Chapter 9
“Pardon?”
“You said that it was my blood that was used.”
“Yes. His Highness misunderstood, thinking it was your blood, my lady.”
“So, then why…”
After a brief silence, Lillia hurriedly asked,
“Was the ‘secret’ you asked me to keep that conversation we had that day? You wanted me to tell His Highness that it was my blood, didn’t you?”
“…Yes.”
I recalled what I’d said to her that day.
“But, Lady Lillia, please keep it a secret that I asked this of you.”
That’s exactly what I said, and yet—
“Ah… ah.”
Outside the door, Lillia began pacing frantically before dropping to the ground with a thud.
“I thought you wanted to tell him yourself. I thought you meant to keep it a secret that it was my blood.”
Even in her flustered state, Lillia tried to speak gently, as if sparing my feelings—but what she really meant was this:
She thought I’d stolen her act of sacrifice, claiming her blood as my own to win favor with the Crown Prince.
So basically—she thought I was trash.
I almost blurted out, “So you think I’m garbage?” but stopped myself.
Because, well… that actually was something Penelope Lloyd would’ve done.
She was always desperate to shine—especially when it came to anything involving Isdorion.
Taking credit for someone else’s deed to make herself look good? That was Penelope’s specialty.
“I’m really sorry, my lady.”
Lillia’s apology came with a deep sigh, her voice muffled like her hands were covering her face.
…But wait. If she thought I stole her sacrifice—then why was she so happy last night?
“You were punished because of me,” she murmured.
Sure, I felt a little wronged, but I hadn’t explained myself clearly either. I never imagined she’d interpret it that way.
“I really am sorry.”
Lillia apologized again and again, sounding genuinely remorseful. But now that the misunderstanding was cleared, it was fine.
“The Duke and His Highness both scolded you so harshly because of that misunderstanding,” she said.
The Duke and the Crown Prince… well, they already hated Penelope Lloyd. A little more resentment wouldn’t even make a dent. And honestly, compared to the problem I was facing now, their hatred meant nothing.
Because the real issue was my reaction to blood.
Would it dull again over time like before? Or was this heightened sensitivity something permanent?
Those were the questions that truly mattered.
So, I only needed to calm Lillia down, reassure her, and send her off.
But before that… there was one thing I couldn’t resist asking.
“…Then, Lady Lillia,” I said carefully.
“Why were you so happy yesterday?”
“Lillia! Aren’t you going to eat?”
My question was drowned out completely by Wuben’s voice calling from down the hall.
“Ah, Wuben! I’m coming!”
She thought I was using her, yet she’d looked so overjoyed.
How could she still be so naïve after everything Penelope had done to her? Honestly… what a fool.
“My lady, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
“…Is your wound all right?”
“Oh, yes! Much better!”
“And the bleeding stopped?”
“Yes, around noon. It wasn’t that deep anyway.”
“That’s good.”
Lillia’s soft laughter drifted through the door.
“My lady, would you like to come eat with us?”
“No. I think I’ll rest for tonight.”
“Will you come out in the morning, then?”
“Yes.”
Lillia, ever the embodiment of kindness, wished me a good rest—and even told me to come find her if I needed anything, just to be sure.
As if she were determined to bury any trace of guilt for having once resented me.
“By the way, sis, have you seen the Duke? I think he was headed your way…”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Maybe he went zombie hunting?”
Their voices faded gradually down the corridor until there was only silence.
‘No matter what happens, I can’t bite Lillia.’
That was my resolve—to be a zombie who at least knew gratitude.
Moonlight, unobscured by clouds, streamed in through the ivy-covered window, casting a pale glow across the room.
And in that faint light, I saw it.
“…What the…”
My gaze locked on the mirror.
The reflection of the woman staring back—arched eyes, smooth forehead, delicate nose, and lips tinged with soft red—slowly began to warp.
The flawless white skin she’d once been proud of now showed faint, dark blue veins.
Starting from her neck, one long vein crawled up her right cheek. The very mark I’d tried so desperately to hide—a zombie’s sign.
“Why…?”
In the novel, it said that cold water turned me back into a human-like form. That was how I’d fooled everyone and made it into the fortress.
So why were the veins showing again?
I ran my fingers over my face, then hurriedly pulled off my clothes.
Blue veins were rising again along my chest and around the old bite on my thigh. The change started from my heart and crept upward toward my face.
There was only one visible vein on my face—just one.
But even that single mark froze my mind blank in panic.
“……”
After a moment, I forced myself to breathe and put my clothes back on. I had to think rationally.
There were only two possible reasons this was happening:
Either too much time had passed… or the scent of blood had excited me.
I didn’t know which yet, but maybe—just maybe—if I immersed myself in cold water again, I could return to normal.
…I could, right?
No—I would.
I leaned out the window and scanned the grounds. A stream ran through the fortress: flowing from the northwest, cutting across the inner courtyard, and exiting toward the northeast.
It wasn’t for drinking—probably used for washing clothes—but it was deep enough to submerge myself in.
I pushed aside the heavy desk blocking my door and slipped out quietly.
It would’ve been best to do this secretly at dawn, when everyone was asleep. But zombies, once night fell, became inactive—they slept.
The timing varied from one to another, but once the sun set and all stimuli faded, we drifted into slumber.
And I was no exception. The sun had already gone down.
‘I have to do it now.’
If I waited for midnight, I’d fall asleep myself—and that would be disastrous.
If Isdorion had properly used Lillia’s blood, he’d return to the fortress tomorrow. And once he did, he’d come find me—furious, no doubt.
So my chance was now—while everyone was gathered in the dining hall for dinner.
‘Five minutes is enough.’
Without another thought, I dove straight into the canal.
When the Crown Prince entered through the castle gates, holding Lillia Swedy’s hand, Duke Heresden Dwayne immediately understood the situation.
Penelope Lloyd was dead.
He felt neither sadness nor surprise. It was, after all, a consequence of her own making.
If she hadn’t caused that chaos, more people might’ve survived to reach this fortress. Because of her reckless actions, countless lives were lost—including her own.
She’d brought death upon herself, and he had no sympathy for that. No one mourned for Penelope Lloyd.
Yet, Lillia Swedy’s eyes were always swollen, as if she cried alone every night—and the Crown Prince often stared into space, dazed, like a man haunted.
That was strange enough, but the Duke was shocked most of all by him.
That the Crown Prince—of all people—would grieve for Penelope Lloyd.
But that was only the beginning of his astonishment.
Because the girl who could barely walk, who had no survival instincts to speak of—
—Penelope Lloyd was alive again.
