Chapter 21

Edith ran breathlessly. The footsteps of the pursuing Stifts echoed so close that it felt as if they could swallow her whole at any moment. Shouts like “Stop! Halt!” and the ear-splitting cracks of gunfire accompanied them. If it weren’t for the torrential rain, the darkness, and the vast city hall that obscured her vision, she would have already been struck by a bullet.

Fortunately, Edith knew the city hall’s interior inside and out, which allowed her to weave between buildings and escape.

Of course, even this advantage wouldn’t last much longer.

As her flight dragged on, the number of Stifts chasing her gradually increased. Having realized her clever use of buildings and alleys, they began to set up ambushes, slowly tightening the net. She could sense their presence from all directions.

“Huff… huff…”

Her labored breathing scorched her throat. At one point, her shoes even came off, letting the rough ground press against her bare feet. Most serious of all was the bullet that grazed her forearm—her clenched fist was soaked with blood. Still, Edith ran as if oblivious to it all. Then, at some point, she stumbled, as if caught on something.

“Ah!”

A scream slipped through her rain-soaked lips. Luckily, she didn’t fall—but one of the Stifts she had just passed spotted her as she rounded the corner.

“There she is!”

The pounding of military boots rang out—not just from behind, but from the front and sides too. Eyes, a mix of anxiety and fear, moved busily through the darkness. Hundreds of thoughts surged at once, yet before any could conclude, her legs moved on instinct—in the direction that made no sound. As she ran, she bit down hard on her trembling lips. She knew what awaited at the end of this path: a wall. It was a dead end.

Even knowing this, Edith couldn’t stop. She knew this exhausting sprint would only buy her a few minutes—or even seconds—but she refused to give up.

‘Leon.’

Even in the midst of her courage, her child came to mind, bringing tears to her eyes. My child, whom I never forgot, my Leon.

The risk she had taken wasn’t just out of patriotism—it was for her child. For her child, born a Berg, to grow as a Berg.

‘Please take care of Leon.’

A prayer for those who survived poured from her heart, mingled with tears.

And then, she finally reached the wall blocking her path.

Her racing feet slowed like a broken clock’s second hand and eventually stopped completely. As she paused, the raucous presence of the pursuers gradually faded.

A moment of stillness fell, as calm as the night before a storm. And in that silence, the click of a cocked gun sounded all the sharper to Edith.

“Hands up! Slowly turn around!”

Her bloodless hands rose through the rain toward the sky. In that state, Edith slowly opened and closed her eyes. She had expected to be terrified, but standing between the wall and the guns, she felt an unexpected calm.

She exhaled slowly and turned.

In the darkness, the glint of at least a dozen Stifts’ eyes flashed. Together with their weapons, they felt like gun barrels aimed directly at her.

Stepping forward one by one in firing stances, they closed the distance. When one drew near, he lunged at her, grabbing her by the hair with brutal strength despite her offering no resistance.

Were they going to take her to the camp? Or interrogate her first? Maybe even kill her right here?

Dragged along, Edith’s mind raced with fleeting thoughts.

Bang!

The single gunshot rang out.

Suddenly, the Stift holding her collapsed into the muddy ground. It wasn’t because of her—it was he who fell. Dazed, Edith smelled the metallic tang of blood and realized that it was the Stift’s blood, spilled on the ground she tumbled across.

“It’s an ambush!”

The guns aimed at her instantly turned toward the rear. A man, clad entirely in black, was walking toward them.

Time seemed to slow to a stop.

Each shot from the silenced gun sent the Stifts’ blood mixing with the rain across the floor.

The man who appeared out of nowhere moved as if he had practiced this moment hundreds of times. Everything he did was precise and sharp.

After using his guns for a while, when he ran out of bullets, he threw them aside without hesitation. Drawing a dagger from his coat, he became faster, even more silent. Wherever he moved, Stifts fell, pierced through either the neck or the chest.

Witnessing all of this, Edith nearly stumbled. Without leaning against the wall, she might have collapsed.

Was it from the blood loss? Or from the cruelty she had just seen?

Her cold, shivering body became detached from reality. Her vision blurred like a watercolor wash; her ears felt clogged as if submerged in deep water. The rain’s sound gradually faded until only two remained where all had fallen: her and the man. The rain continued, but all other sounds disappeared into a vast silence—everything except the man.

His face remained hidden in the darkness. His breath was rough, like a leopard pausing mid-chase. Dizziness struck her as if she might faint. She leaned against the wall, barely standing, as he slowly approached.

“Do you want to die? You should know when to stop.”

The low, furious voice reached her. Still, Edith couldn’t grasp the meaning fully—not because of the words, but because of the voice, so familiar, longed for, the man’s voice.

Finally, he stopped. The distance between them was close. His eyes, gray and silent like the sky above, stared at her. Only one person she had ever known had eyes that could make her stop breathing simply by looking. Buried feelings began to surface.

Could it be… you?

Words she could not voice lingered on her tongue.

Edith reached out into the air. Rain streamed down her pale hand, colder than before, slowly reaching toward the man’s masked face. Just before touching it, his large hand gently closed over hers. She met his gaze for a brief moment. She couldn’t tell what passed between them. Yet he no longer stopped her.

Her trembling hand finally removed his mask.

“…You… how?”

The voice she barely managed to utter shattered like broken glass. Their breath mingled in the cold air between them.

A strange feeling swept over Zecarte as well. He raised his wet hand and gently touched her pale cheek. For a fleeting moment, he was thankful it was raining; her cheek was far too delicate for his bloodied hand.

“Edith.”

The name he had never spoken aloud before, only whispered to himself, slipped from his lips. Her previously unfocused gaze sharpened. The grip of his hand on her cheek tightened.

Her gaze, pooled with rain, flowed down her cheek, nose, and lips. As his hand touched her, Zecarte felt the rigid shell he had built around his rationality begin to crack. Emotions he had long kept buried began to flow out.

“Edith.”

Calling her name again, Zecarte tilted his head impatiently. His hand drew her nape toward him. The distance between them closed rapidly, and their lips met with a collision.

The woman, whom he expected to resist, instead clung to him passionately. Her arms wrapped around his neck, rising onto her toes. Zecarte greedily kissed her cold lips. Her moans shattered his last bit of reason. Sliding his tongue into her mouth, feeling the wet flesh inside, he sensed her body tremble against his.

He held her closer, though they could not be any closer. The woman gasped for air, faint moans escaping each time he pressed into her.

The fierce, torrential kiss ended only when she collapsed into his arms. Only then did his dark eyes notice her injuries. Blood had soaked the floor from her arms down.

Zecarte lifted the unconscious Edith into his embrace.

“…Weak.”

From her lips came a faint voice, like someone wandering in a dream.