit? Me? No way!”
Whitney waved her hands and teased Cleor.
“Nothing unusual happened, but since leaving that temple, Johann’s condition has been strange.”
“How strange?”
Cleor froze in place.
He turned to Whitney.
Whitney wiped the playful expression off her face and spoke clearly.
“He said he would die. That he would wither away and die.”
“He said he would die? Anything else?”
Cleor frowned, sensing something odd.
Whitney hesitated.
“Speak quickly.”
Cleor pressed.
“Miss Isabella… was said to meet the same fate.”
Cleor’s face twisted severely, as if he had just woken from a nightmare.
