Chapter 8
―……!
―Ki…ll…… her!
The savage cries were muffled by a warm hand covering her ears. The touch was gentle, not forceful.
“Close your eyes.”
It was a man’s low whisper. In that voice, Rone saw fragments of an old memory.
“Don’t look at the ugly things.”
He whispered softly, but in the end, Rone opened her eyes.
The black robe covering her was large, its hood wide. When he lifted it slightly, light that had been hidden flooded in at once.
“Sister.”
The man pressed his forehead against hers.
What struck her first was the golden hair, brilliant and bright. Then the deep blue eyes—so deep they were like staring into the ocean’s abyss. Rone knew that profound color well.
It was as if the world’s noise was shut out, and only one person’s voice remained.
The man’s breath fell over her. He seemed exhausted, as if he had run too far, too fast, and was holding back ragged breaths. This was the very person she had longed to see for ten years.
“…Nabel.”
She recognized him instantly.
As Rone’s tension melted away, Nabel pulled her into his arms.
It was the reunion they had waited a decade for.
Rone’s heart pounded wildly. Nabel, feeling it, was at a loss for words. He wanted to say so much, but when he saw how pale and frail she had become, only one thing came out.
“―I’m far too late, Sister.”
The soft, deep voice at her ear was no longer the childish tone of the boy who used to call her that.
Nabel had not let Rone see the horrific scene.
His men had already cut down the inquisitor-mages. Their corpses were hidden beneath the inquisitors’ own robes.
Beneath, his soldiers wore plain black clothes, revealing no allegiance.
“W-what are they…?!”
“They’ll be punished by God’s wrath!”
The knights shouted in alarm. After all, killing inquisitors was unthinkable.
But Nabel’s gaze stayed only on Rone.
“Just a moment longer. Please, wait a little more.”
He whispered, then turned. When he pulled back the blue robe’s hood, black hair spilled out. A moment ago, it had been shining gold.
He had changed it with magic.
This appearance—this was the Nabel more familiar to her. She had always wondered how he would look grown, and now here he was, towering before her.
Ten years later, he was taller than her by far, his hands hardened and scarred by years of gripping the sword. His body spoke of a decade of hardship.
“Inquisitors, is it?”
Nabel looked at the corpses. Around their necks hung pendants of swords—the mark of Tunna’s holy inquisitors.
A faint wheezing came from one of them, barely alive.
Not for long.
“Inquisitors who can’t even recognize a divine beast?”
Nabel mocked them openly. Someone among the onlookers seemed to recognize him.
“Wait— isn’t that the runaway slave from long ago?”
“Slave?”
Murmurs spread among the count’s household. Nabel laughed.
“Slave, you say.”
His voice was cold, nothing like the one he’d used toward Rone.
“―Even if I was a slave, I was never your slave.”
Then he lifted Rone’s hand. Her fingers, chilled by the soaking water earlier, slowly warmed in his grasp.
“….”
Nabel pressed a kiss just above her hand. It was the gesture of utmost reverence—a sign that she alone was his master. Even the black-clad swordsmen widened their eyes in shock.
“The scene outside is too ugly for you, Sister…”
Gently, he adjusted her robe, pulling the hood closer so that the bright light was hidden again.
“Would you like to rest?”
His low voice carried calm. Stroking her cold hand, he brushed her cheek with an expression filled with regret.
“If you wish, I’ll deal with them later.”
The spring air was still too chilly for someone drenched to remain outside. Rone nodded slightly.
“I’ve already prepared a place for you.”
His quiet words reassured her as he naturally guided her away.
“Catch them!”
The knight-captain, Devant, barked orders, but the black-clad swordsmen blocked their path. Their faces were masked, only cold, sharp eyes showing.
“You’ll see soon enough without chasing us.”
Nabel’s voice was icy. Removing his white gloves, he clasped Rone’s hand again, pressing another kiss upon it.
Gasps broke out among the black-clad men.
Ignoring them, Nabel led her forward.
“You’ll soon understand who she is—the one you failed to serve.”
Leaving those words behind, he guided Rone with the utmost courtesy.
And in the shadow trailing at her feet, the small bell slipped quietly within.
