CHAPTER 28:
You’re Out of Your MindDietrich leapt out of a third-story window with Celia on his back.
Despite the height, he landed softly on the grass-covered ground. Avoiding the eyes of others, he took Celia to a stable on the outskirts of the imperial palace.
“Prrr—”
The horses inside the stable snorted harshly at the unfamiliar Celia. After setting her down, Dietrich approached the agitated horses.
As he gently stroked their manes, they calmed down as if nothing had happened. Celia found it remarkable how well the animals obeyed him.
“They say people loved by animals can’t be bad.”
Dietrich shook his head at Celia’s comment.
“No, it’s just that bad people kill animals.”
It was a rather cynical remark.
He then led Celia to a small room attached to the stable.
The modest room held only a straw bed and a single nightstand. Judging by the thick dust, it hadn’t been used in quite some time.
Dietrich brushed off the dust and sat Celia down on the straw bed. He was wearing a navy tunic instead of his usual armor, explaining that it was to avoid making noise.
“When they find out you’re missing, the crown prince will search my mansion first. But he’ll never think I brought you to the stables.”
“…”
“How’s the bite?”
His voice carried gently through the night air—unusually tender for him. But Celia wasn’t fooled by his gentleness.
“Who knows.”
She replied while clutching the large robe tightly around her. Dietrich, who had been silently watching her, suddenly dropped to one knee and tore a piece of the sleeve from his tunic.
“It’s bothering me.”
“What is?”
“All of it.”
What exactly was bothering him? Was it her? Or was it the situation spiraling out of his control?
‘Doesn’t matter. If I can survive and destroy this damned empire, that’s enough for me.’
As Celia calmly placed her hands on her knees, Dietrich reached for the top of her robe.
His large, calloused hands—hardened by years of wielding a sword—undid the buttons one by one.
Click.
The soft moonlight filtered through the small lattice window, casting a quiet glow over the two of them.
Celia sat on the straw bed while Dietrich, kneeling before her, unbuttoned her robe.
She looked closely at his face.
Beneath his neat brows were long eyelashes. His red eyes, framed by those lashes, were focused solely on her.
Unlike other men, there was no trace of lust in his gaze.
When he finally undid the last button, exposing her collarbone to the cold air, Dietrich pressed a finger against the bite mark—almost like a brand—on her skin.
His hand felt so hot, it wouldn’t have been surprising if it left a burn. When she flinched, he withdrew his hand and spoke softly:
“It’ll be over soon.”
He wrapped the torn cloth into a strip and pressed it against the bite mark multiple times. The sensation of the mark being rubbed away felt strange.
When Celia winced from the pain, Dietrich set the cloth down. The once bright red mark had already faded noticeably.
“That’s better.”
He murmured, fastening her robe back up. Celia, so used to being exploited, wasn’t accustomed to someone trying to protect her.
“I know the dress is uncomfortable, but bear with it for a bit. I’ll bring you some easier clothes as soon as I can.”
When Celia didn’t respond, Dietrich seemed to hesitate, then added:
“If it’s really too much, I’ll give you my tunic.”
Celia watched him silently as he started to take it off.
“There’s no need to go that far.”
“…”
“I know you’re only being kind because you need my power. So don’t bother pretending to care.”
Dietrich fell silent at the sight of her hollow, empty eyes staring straight at him. Then he dug into his tunic and handed her something.
When Celia gave him a questioning look, he gestured with his chin for her to open her hand. What he placed in it made her eyes widen in surprise.
It was a dagger. Palm-sized, encased in a jet-black sheath.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
Dietrich lowered his eyes, shadow falling over his deep features.
“Using your power destroys your body.”
Celia didn’t say anything. She knew—from the moment she coughed up blood and collapsed—that using her ability was eating her alive.
Even if she denied it now, what would change? Dietrich continued, sensing her silence.
“If you ever face a dangerous situation, don’t hesitate. Use that dagger. I picked one with a very sharp edge.”
Celia unsheathed it. Just as he’d said, the blade was finely honed and deadly sharp.
“What if I use this to kill the crown prince—like I killed the emperor?”
“The crown prince will be dethroned, even if you don’t lift a finger.”
“…”
“Because I’ll make it happen.”
His words were… strange. Very strange. Celia stared at him, bewildered.
“Your power is only to be used for me. Until then, keep the dagger with you.”
“Are you sure you won’t regret giving it to me?”
“If I was going to regret it, I wouldn’t have saved you in the first place.”
With that, Dietrich stood. His solid, muscular frame made the already cramped room feel even smaller.
Then, as if he’d remembered something, he leaned toward her. Placing both hands on the straw bed, he stared intently at her.
Celia thought his face was too close.
After a long silence, Dietrich spoke in a voice tinged with boredom.
“You know how to handle a dagger, right?”
“I learned a bit from my father.”
“A good teacher and father, it seems. Judging by how you killed the emperor in one stroke, your fundamentals aren’t bad.”
His gaze dropped to the dagger in her hand.
“I’ll teach you a few techniques. Come.”
He offered his hand. Celia took it with her free hand.
Despite his warrior’s hands, hardened by countless battles, his hand was surprisingly warm.
Outside, the stable was quiet—its horses fast asleep. To avoid disturbing them, Dietrich led her to the opposite side of the stable.
It was an open space with rough, jagged stone walls. Celia brushed her hand over the coarse stone.
After stomping down the dusty ground with his boots, Dietrich let go of her hand.
Standing opposite her, unarmed, he jerked his chin.
“Try using the dagger on me.”
Celia didn’t understand what he was thinking. But if a swordmaster was offering personal instruction, she had no reason to refuse.
“Come at me like you mean to kill me. Imagine I’m your enemy.”
“What if you end up dying?”
Dietrich let out a low chuckle at her question.
“I admire your confidence.”
“…”
“I’ll only defend with my left hand. I won’t use my right.”
Wasn’t he underestimating her a bit too much? Celia felt a twinge to her pride.
Gripping the dagger, she lunged for his throat.
Her father had taught her: skin is tougher than people think. If you want to kill with a dagger, go for the neck.
Dietrich didn’t move until she was well within striking range.
Celia found it strange—but slashed anyway. The blade met his neck.
Beads of blood appeared.
Celia’s eyes trembled violently.
Their gazes met in the air. Even with a blade pressed to his throat, Dietrich’s eyes didn’t waver.
While hers swirled like a violent storm, his remained utterly still.
Anyone watching might think she was the one with a dagger to her throat.
Celia hesitated. Could she really stab him here?
Her hand trembled.
Instead of plunging the blade into his neck, she let it go.
Clang.
The dagger hit the ground.
Dietrich had struck her wrist with his left hand.
“You hesitated.”
“…”
“I told you—come at me like you mean to kill.”
He bent down, picked up the dagger, and returned it to her hand.
Celia stared at the drop of blood trailing down his neck.
Now, she finally understood what Dietrich was testing.
By giving her the dagger—
By offering his neck—
He was testing whether she could truly harm him.
At the risk of his own life.
Celia felt all strength leave her body. The dagger slipped from her grasp and rolled across the ground.
She glared at him as if she wanted to kill him.
“You… really are out of your mind.”
