[Chapter 63]
Why did that man appear instead of Ian? And why did he stagger as if he were about to collapse? As I ran hastily toward Deon, countless thoughts flashed through my mind, yet my body had only one simple goal: I had to save that man first.
“Deon!”
I threw the obstructing shotgun to the ground. I ran straight toward him and tried to support Deon’s upper body, which seemed about to fall—but ended up collapsing along with him. His weight, falling without any control, felt like a massive statue. Like a deflated balloon, my lungs compressed unnaturally. No, worse—like being crushed flat under a heavy tome.
It didn’t hurt, but my breath caught, and my mind felt dizzy. In contrast, his hot, intermittent breaths brushed against my ear. I caught sight of Deon scrunching his face, struggling to maintain his composure.
“…Damn it.”
Through the scattering fragments of reason, the man finally noticed me and muttered a low curse. Embarrassed to show me such a state, he desperately tried to gather strength in his arms.
“Could this… be a berserk symptom?”
The question was swallowed by his ragged breathing. The moment he heard my voice, whatever thin thread of sanity remained in him seemed to snap completely. Even though it was broad daylight, his red eyes, locking on mine, gleamed like a predator’s in the dark, overwhelming me entirely.
It was always like this.
“…Huff, stop.”
Deon and I could never communicate through words.
“Deon,”
All we did was entangle and roll on the floor, gasping for breath. I tried to turn my head away from his relentless grasp, but his strong hands clamped over my jaw, covering my lips again.
In situations like this, I was always the one left miserable. Even if he regained his sanity, it would be the same. The question of whether he enjoyed it, the look of disgust, the curl of his lips as if pleased with the wounds on my face—this was all the situation meant to him.
“Did you like it?”
That monotonous tone from inside the wardrobe pierced my heart. When I finally regained control and bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, his body instinctively froze. This was my chance. I pushed away his body, which was magnetically drawn to me, with both arms.
“Deon, get a grip!”
His relentless actions finally ceased. The focused red eyes finally acknowledged me.
“…You.”
Deon, unable to speak, looked at me as if he’d been hit hard on the back of the head. His face, hardened, scrutinized me. Once at my pale, terrified face, and then at my lips, swollen and torn from his rough desire.
“Damn it.”
Only then did his face twist as he finally grasped the situation.
“…Do you think you’re the only one who hates this?”
But before Deon could respond, I took the lead.
“Why? Are you going to ask if I liked it just to be disgusted alone? It’s nauseatingly horrible to be treated this way by a man I don’t even want, you know?”
“I never said I hated you.”
“Of course. You didn’t hate me—you despised me.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, my pounding heart began to calm.
“…But I despise you too.”
Because I finally understood how much he had hated me. And I realized how much I hated him in return.
A brief, uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
The red eyes, which had been shaken violently by my words, stared blankly into the void for a moment. Surprisingly, he stepped back obediently, brushing his face slowly with his palm as if trying to ease his tension.
“You misunderstood.”
“What do you mean?”
“…I saw Lemoni’s diary.”
His distorted voice cracked.
“What you saw in your dream… it’s all true. By chance, I saw Lemoni’s diary. When I met her as a child, it wasn’t Lemoni, but you possessed by her. So…”
“What does that matter now?”
Deon’s eyes widened slightly at my words. Seeing such an unexpected reaction made me let out an involuntary laugh.
“You’re truly one-sided. You know, Deon? Just like you remembered the old me, I remember everything you did.”
Struggling to lift my upper body, I glared at him as if I could kill him.
“Forcing me to be a spectacle for the prisoners. Pretending to take me to Building C while taking the berserk potion to try to kill me. Forcing me to live when I wanted to die. Making unwanted physical contact despite my protests. Treating me well when I had nowhere to lean, then suddenly being cruel. I remember everything.”
At that moment, a voice called from afar.
“Deon, where have you been?”
But Deon seemed deaf to it, repeating only apologies.
“Apologize.”
“I refuse.”
“Apologize sincerely, one more time.”
“If you don’t want to, will you give up?”
“No. First, get up.”
Rough hands extended toward me, but I did nothing, only glared.
“Your love is similar to hate.”
“Sorry, that’s all I learned. I’ll fix it.”
Contrary to his words, Deon silently grabbed my hand and forced me up. But the more he did, the stronger my defiance grew.
“Stop useless actions and go to your subordinates who are desperately looking for you, Deon. That’s an order.”
He paused unconsciously, closely inspecting my slightly scraped elbow. His red eyes met mine. He seemed to understand my intent in ordering him, yet showed no anger or displeasure.
“…Kim Eunji.”
He just said my name.
Surprised by the sudden use of my real name, I turned to look at him—but he had already disappeared from my sight, returning to his subordinates. It wasn’t a warning. It was a calm reminder: you are not the kind of person who exploits others’ trauma.
But what did that matter?
Regaining my composure, I turned my head with a cold expression and set the ship in motion. I was no longer the five-year-old child he had known. I hoped he would realize that too.
Meanwhile…
“Ugh, disgusting. Did he really plan to kill an innocent woman just to take me?”
The sail, emblazoned with the black figure representing the Ernst Ducal House, stretched taut against the wind. Despite the threatening size cutting through the waves, a calm but sharp mocking voice carried across the deck.
“And with a gun developed in the Southern Empire? Aren’t you ashamed? You call yourselves knights, yet all the prisoners here are just targets for shooting.”
Trying to force expression on his mechanical face, Ian found the knight from the Ernst family standing silently beside him, emotionless as if a wooden puppet.
With no energy left, Ian put down his wine glass. If he went to the Ducal House like this, he might as well sell the registry. Everything related to the Ernst family was boring, with nothing appealing.
“But if you really shot that woman, it wouldn’t have ended nicely, you know?”
Finally, Ian’s pupils narrowed sharply like a knife. The knight glanced at him nervously.
Ian’s reason for being on the open sea aboard the Ernst ship was simple. Someone beyond the dark forest had been watching Lemoni. Fearing she might die, he judged it better to confront the assassin directly than stay near her.
“Hey. Speak up.”
But the assassin turned out to be an Ernst knight.
“You knew I’d come and deliberately targeted Lemoni, didn’t you?”
No response came. Losing patience, Ian looked around. Besides them, only the captain navigated the ship. If they could just kill this knight, they could threaten the captain and return to the island.
“The war will begin soon.”
Ian’s gaze whipped around at the knight’s sudden statement.
“What?”
“The Emperor has ordered preparations regarding this.”
The knight’s vacant, mechanical gaze fell to Ian, then returned to the attention stance.
War? Ian had never heard of it.
He knew the Ernst Ducal House had been preparing the “Monster Project,” but that was more of a raid than an actual war. Yet the knight’s tone suggested they would need to fight with everything they had.
