Chapter 12
The boy shielded Grace almost desperately. Even as they tumbled in a mess, he clung to her with such tenacity that Grace managed to stay conscious.
Eventually, the spinning world came to a halt. Using all her strength, Grace rose to her feet. But Andrew lay limp. She quickly checked his pulse.
Please, please.
“Ha…”
The moment she felt the steady thump under her fingertips, a long sigh escaped her lips. But the relief was short-lived.
Grrrr…
A beast’s bloodthirsty growl echoed from behind, sending chills up her spine. Grace turned to look, holding her breath. Between the dark silhouettes of the thin trees, the creature’s eyes gleamed ominously.
She quickly stood and faced it. Cold sweat trickled down her back.
Then, a voice rang out, accompanied by the sound of someone descending the slope.
“Stand back!!!”
She stepped back—and the beast stepped forward. Under the moonlight, its vicious fangs looked ready to rip her apart. There was still distance between them, but for a four-legged creature, it could close it in an instant.
Andrew’s body pressed against the backs of her heels. If she retreated any further, the boy would be left to die.
Grace glanced quickly for a weapon. Her sword was gone, but she spotted some arrows. Keeping her eyes on the werewolf, she slowly crouched. The beast mirrored her movement.
Her heart thundered, her breath grew ragged. Grace swiftly grabbed a bow and arrow and rose to her feet. Remembering her teacher’s lessons, she nocked the arrow in a flash.
The moment the tip of her arrow aimed at the werewolf, the beast lunged. Though she wanted to release the string at once, she clenched her teeth and held her ground.
Her mentor’s voice echoed in her mind:
“Timing is everything in hunting.”
Just a little more.
Come closer.
And finally, the moment the beast entered her effective range, Grace released the arrow. It cut through the air and struck its foreleg—but that alone wasn’t enough to kill the massive werewolf. Twisting in pain, the beast roared and charged in a rage.
Even so, Grace calmly nocked her next arrow. The beast’s sharp fangs were now terrifyingly close, but she didn’t back down. There was nowhere to run anyway. This time, she aimed for its neck.
Less than three meters separated them when she fired the second arrow. Unfortunately, it struck the beast’s back, not its neck.
Undeterred, she nocked another arrow. But her right arm trembled from repeatedly drawing the stiff bowstring. The werewolf’s foul stench stung her nose. The beast’s pounding steps shook the earth as it drew near. The looming certainty of death brought a haunting vision of her parents’ burnt carriage to her mind.
No. Focus!
Still, she couldn’t stop her right hand from visibly shaking. Just as despair began to rise, something incredible happened.
A warm, solid body pressed against her back. A large hand wrapped around her trembling one, pulling the bowstring tight where she couldn’t.
The blackened memory of the burnt carriage vanished, and she saw the beast’s neck perfectly aligned with her arrow.
Grace shouted quickly.
“Let go!”
Walter, trusting her aim, released the string.
Whoosh—!
The arrow they fired together flew like lightning, piercing straight through the werewolf’s open mouth. The beast crashed to the ground just in front of them, and Walter stepped in front of Grace to shield her.
The breath she had been holding finally escaped. After catching it for a while, she looked up to find Walter gazing down at her. Behind him, the bright yellow moon cast a tranquil glow, but Grace couldn’t take her eyes off the man looking down at her.
With an unreadable expression, he remained silent for a moment, then turned her around without a word. He pressed a hand gently against her back, then withdrew it.
“…?”
“Thankfully, it looks like the gargoyle’s claws only tore through your cloak.”
Before she could respond, he was already rolling up her left sleeve. Blood had beaded on her forearm where the bowstring had grazed it.
The sight of her wound finally brought Andrew back to her mind. Spinning around in alarm, she saw two knights—who had followed Walter—checking on the boy.
“You bastard, get up!”
Despite the harsh words, the way the knight supported his comrade was gentle.
“Is he alright?”
Grace rushed over to ask. Sirius, who had picked up his brother’s arrows, answered.
“Don’t worry. This much is nothing.”
“But he lost consciousness…”
“Thank you.”
“…”
When the werewolf appeared, Sirius had been sure his brother would die. If Grace had backed away, Andrew would’ve perished.
But surprisingly, she hadn’t retreated. She stood in front of Andrew like a shield and fired arrows at a beast many times her size. Even seasoned knights trembled before such monsters, but the delicate young lady had endured and shot at the perfect moment.
Many knights had seen it. No one questioned how Lady Taylor knew how to shoot. What mattered was that she protected Andrew and killed the werewolf.
Sirius bowed respectfully to Grace again, then carried Andrew on his back. Climbing the slope would be difficult for her too, but Sirius glanced at the man behind her.
He’ll handle it.
Meanwhile, Grace worried for limp Andrew—but also about the practical issue of how she herself would climb up. As if reading her mind, a low voice spoke from behind.
“Can you make it up?”
Just having Walter at her back made the wind feel blocked. Grace bit her lip and sighed softly. What should she do? As she hesitated, moonlight caught Andrew’s back, slung over his brother’s shoulder. In that moment, she made a small decision.
Walter, too, had been wondering how to help the bruised lady climb the slope. But then he froze. Grace turned toward him—and lightly raised both arms as if asking to be carried.
“…”
Walter narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. Grace bit her lip, then whispered softly:
“You said you don’t just pretend, right?”
She must’ve planned this moment long ago. Otherwise, how could she ask so calmly?
Though he shook his head slightly, Walter eventually crouched down. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck without hesitation. As the distance between them vanished, Walter held his breath for a moment, then lifted her thigh with his left arm. Warmth radiated from their contact.
“Hold on tight.”
“Thank you.”
Her whispered words sent a shiver down his spine. Walter calmed his racing heart and began ascending the steep slope as if it were level ground. The wind whipped his face, but his strong body didn’t waver.
In Walter’s arms, Grace looked down at the slope receding behind them. Though the situation had been harrowing, she felt only peace. She was certain—this man would never drop her.
She slowly turned to look up the incline.
Knights who had faced death for ten years—stronger than anyone in the empire—were watching her. Their gazes held clear respect and goodwill for the brave young lady.
This hadn’t been part of the plan…
Grace turned her head, hiding her face. Her pink lips curved upward into a soft smile.
＊ ＊ ＊
News that Duke Walter Richmond was returning reached the ducal estate. A furious roar erupted from the duke’s lavish office.
“You mean to say we failed again!!!”
A middle-aged noble with a sharp, hooked beard slammed his desk repeatedly in rage.
“How many assassins have we sent over the past ten years?! Do you know how much we paid those bastards?!”
As his red and blue face refused to calm, a woman sipping tea to the side clicked her tongue and rose from her seat.
“Darling, that’s enough. It’s not over yet.”
“I won’t get the duchy unless he’s dead!!! And that bastard just won’t die!!! How do you expect me to sit still?!”
“The duke went to the Wall of Death with knights when he was thirteen. It’s been ten years since then.”
“…”
“He never learned noble etiquette, manners, or the dignity expected of a duke.”
The woman emphasized each word, then shrugged and ran a hand through her hair.
“He hasn’t once appeared in high society. He’s done nothing but fight to survive. Who’s even on his side?”
Marquis Henry Linco’s eyes sparkled as he listened to his wife.
“Yes…”
“So even if the duke returns, who’s going to support him? Other than the knights who know nothing but swordplay, he has no power. What matters is who has truly defended Richmond Duchy.”
