Chapter 07…
The Western Empire’s emperor had changed four times.
When the throne had belonged to the fastidious Iber royal house, the empire had been strong. But now, it was nothing more than a fragile crumb of pastry, nibbled away from all sides.
The minority tribes who had once been pushed to the far corners of the western continent seized the chance to strike.
The empire’s borders had turned into battlefields.
And right in the midst of them, a child wielding a sword suddenly appeared.
“A child soldier…? Even children are being dragged into war now….”
Those who pitied him were the first to die.
The boy clung to life with tenacity.
Even when his back was slashed open and his breath came in ragged gasps, even when his body was covered with wounds large and small, he survived.
And the longer he remained on the battlefield, the fewer injuries he sustained.
By the time the emperor of Miltan changed for the fifth time, the boy—now grown—turned his blade toward the heart of the empire itself.
Clad in the symbol of the Iber royal house: gauntlets.
The child who had once appeared with black hair now bore golden locks. The necklace around his neck had merely been a tool to conceal his true color.
By then, ten years had passed since the boy’s first appearance.
His name was Nabel Iber.
Pock.
A fork stabbed into the middle of an apple.
The hand holding the fork was slender and delicate. Its owner examined the browned, bruised side of the apple, avoided it, and took a bite from the other side.
As she ate, Rone glanced down at her hand. Whenever she looked at her own hand, it sometimes reminded her of another hand—one that used to hold hers tightly.
The fork that once seemed so large was now small.
“Nabel,” she murmured.
A name she still could not forget, even after ten years.
The boy who no longer existed had been slightly taller than she was.
By now, he must be much taller than me… Rone thought.
How was he doing?
Though he had been purchased as her slave, he was never truly one.
Rone had never treated him like a slave.
Nabel was a free person. And he left.
Though he had promised to come back.
Pock.
Her pale hand, made even whiter from lack of sunlight, picked up the fork again. And then—
“Young Lady!”
There was only one person who would rush into her room like that. Her maid, Lyn.
“Lyn? What is it?”
“Young Lady…”
Panting and unable to speak at once, Lyn’s face told Rone that the thing she had feared for ten years had finally come.
“The temple… sent word.”
The fork slipped from Rone’s hand.
Clang!
Her fox, Bel, leapt into her arms as though to protect her.
As if to say: Don’t worry. I’ll guard you.
Rone saw Nabel in Bel’s eyes.
She remembered, for just a fleeting moment, the childhood promise: I’ll definitely come back. Then she erased it.
The boy who said he would return soon was terribly late.
Ten years had passed, waiting, despite telling herself not to hope.
Rone closed her eyes.
This year, she was twenty-seven.
“Where is the heretic?”
Mages bearing the sigil of God stormed into the manor.
While Count Rida and the Countess received them with utmost hospitality, knights barged into Rone’s chambers.
“She’ll be dragged away once the mages arrive anyway. What’s the point of resisting here?”
The knights mocked her freely. Since official temple mages had arrived, they believed even her fox couldn’t resist this time.
This was the moment they had waited ten years for.
“Young Lady…” Lyn wrung her hands helplessly.
Rone gazed out the window.
The skies were bright, the weather serene—as if mocking her dire situation.
It would be better to walk out than be dragged.
She rose to her feet.
Don’t you want to get out?
The voice of Nabel she remembered was still young. By now, he must have grown.
She recalled it again: What would you be like, now that you’re grown?
I want to go out too.
Looking out the window again, she was struck by a thought she had never had in her twenty-seven years.
Could I escape?
But the Rida family commanded countless knights and mages. Alone, she could not.
The only reason she had survived until now was because the temple had ordered them to keep her alive under observation.
If she resisted fiercely, the standing order was clear: If the demon resists, purify her.
Count Rida had accepted this with a look of distaste, then said smugly to his wife:
“It may take time to raise another daughter, but… you’re still young, aren’t you?”
The Countess, nearing forty, could not hide her smile. That day, after overhearing them, Rone had finally abandoned every shred of affection she might have had left for them.
Not that she had much to begin with.
“……”
And yet, she couldn’t leave. No—she wasn’t allowed to leave.
Ever since that order, they acted as though killing her would be easy if not for Bel.
If she tried to break free with force, they would unleash cruelty without hesitation.
“……”
But still… I want to leave.
