Chapter 67
“…There may come a time when I can’t save you.”
“…Ah.”
“For the sake of those who worry about you, cherish yourself.”
It was a cold statement, as if he himself was not included among those “who worry.” The warmth from just a moment ago vanished instantly.
“I’ll be careful. I don’t want to see Father and Serel sad.”
I smiled faintly, lowering my head quietly.
It wasn’t wrong. My way of fighting was to give flesh and take bone, always assuming I’d be injured. The only reason things had ended relatively intact this time was sheer luck.
…That power earlier, what was it? Was that really me?
If it hadn’t been, then as Khalid said, I had merely thrown myself into danger.
I had no regrets, but once again, I was saved. I couldn’t keep relying on rescue and fortune.
If I wanted to protect myself—and protect others—I needed a power that was truly my own. Not just a tiny needle in my hand, but real, undeniable strength that could shield and defend.
If that was really my power…
It was then. Without a sound, a shadow appeared before Khalid and revealed itself.
“My lord. You must see this for yourself.”
He was Khalid’s shadow, a member of the intelligence organization Basrain.
* * *
Following Basrain, we arrived at a waterlogged lowland. Hidden within the ruins, it was shrouded in secrecy.
Collapsed remains of buildings and thick tree roots concealed the area, and in the middle, a ship rested in silence, cloaked in darkness.
When we stepped onto the deck, short footsteps echoed out of the shadows.
“My lord.”
The one who emerged from the darkness was Zerman. Beyond the mist—denser even than in the shanty town—dim lights flickered. It seemed other Basrain operatives were waiting nearby.
Khalid’s secret organization, the Shadow Knights… To think I’d actually see them like this.
On the surface, only the Elbardan royal guard was known. But in truth, all intelligence, surveillance, and espionage were the work of Basrain.
Even in my days as Rivière, I had encountered them a few times and recognized them immediately. But I dared not show it.
How suspicious would it look if the marquis’s adopted daughter, freshly arrived from the eastern continent, already knew of the Crown Prince Khalid’s secret organization? I pretended ignorance.
“What did you find?”
Khalid’s question was curt. Zerman bowed deeply before replying.
“There are traces of people being imprisoned for experiments. They seemed to be operating very systematically. Aside from the one who appeared to be the leader, we eliminated the rest.”
“…Experiments?”
I gasped before I could stop myself. Zerman’s gaze shifted to me.
Khalid glanced at me briefly, then nodded, signaling him to continue.
“The ship’s interior was used mainly for experiments. Some cleanup was incomplete, but… it would be best if you saw it yourself.”
If even Zerman spoke with such gravity, it could not have been an ordinary experiment.
When I stepped forward at his words, Zerman hesitated for a moment. His eyes trembled faintly—as if to stop me, yet unwilling to. Soon, he simply bowed and moved aside.
“This way.”
We followed him across the deck and down toward the cabin.
The staircase leading inside was damp, carrying with it the rusted tang of iron and the stench of blood.
When the door opened, a choking wave of foul air spilled out, brushing against my face like a suffocating fog.
The corridor inside was narrow, its walls rotting and near collapse. On either side, rows of partitioned rooms stretched endlessly.
“…This is the laboratory.”
Zerman’s voice was dry, stripped of all emotion. He was deliberately keeping any feelings out of it.
My breath caught. Not because of the smell, but because of the horrific sight before me.
My lips trembled, but no sound emerged. Slowly, I reached out and touched the rough planks of a makeshift fence.
The shoddy barriers, patched together from decaying wood, were not meant to restrain anyone properly. They looked as though they could snap with the smallest force.
Inside those enclosures, people huddled together on piles of straw, blank eyes staring vacantly into space.
Knees pulled up, shoulders trembling faintly, their gazes lifeless. With skeletal bodies treated like livestock, they sat motionless, stripped of will.
“They’ve been like that continuously. No matter how we call to them, they do not regain awareness.”
“…They’ve lost reason?”
“That is how it appears.”
“Any with their minds intact?”
“Perhaps one child, newly captured, could still communicate. But…”
“But?”
“He repeatedly harmed himself to remain conscious. The wounds are deep. He is receiving treatment now, but I doubt he’ll last long.”
Even Khalid and Zerman, usually so composed, faltered before such horror. That was how dire this place was.
The air reeked of blood, sweat, and rot. Worse still, seared marks like brands were etched across the victims’ skin.
Everywhere on the fences, faded markings were pasted haphazardly—likely used to classify the test subjects.
My mouth went dry. Words would not come. Seeing them caged like beasts, unable even to scream, I felt my breath stop.
“…In the next room, the research records remain.”
As I stood frozen, trembling but unable to look away, Khalid stepped closer and gently covered my eyes.
“We’ll be able to save them.”
“…And if we can’t?”
“Then we must anyway. That’s why we came here.”
I bit my lip hard. He was repeating the same words I had once told Roan, now returning them to me.
Then, firm yet gentle, he pressed my shoulder and guided me out of the room.
His clenched fists, tightened jaw, and heavy voice betrayed the fury he couldn’t conceal. But this time, his words were genuine comfort, and they barely managed to steady me again.
Without a word, Zerman opened the next door.
It wasn’t as gruesome as before, but the scattered papers and shattered instruments made it clear what this room had been.
Zerman picked up one document from a desk and handed it to Khalid.
“It appears experiments with anesthetics were conducted here.”
“…The same thing used on Shurel?”
“Yes. According to the records.”
The drug used on Shurel had been a dangerously concentrated anesthetic. Only licensed physicians, in tightly controlled amounts, were permitted to handle it. The Empire strictly monitored it.
Its main ingredient was essentially a poisonous herb—something no ordinary person should ever access.
I frowned deeply. A strange sense of recognition rose within me. Perhaps it was the lingering shock, but my head swam as I pressed a hand to my temple.
Then, from the floor, a scattered sheet caught my eye. Though it was surely another horrific record, my gaze was inexplicably drawn to it.
I reached down carefully, lifting it. The pages slipped, and fragments of notes spilled out.
**『Subject 48692 – Total 5 injections. No reaction. Nerve damage.
Subject 48693 – Total 8 injections. Sensory dulling. Motor paralysis. Replacement scheduled.
…Failure. Determined impossible to administer high-dose anesthetic daily. Dosage and timing require adjustment. With proper control, usable immediately.
…Opposition from Bellaniv nobility. Requested separation of commoners and slaves during capture.
…Rumors spread to restrict outings. Caution advised to avoid misidentifying citizens during capture.』**
A chillingly mechanical record, devoid of a shred of humanity.
And on the corner of the page, just one word scribbled:
『ADAM – possibility…』
My heart plummeted.
I read the familiar word again and again, unable to believe it. My mind tangled into chaos, lips parched.
Even after reading it, I didn’t want to accept it. No—I couldn’t.
…They’ve really… started again.
