“Quick, go get Ed-nim!”
Ian glanced back at the hallway, which had descended into chaos in an instant.
At some point, the man from the terrace had come up behind him. He stretched the corners of his mouth into a broad grin.
“Aha. So you’re just a crazy bastard.”
And so, Ian had never expected what came next.
The day after receiving treatment, when he opened his eyes to find knights barging into his room, roughly binding him, and dragging him away, he remained perfectly composed.
The corridor he was being led through for the first time was crowded with people.
Most of them were unfamiliar faces, yet every single one stared at him with cold, hostile eyes.
Ian knew those looks well.
They didn’t bother him.
He did not know exactly why he was being confined here, but given his circumstances, he had never expected anything resembling a warm welcome.
One of the knights deliberately tightened his grip around Ian’s still-throbbing wrist.
Blood seeped through the white bandage.
Knowing full well that it was intentional, Ian said nothing and continued walking until they finally emerged from the long corridor.
“Oh my, he really did wake up.”
“I know. I was worried he might die.”
The moment he entered the spacious hall, the whispers grew louder.
Unlike when he had been standing on the distant terrace, now every murmur reached his ears clearly.
“I’ve never seen anyone from Rox before.”
A snicker followed someone’s whisper.
Even without understanding much else, Ian immediately realized that, to them, he was little more than a monkey in a zoo.
When he raised his head, he spotted the man from yesterday’s terrace standing some distance away.
Oddly enough, for someone frantically waving both hands to catch Ian’s attention, he merely mouthed the word, hello.
By now, Ian had no choice but to conclude that Rox was the name of a country.
And that the people here were extraordinarily hostile toward it.
To be dropped into a place this absurd only to face racial discrimination on top of everything else left a foul taste in his mouth.
After all, peel away a single layer of skin with a knife and everyone was nothing more than the same lump of flesh underneath.
It was just as that thought crossed his mind.
Every person who had been staring and whispering suddenly turned toward the entrance.
A hand tugged at Ian’s shoulder, turning him around almost naturally.
Someone was approaching from across the hall.
And the moment the figure came close enough for Ian to make out his face, his entire body went still.
His thoughts stopped.
It can’t be.
The words slipped from his lips in a faint murmur, but no answer came.
The unease that had clung to him since yesterday crept up from his ankles once again, rising until it seemed to meet his gaze.
With every approaching footstep, his pulse hammered harder.
A shiver ran through his body.
The man advanced at an unhurried pace and stopped before him, looking down.
His gaze was sharp as a flash of light.
His slightly disheveled hair was black as the deepest part of the night.
He was strikingly tall, with dark skin, long narrow eyes, and an air about him that, at first glance, seemed almost overly sensitive.
“This is the first time we’ve greeted each other while you were awake.”
Ah…
You’re the man I already killed.
The hall, which had been so noisy moments ago, fell completely silent.
Dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on one spot, as though everyone already knew what was about to happen.
It had been roughly a month since the prince of Rox arrived in the Shertian Empire.
Had everything gone according to plan, the ‘procession’ should already have been completed.
The prince’s carriage had been attacked shortly after crossing the border through the western nation of Schuyen.
The Higher Grand Duchy and Rox lay closer to one another than either did to the imperial capital, but the entire border between them had been sealed by a wall, making direct passage impossible.
And even without that obstacle, travelers would have had to cross the Black Forest.
For that reason, it was common knowledge that the safest route was through the neighboring country of Schuyen.
The Grand Duke’s knights had been scheduled to take over the prince’s escort from the Leveine territory, not far from the border.
Since Leveine bordered another country and was therefore heavily guarded, the arrangement had seemed more than secure enough.
Yet just before the carriage entered Leveine, unknown assailants attacked it in the middle of a vast pasture.
The aftermath was horrific.
The servants and escort knights from Rox had all been found beheaded.
Even the imperial soldiers had met the same fate.
And the prince, who had apparently taken refuge in one corner of the carriage, had not escaped unharmed.
By the time something seemed wrong and the knights rushed to the scene, the man was already on the verge of death.
The wound across his throat was deep.
They poured precious holy water over it, but even then, everyone present witnessed his arm fall limp as his breathing finally seemed to stop.
It was not Higher family territory.
But the attack had occurred after the party crossed the imperial border.
If Rox learned that its prince had been murdered there, no one could predict what demands they might make under that pretext.
Yet even more chilling than that possibility was the order Grand Duke Higher had personally given before their departure.
Escort him with the utmost care.
He was not a man who ordinarily said such things.