The place Nabel brought her was a small estate near the count’s manor, seemingly someone’s villa. Unknown to Rone, the ownership had changed hands just a week earlier.
Soaked in saltwater, Rone was at last able to bathe clean. Servants were already waiting there to attend her.
“My lady!”
Even Lin, safely rescued by Nabel’s swordsmen, arrived soon after. Shaken, she could not serve her mistress properly, so the maids Nabel had arranged helped Rone instead.
“….”
The sound of water came from beyond the wall. She was in there.
Nabel endured it, as he had endured for ten years. For so long he could only imagine her face, unable even to glimpse her. Now she was here, blooming even more beautifully than he had dreamed.
He stood waiting, unable to sit, holding his breath until she emerged.
Click.
When the door opened and she stepped out, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Nabel.”
Her voice rang clear.
Her damp, rose-pink hair was wrapped in a white towel, with a few strands slipping free, carrying the fragrance of bath oils. But what struck him more than anything was the richer, deeper rose scent clinging to her, stronger even than ten years before.
Rone was alive. Despite his lateness, she had survived.
Nabel closed his eyes. His deep blue gaze disappeared behind his lashes.
“Thank you for waiting.”
Thank you so much.
He whispered low. The kindness she had once shown him—he had lived these ten years only to repay it, only for this moment.
Hiding the scars on his body, he embraced her.
Her fragrance enveloped him, his heart pounding hard. His rough hands, that had slain countless foes, trembled as they held her gently.
Like on the day he left, he kissed her forehead.
But this time, neither of them was alone.
Knock, knock.
Then came a sound at the door.
“My lord, it’s Nesha.”
The voice interrupting their sweet reunion made Nabel’s eyes narrow dangerously.
Knight Nesha was fiercely loyal.
Chosen to follow his lord on distant campaigns, he was both skilled and quick-witted. He could grasp vague orders at once.
Before coming here, Nabel had given two commands:
“Do not disturb my time at the estate.”
“And if you sense anything unusual about the inquisitors, report it separately.”
Why the inquisitors? None dared to ask. His men obeyed silently.
Yet now Nesha had broken the first command, because the matter was urgent.
“My lord, it’s Nesha.”
“…I told you not to disturb me.”
The cold voice chilled him.
This was the master who had first made his name in war, merciless toward mistakes, who punished betrayal with brutal examples. Breaking this command could mean Nesha’s head on the city walls. He bowed deeply.
“Forgive me. But—”
Click.
The door opened, and Nabel himself stood there, eyes narrowed, deep blue gaze piercing.
“…Is it truly urgent?”
Nesha had come to report that the inquisitors’ corpses had turned to black dust.
It was an unnatural thing. True servants of the gods always had their bodies preserved until burial—a divine blessing, people said.
But these inquisitors had simply… vanished.
Unless they weren’t real inquisitors at all.
“Th-they…”
But he could not finish. His lord’s face was clouded, dangerously so. Nesha knew—at times like this, his master showed no mercy.
He had followed him since the battlefield. He knew too well.
“Nabel.”
Then a gentle voice spoke from within.
It was the first time Nesha had heard it.
That woman—was she insane?
He nearly gasped aloud at hearing her call the most precious name in the West Continent so familiarly.
But he bit his tongue. By not voicing it, he may have saved his own life.
“If it’s urgent, you can go for a while.”
Nesha’s gut told him: That woman will not live to see tomorrow morning.
No—this was the East Continent. Perhaps her head wouldn’t hang on city walls, but her death was certain.
“―I don’t want to leave Sister alone anymore.”
But his expectation was shattered.
Nesha’s jaw dropped.
The voice was not cold but soft, tender—achingly so.
“…It’s not far. I’ll wait.”
Her gentle reply made Nabel finally nod. And Nesha, seeing it, could not believe his eyes.
Who on earth was this woman?
Nabel rarely spoke to his men, leaving them to interpret his vague orders. They had speculated:
“She must be a noblewoman of the East.”
“Perhaps someone important for relations between East and West.”
They thought she was no more than a guest to be treated politely.
But no. Absolutely not.
Nesha suddenly understood one crucial truth—
That woman must never, ever be angered.
