CHAPTER 7
“Kgh!”
As I gasped and choked, Leonhart leaned in and whispered:
“Duke Ybrante. Aren’t you curious why I hate you?”
“Th-this… let… let go… ugh!”
“To be honest, I don’t care about the Crown Prince. Whether you secretly support the First or Second Prince doesn’t concern me.”
“P-please… just a moment…”
“Sure, dealing with the assassins you send my way is a bit of a nuisance, but I don’t hate you for something so petty.”
It was now crystal clear.
The reason Leonhart was so hostile wasn’t anyone else—it was Adrian.
Ha, this is insane. And now, I am Adrian!
Leonhart’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
His eyes, which had been empty until now, flared a cold blue.
What I saw in them wasn’t just anger—it was hatred.
“So think about it. Think hard, hour by hour, what you might’ve done to make me like this. Let that anxiety gnaw at you. Preferably while you’re locked up in your mansion.”
My vision darkened. I was on the verge of passing out.
I can’t let this happen!
Just as I was about to channel my mana to summon a spirit, something I had forgotten flashed in my mind.
I must not reveal my identity.
Damn it!
No matter which spirit I summoned, Leonhart—my former comrade—would recognize it immediately.
And spirits have the loosest lips. The moment they saw Leonhart, they’d probably start blabbering that I had possessed Adrian.
Until I can make them keep their mouths shut, I can’t summon a spirit.
Blood rushed to my head and my eyes throbbed. The threat of death loomed close behind me.
“Huuuh…”
Desperately, I grabbed Leonhart’s hand. I overlapped my trembling fingers onto his large hand and slid my fingertips between his fingers, gently rubbing them.
Please, please…
Did that heartfelt plea get through? The hand gripping my neck suddenly loosened, and my body collapsed helplessly.
Thud.
Lying there on the ground, I looked up. Leonhart was staring down at me, eyes wide.
I moved my lips.
“You b—…”
If he wanted to take it out on someone, he should’ve done it before I got possessed!
But no sound came out. My consciousness faded.
It was the third time I’d fainted.
Six years ago, Leonhart had been nothing more than a rookie swordsman.
Among the expedition party, there was no one weaker than him.
Not even counting Adela the Spirit Swordsman, Owen the priest with immense holy power, and Ruspel the near-archmage-level mage.
Even when fighting low-grade demon beasts, Leonhart had to risk his life.
There was never a day his body wasn’t injured. Before one wound could heal, another would appear.
Every day was a struggle for survival. Only when he was on the brink of death did the ordeal end.
But through that extreme hardship, Leonhart grew faster than anyone else.
And now…
He had earned the title of Sword Master—undisputedly the Empire’s strongest.
The nobles who once sneered at him now couldn’t even meet his gaze.
His once-gentle personality had turned cold and ruthless, but no one dared to resent him.
They all just scrambled to stay out of his way.
And that was all because of Adela.
It was she who had saved Leonhart every time he teetered on the edge of death.
When he was wounded or burning with fever from demon poison, she stayed by his side through the night.
She used to hold my hand like that…
Leonhart could still vividly recall how it felt.
The warmth of her palm covering the back of his hand.
Her fingers tightly intertwined with his.
Her soft fingertips gently rubbing, like soothing whispers.
Even when he was so feverish he couldn’t tell dream from reality, the feel of her touch never faded.
Even in the depths of pain, he never let go of her hand.
But that was no longer possible.
He could no longer be saved by her, or fall asleep reassured by her warmth.
Because Adela was no longer in this world.
Or at least, that’s what I believed… until just now.
Why had I been unable to breathe the moment Adrian’s fingers slipped between mine?
In that instant, it hadn’t felt like Adrian was the one suffering—it felt like Adela was in pain.
Why…?
Adrian’s touch was eerily similar to the one I remembered from my dreams. It didn’t make any sense.
Leonhart knelt on one knee in front of the unconscious Adrian.
He picked up her hand, which lay limply on the dirt floor, and examined it.
Smooth and pale, without a single callus or blemish.
Her fingers were so slender they seemed as fragile as straw—one wrong grip, and they might snap.
She probably had never lifted anything heavier than tableware.
The delicate, pampered hand of a noblewoman.
The only thing her hand had in common with Adela’s—scarred, rough, and full of calluses—was that it had five fingers.
Then what the hell was that just now? Why did her touch remind me of Adela?
Leonhart roughly suppressed the storm raging inside his chest.
A mistake. Just a trick of the mind.
Looking back, Adrian had merely been struggling to survive.
He was the one who had overinterpreted the moment.
“…Damn it.”
It was ridiculous.
How could that woman ever remind him of Adela?
Am I losing my mind because I miss her too much?
As if he had touched something filthy, Leonhart abruptly dropped Adrian’s wrist.
He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“They say smoking too long can give you asthma. So I quit. Asthma’s quite a painful disease, isn’t it?”
“Pfff—”
As he exhaled a long trail of smoke, Leonhart’s lips curled slightly in disbelief.
That was the most absurd nonsense he’d heard in ages.
And yet, even in her cold tone, there had been a sliver of concern—for him, the child who once suffered from asthma.
It made him scoff in disbelief.
“What’s this new trick now?”
Adrian was the one who had ruined Leonhart’s childhood.
She had relentlessly tormented him.
At the academy, she bullied anyone who tried to befriend him, isolating him completely. After she left the academy, she took it further.
She manipulated the other princes to abuse him, publicly humiliated him countless times.
If any noble tried to befriend him, she’d dig into their past and blackmail them.
Any girl who even made eye contact with him—she’d track down and punish.
She even spread rumors that he was dying from asthma.
She systematically eliminated the few supporters he had.
Leonhart had been utterly alone.
Even when asthma confined him to bed, no one came to see him.
His attendants and maids had all been bought off by Adrian.
Once she had completely isolated him, she came to him—and unbelievably, proposed.
“At this rate, Your Highness can forget about the throne. Isn’t it better to become the son-in-law of a ducal family? I’ll handle the Emperor. You just stay put.”
Leonhart had known back then that she was behind all his suffering.
And yet, she stood there, cluelessly suggesting marriage like it was nothing.
He had found her utterly repulsive.
To her, Leonhart wasn’t even human. Just a stud fit to carry on the ducal bloodline.
He hated Adrian.
Just hearing her voice made his skin crawl. Her presence made him nauseous.
Marriage? With her?
That’s why he volunteered for the Demon King subjugation.
He’d rather die than marry her.
But in the end, he survived.
He was no longer the weak third prince, suitable only as a political pawn.
Yet Adrian hadn’t given up.
Now he had to deal with the assassins she sent.
All because he threatened the chances of the First Prince—the one she supported—becoming Crown Prince.
Leonhart looked down at Adrian.
His eyes, filled with disgust, pierced her pale, unconscious face.
Should I just kill her?
He rolled his tongue in his cheek and cracked his neck side to side.
Crack. Pop.
With a dull sound, he barely suppressed his murderous intent.
Not yet.
Leonhart turned away from Adrian—leaving her coldly behind.
