Chapter 27
At the same time, the coachman’s voice came from outside the carriage.
“Young lady, there seems to be a problem with the carriage wheel. Could you step outside for a moment?”
The instant I heard that voice, I knew.
Damn.
I knew exactly the kind of tone a person made in moments like this. I’d heard it more times than I could count in my previous life.
That oily tone from someone about to scam you.
“Understood. Could you wait a moment? I’ll just grab my coat.”
I replied in a calm voice—deliberately—to cover up the sound of the latch clicking as I locked the carriage door from the inside.
Then I untied my hair and wrapped the weak latch again with the hair tie to keep it from coming undone.
‘I should’ve known when he charged four times the usual fare. Greedy bastard.’
He must’ve lost it when he saw Gisela carrying gold coins.
I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds outside.
‘He brought others with him. Four… no, five people.’
One thing to be grateful for: cheap carriages like this only had a window on one side. In situations like this, fewer breakable things were better.
‘If only I were a martial arts master.’
Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
I sighed and gripped my pistol. I’d brought it just in case, but it was meant only for the worst-case scenario.
If someone died from a gunshot, the Metropolitan Police would start tracking the shooter. As a Purifier, I wouldn’t be punished, but it would mean the count’s household would find out I’d left without permission.
‘I’ll wait until they wear themselves out and then run. That’s the best option.’
“Young lady, you’re taking your time. Should I open the door my—wait, it’s locked?! Dammit, sharp little—!”
At the same moment, a thunderous pounding echoed across the carriage roof. Through the window, I could see several of them surrounding the carriage, holding pipes, clubs, and other tools.
“Open the damn door! You deaf?!”
One look at their clumsy stances told me—this was their first time trying to rob someone. They’d seen gold and lost their minds, probably swept up by the lawless atmosphere of the slums.
People nearby started to glance in our direction.
Thud. Thud! The carriage groaned under the pressure. The door creaked slightly open from the force.
I looked outside the carriage window. The drunken noise from nearby drinking tables was gradually quieting.
A massive presence… a pressure that rolled in like a wave.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
And I wasn’t the only one. Even the loafers who’d been chuckling at the commotion were now slowly backing away. Only these clueless rookie bandits kept yelling.
‘The whole atmosphere’s gone cold, and you’re still shouting? What are you doing—summoning the underworld’s king or something?’
I couldn’t help but add a word through the crack in the door.
“Do you really need to shout while robbing someone? Dying for attention, are you?”
“What the hell is this woman saying? Has she lost it from fear?”
“Ha! Must be scared hearing a bunch of men yell. Hey! Aaaaaaaah! How’s that?”
‘Ah. Yep. Their brains are fried.’
I knew I was already too late. Viktor was surely interested by now.
In this ridiculous situation, the gorillas outside kept screaming as if mocking me.
‘Well, I suppose you’d have to be that brain-dead to try your first robbery in a den of criminals.’
I re-engaged the safety on my pistol. If I had no choice but to see Viktor, the priority was not to irritate him.
Just as I tucked the pistol back under my skirt, every hair on my body stood on end.
My instincts, sharpened over two years of running, were screaming.
He was watching this whole thing from nearby.
‘So this is how I meet that bastard in this life.’
Viktor Koenig. The damned third male lead who had hunted me to death in my past life.
Crash! The glass window, which had held out surprisingly long, finally shattered under the attackers’ relentless assault.
Shards rained down on Odette, scratching her arms and shoulders.
“I got her! I got her!”
The coachman grabbed her arm and started pulling her out of the window.
Her body was dragged halfway out of the carriage.
And then—he appeared atop the carriage. A man with red hair.
“A robber disguised as a coachman. What a world we live in.”
Clicking his tongue, he effortlessly slipped behind the coachman and wrapped his enormous hands around the man’s neck.
And with sheer strength alone, he tore the man’s head from his body—like ripping a sheet of paper.
Blood spurted like a fountain from the severed neck, almost in slow motion.
Then he reached out and caught Odette just before she hit the ground.
His reflexes were astounding.
Towering height. Red hair. Light green eyes. A mouth curled into mischief. A khaki military coat worn like a thug. A giggling laugh.
Viktor Koenig.
“Hello, pretty lady. The hero’s here—no need to be scared now.”
After his breezy greeting, Viktor glanced at the woman in his arms—and froze.
Then—
“You…”
The carefree smile vanished from his sculpted face, replaced by a cold, analyzing gaze. One filled with both disgust and intrigue.
He’d realized who she was.
“Strange. What’s with this awful smell?”
His eyes glinted with a bizarre excitement—like a predator’s.
‘Still the same unsettling, dangerous man I want nothing to do with.’
He was the one who, in the past, had chased her with almost supernatural accuracy.
The manor’s basement prison. The beggar shelters. The gypsy tents.
No matter how often she masked her tracks, he’d find her.
“Odd. A filthy place like this isn’t really your style. And yet, I knew you’d be here.”
A creature beyond comprehension. A walking danger zone.
She had desperately hoped to never cross paths with him in this life. But that damned coachman had ruined everything.
“W-What the hell is going on?!”
“L-Let the girl go! Back off if you value your life!”
Apparently, the coachmen didn’t recognize Viktor. Only now did his light green eyes, which had been fixed on Odette, shift away.
Unlike the Crown Prince or Zion, Viktor had never done interviews, so his face wasn’t widely known.
Still, anyone with even a shred of underworld awareness revered that face. These fools knew nothing.
‘If you’re going to be naive, at least have some basic survival instincts. Doesn’t a comrade getting torn like paper trigger a “run” response?’
Terrified as they were, the thugs still didn’t run. They must’ve thought their numbers gave them strength.
Unfortunate for them, their opponent was a madman.
“No manners, no reading—can’t even recognize this handsome face?”
He grumbled, as if insulted, despite never having appeared in a newspaper illustration. A proper thug, through and through.
“Cut the crap and get lost! Hand the girl over already!”
“Saving the world is a thankless job, huh? You get rid of calamities, bust your back doing good… and then lowlife scum like you think it’s robbery season.”
Sighing, Viktor slung the massive woldo from his back.
“Even robbing has rules. You don’t go after women, you pathetic little shits.”
“Wh-Why are you drawing that thing?! Put it down—!”
Viktor swung the blade once—and sliced the screaming man’s neck clean off.
His movements were light, almost playful. He was clearly having fun.
“AAAAAGH! H-Help!”
“Run! Dammit!”
Three robbers remained. Viktor didn’t immediately chase them. He was giving them time to run.
‘Put me down before you start swinging, you bastard…’
Odette felt the blood splatter across her face and groaned internally.
But she didn’t speak. Viktor hated anyone killing his vibe when he was excited.
“Look at that. Still lying there headless on the road. Scum of society.”
Viktor clicked his tongue mockingly, his eyes shining with pure malice.
Grinning so wide his fangs and inner cheeks were visible, he seemed thrilled at the thought of more killing.
A complete maniac. His boyish looks made it even more twisted.
‘He had that same expression… when he strangled me in our past life.’
Even after the thugs disappeared, Viktor hummed cheerfully, savoring the moment—like a predator basking in anticipation.
Then the severed head rolled to his feet. Eyes wide open in shock, the coachman’s dead face stared up at them.
Odette’s heart plummeted the moment their gazes met.
Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred and darkened.
PTSD.