Anything would be better than being treated like a demon and sent to the temple.
“Aren’t you going?”
The knights’ mocking voices rang in the room. Rone rose.
Kyaang!
Bel leapt from her arms, eyes blazing at the knights, ready to bite if needed.
Some knights flinched. A few who had once been bitten by Bel still could not even hold a sword properly.
“—Soon enough, that fox will burn too.”
They turned their backs on her, pretending indifference, but their hasty steps betrayed their fear.
“Let’s go.”
Rone picked up Bel. The fox looked back at her, face softened, as if to say: I’ll fight as much as I can.
But Rone knew Bel could be hurt too.
Bel seemed to draw much of its strength from her.
She rarely went outside now, rarely ate—only what Lyn secretly brought her. She had little strength left.
On days Bel fought knights, it would collapse, wheezing and limp. Each time, Rone feared it would die.
But Bel always returned, even if only as a shadow.
“……”
Still, she hugged Bel tightly.
If the last thing she saw before dying was one of her few precious companions dying before her, she couldn’t bear it.
“Let’s go.”
The knights seized her arms roughly—or so it seemed. But in truth, their grips were not harsh, as though cloth had been padded beneath their gauntlets.
Then one of them whispered:
“Please do not answer, just listen, Lady Rone.”
His tone was unusually polite. Respectful—something she had almost never heard in her life.
“Our lord commanded us to deliver this message.”
Rone’s eyes widened.
Lord? The Count?
No—if they served the Count, they would never speak so respectfully to her.
Suddenly, she thought of the one she had longed to see for ten years.
It couldn’t be… could it?
Dusty golden hair, as she remembered from the first time they met, flickered in her mind.
“You are no longer alone.”
Nabel.
Rone’s lips parted slightly.
“Forgive us for the discourtesy,” the knight on her right whispered softly, so only she could hear.
Through them, she recalled another man.
Nabel was coming.
“Take her down to the basement at once!” barked Knight-Captain Devant.
The knights holding Rone pulled her downwards roughly, pretending to drag her. She did not resist.
Bang!
Devant slammed the door open, even shoving her in the back.
Dusty boots trampled her sanctuary, then withdrew.
The clamor of soldiers’ boots filled the hallways.
And so no one noticed someone else approaching the estate.
Neigh!
A carriage gilded with golden ornaments rolled into the Rida lands.
In front of it, unable to tolerate its slow pace, a white horse charged ahead, bearing its master.
When the hood of the rider’s blue robe fell back, hair dark as ebony was revealed—
Though once, it had shone with radiant gold.
The inquisitors from the temple numbered ten. Among them was even one who had reached the sixth of the nine steps toward God.
The highest-ranked mage permitted external missions had come.
“Heretic, raise your head!”
A mage lifted his hand. Rone’s hands were bound behind her back, her knees forced to the ground. Surrounding her, mages checked for a magic barrier.
The method was simple.
Splash!
Cold water drenched her, soaking her long rose-colored hair.
Rone gasped as the icy shock stole her breath. The water was salty—mixed with brine.
“There is no barrier,” reported a mage with four bracelets on his wrist—a sign of the fourth step.
The sixth-step mage raised his hand.
“Then, let the examination begin.”
“Young Lady!” Lyn screamed.
The magic circle drawn before the mage was unmistakable: lightning magic.
From its pale white glow, blinding bolts crackled forth.
Kyaang!
At that instant, Bel sprang from Rone’s shadow. The mage shouted in shock.
“That’s the summoned beast?”
“Yes!” Devant cried, sword in hand, tension all over his face.
But he kept glancing at the mages, clearly believing that with such powerful allies, they could finally subdue the fox.
“Attack!”
Just as the mage was about to strike the circle—
The knight beside him suddenly turned his blade against him.
“!”
“What—!”
It was one of the same knights who had been holding Rone’s arms. Because his back was to her as he swung, Rone did not see the mage’s arm being severed.
Her startled gaze turned toward the floor near the mage—
But her sight was suddenly blocked by the sleeve of someone’s robe.
A blue robe, embroidered richly with golden patterns.
Fwoosh.
Its owner wrapped her in a heavy black cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her from the light.
The chill of drenched clothes gave way to warmth.
Then, as the blue sleeve withdrew, someone pulled her into a firm embrace.
