He knew only the man’s title—the Grand Duke—and the fact that his body was frail. Beyond that, he knew nothing of any real importance.
Unaware that even this was a grave misunderstanding, Ian took another step forward.
The man silently watched the crimson footprints Ian left behind with every step. Aside from the blood splattered across his clothes, he looked no different from before.
A faint sense of relief washed over Ian when he realized the man was unharmed.
The exhaustion he had been holding at bay rushed over him all at once, as though it had merely been waiting for permission, and Ian suddenly recalled that morning.
The man standing in the entryway, looking as though he alone existed in the season of spring.
That face he had not seen in so long.
That single step he had always taken first to close the distance between them.
What was there to be happy about?
The man was someone he had killed.
The sheer irony of it made Ian feel as though he might burst out laughing.
Had something gone wrong with his head after being thrown into this unknown world?
Not wanting to watch someone die.
It was a thought far too unlike him—a man who had spent his entire life killing people.
A dry laugh slipped through his parted lips before he could stop it.
He had no idea what kind of expression he was making.
“Hh…”
That was the last thing he remembered.
As his vision darkened, Ian closed his eyes, and his body crumpled as though its strings had been cut.
The snow settling over his fallen back did not even melt.
He heard several knights rushing toward him, perhaps having seen him collapse after finally reaching his limit.
Logan was still staring intently at Ian.
As though he had just witnessed something utterly baffling.
Something deeply strange.
***
…There was something heavy gripped in my hand.
I held my breath as much as possible, closed my eyes, and focused on the sounds around me.
I could have just left again.
The damned documents were in the other room. There was nothing in here.
But despite my attempt to think positively, the loud click of a door opening rang out.
I had been watching him for several months, but this was the first time I had ever been this close to him.
For now, I had hastily hidden inside the closet, but he was exceptionally sharp.
I had received intel that he was supposed to meet with a Wang Wihan1 at nine o’clock, and I had personally confirmed that he had gotten into the waiting car before infiltrating the building.
He was the sort of man who pathologically hated being late to an appointment.
I had expected him to be gone for at least an hour.
Yet not even five minutes had passed before voices drifted up from downstairs.
I vaguely heard someone say that he had forgotten some documents.
I was about to escape through the window I had used to get in when I sensed a presence there as well.
Fucking hell.
Nothing was going right today.
My cheek, which had been struck earlier that morning, throbbed painfully, but the priority was getting out without being discovered.
I controlled even the sound of my breathing, hoping he would simply find the documents and leave.
Unfortunately, the footsteps were coming this way.
Three steps.
I opened my eyes.
Beyond the door, there would be a whole crowd waiting for him—executive secretaries and whatever else they called themselves.
Two steps.
I adjusted the muzzle of the gun in my hand.
I had not been able to attach a silencer, so the moment I put a bullet through the man’s head, everyone outside would know.
But I could not simply allow myself to be caught.
One step.
The instant I sensed him directly in front of me, light flooded my vision.
The closet door slid smoothly open.
I thrust out my arm at once, the muzzle of the gun pressing against skin.
Aiming precisely at the man’s neck, Ian silently mouthed,
Shhh.
“So, this is the first time we’re greeting each other.”
Yet even with a gun pressed to his throat, the man spoke calmly.
Where had he heard that voice before?
Something about the way he spoke was strangely familiar.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, a sharp crackle of static pierced his ears.
The clear image before him distorted as though the screen itself had fractured.
Ah.
As though he had suddenly realized something, Ian’s expression clouded.
The pressure of his finger against the trigger loosened.
Chzzk—
His vision flickered wildly once more, like a signal cutting in and out.
This is a dream.
The instant he became aware of it, their eyes met.
Ian’s outstretched arm fell.
At the same moment, a large hand came up and cupped his cheek.
The heat of it felt almost hot enough to burn.
We should never have met like this.
It was the beginning he had regretted again and again.
Dozens of times.
When Ian opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the ceiling that had now become familiar.
He felt as though he had been dreaming.
But aside from a vague impression, he could remember nothing clearly.
His head throbbed so fiercely it felt as though it might split apart, so Ian clenched his teeth and drew in a short, deep breath.
He repeated it a couple of times.
Only then did the pain begin to ease.
He was alone in the spacious room.
Tadak.
The crackle of burning firewood finally brought Ian fully to his senses.
He pushed himself upright.
Why was he here?
As he searched through his muddled thoughts, the memory soon returned.
He must have collapsed in the snow.
Ian rubbed a hand over his face, then abruptly stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Slowly, he opened his hand.
The skin of his palm was smooth.
There was not a single wound.
His palm had definitely been torn open.
He could still vividly remember the sensation of blood dripping from it.
Frowning, Ian quickly threw aside the thick duvet covering him.
His feet resting on the sheets were no different.
The frostbitten feet that had turned purple, as though stained with paint, were gone.
In their place were only pale, unblemished insteps.
“…”
There were two conclusions he could draw from the situation.
One, he had been unconscious for several months.
Two, this world possessed medical science far beyond that of the modern era.
Of course, he knew that neither explanation made any sense.
If that were true, they should have been able to heal the injury to his throat immediately as well.
Even though more than a month had passed, a faint reddish scar still remained on Ian’s neck, though it was barely noticeable unless one looked closely.
Either way, that meant neither possibility explained why his body was now completely uninjured.
Ian was still staring at his hand, lost in thought, when—
Knock, knock.
The door opened immediately afterward.
There was no need to guess who it was.
“You collapse every time.”
His tone was reproachful, yet his face was bright in direct contrast to his words.
Wondering whether something good had happened, Ian gave a vague nod.
Ed approached the bed and bowed his head.
“You must have been exhausted. You slept soundly for an entire day.”
So his first guess was wrong too.
Ian mentally drew a large X through it.
Then he noticed Ed’s gaze drift toward his hand.
Ian quickly tapped his fingers against his palm, silently demanding an explanation.
Ed merely smiled.
He offered nothing else.
Ian understood perfectly well.
The man was unnaturally perceptive.
He knew exactly what Ian was asking.
Which meant he was deliberately refusing to answer.
The number of moments in which Ian found himself frustrated by his inability to speak was steadily increasing.
“Lord Ian.”
At the soft voice, Ian raised his eyes.
Ed wore the same pleasant smile as always, but Ian immediately sensed something different beneath it and blinked.
If someone asked whom Ian had seen most often since waking in this place, he would have answered Edward without hesitation.
Even the smallest matters passed through his hands.
Yet despite the honorifics, the meals he brought, and the countless conveniences he saw to, Ian had never once felt that Edward was genuinely friendly toward him.
But now…
Something was different.
The corners of Ed’s pleasantly wrinkled eyes curved once more as he opened his mouth.
Sensing that he was about to say something important, Ian remained silent.
Bang!
The door flew open with a violent crash.
Ian and Ed turned toward it at the same time.
The woman standing there, suddenly receiving both their attention, wore the expression of someone who had finally found the right place.
And there was blood on her head.
…Blood?
“So you were here.”
“Aily?”
“I could tell from your pale skin. No wonder I couldn’t find you, even after searching every cell in the dungeon.”
Her tone suggested that she had been looking for him for quite some time.
But that was hardly the issue.
The woman had entered with a perfectly calm expression despite the blood streaming from her forehead and soaking into her clothes.
Nothing about the sight was normal.
Whatever interpretation she drew from Ian’s expression—which plainly said, What is this now?—she froze for about two seconds.
Combined with all the blood, the look on her face was rather grotesque.
“Ah, that wasn’t meant as a discriminatory remark. It was simply the most intuitive way to distinguish you. My apologies if you were offended.”
That’s not the problem.
But even Ed, Ian’s last hope, merely chuckled before speaking.
“Lord Ian, this is Aily, the head of the handmaidens.”
Why would the head of the handmaidens walk in with blood pouring from her head?
Was this, too, somehow part of the daily routine here that Ian simply did not know about?
After several similar experiences, he had already given up trying to apply conventional logic to this place.
His eyes went blank.
The woman approached the bed and introduced herself in an utterly composed tone.
“Yes, I’m Aily. I’ve only just returned, so this is our first time meeting. Let’s skip the handshake, skip the pleasantries, and go straight to why I’m here. Would that be all right?”
There was no reason it would not be.
Ian nodded.
Aily paused for a beat, apparently out of courtesy, then went directly to the point.
“I’m here to inform you that, starting tomorrow, Lord Ian will be assigned to the knights.”
The only problem was that the point came completely out of nowhere.