A chill ran down the knights’ spines.
One of them, his face nearly as pale as though he himself had just been beheaded, grabbed the prince’s limp wrist to check for a pulse.
Flinch.
With a faint groan, the man’s body spasmed.
His eyelids trembled.
Then he suddenly sucked in a ragged breath.
Everyone rushed toward him at once.
They poured out the last of the holy water they had brought and somehow managed to keep him breathing until they returned to the mansion.
Yet when they arrived, the Grand Duke—who had uncharacteristically come out to meet them at the entrance—said nothing.
The man in their arms was drenched in blood.
His breathing was so faint that it was almost imperceptible.
He did not even wheeze or groan in pain.
The Grand Duke merely stared at the dying man in silence, his expression more reminiscent of someone studying the carcass of an animal than looking upon a person.
No one dared speak.
“I went to the trouble of ordering you to escort him with care, so naturally I was very worried when he returned covered in blood.”
Everyone in the mansion had witnessed what had truly happened.
Yet not a single person there dared point out the obvious contradiction.
If anything, what made it more unsettling was the affectionate tone in which he spoke, as though he had genuinely been worried.
His delicately shaped eyes curved into gentle crescents.
There were surely people whose hearts would have fluttered at the sight of him, beautiful enough to have stepped straight out of a masterpiece.
“It’s good to see that you’re still breathing.”
Yet the person the Grand Duke was addressing gave no response at all.
The prince of Rox stood restrained between two knights, wearing an expression so vacant it looked as though his soul had left his body.
His features were delicate and handsome enough to make anyone look twice if their eyes happened to meet.
But rumor had it that his vocal cords had been severely damaged, leaving him unable to speak.
It was no wonder, then, that everyone without exception stared at him like some rare beast, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Before war had drenched the two nations in blood, there had once been some degree of exchange between them.
Now, however, a towering wall had been erected along their border.
Contact had been severed so thoroughly that, for most people here, this was their first time ever seeing someone from Rox in person.
And so, beneath the hostility, curiosity showed first.
Skin as pale as though snow had settled over it.
Ebony-black hair falling all the way to his waist.
Neither was common in the Shertian Empire.
After all, aside from Grand Duke Higher standing before him and the Emperor himself, achromatic hair was almost unheard of.
And then there was that flawless skin.
Unlike the people of the empire, who were born with markings somewhere on their bodies, the prince’s hands were completely clean.
Even the backs of them were unmarred.
Perhaps, if all his clothes were stripped away, there would be nothing beneath them but a perfectly unblemished white body.
For a moment, several gazes lingered strangely, as though imagining exactly that.
It was said that in Rox, a body without a single scar was considered the ideal.
A wound was regarded as a disgrace.
And among the nobility, even allowing one’s hair to be damaged was said to be shameful.
Growing it long without losing so much as a strand was considered a mark of status.
Yet the wrists of the man currently being held by force were a complete mess.
Even at a glance, anyone could tell that the bandages stained red with blood concealed wounds he had inflicted upon himself.
He must be terrified.
Even an idiot could have imagined what kind of treatment awaited him here from now on.
And standing before him was Logan Higher.
A man whose infamy was perhaps even greater in Rox—
or rather, because of Rox.
Everyone had just begun nodding to themselves, thinking it perfectly natural that the prince’s hands and feet would be frozen with fear, when—
“Ugh, grab him!”
The man who had been standing there blankly, looking as though he had just encountered someone who should have been dead, suddenly twisted free of the two knights restraining him.
In the next instant, he lunged forward.
He seized the gold-embroidered collar of the uniform and yanked it down.
Their eyes met from barely a handspan apart.
There was no time for anyone to process what had happened.
The swords of the men who had been standing a short distance away like decorations were instantly pointed in Ian’s direction.
He did not even notice them.
I’m sure I killed him.
So why is he alive?
Even with the man standing directly before him, Ian could not believe what he was seeing.
His fingers tightened around the collar.
The man allowed himself to be pulled down without resistance.
Logan effortlessly closed the nearly one-head difference in their heights.
He did not appear particularly surprised by Ian’s sudden action.
Then again, had anyone ever seen that man surprised?
Everyone else, however, was far beyond surprise.
They were horrified.
The servants and knights filling the hall stared with their mouths hanging open.
So did the nobles of the Shertian Empire, who had been summoned there for the formal purpose of welcoming the prince of Rox.
Every last one of them stared at Ian, who had fearlessly laid his hands on Logan Higher.
Who was Logan Higher?
He was the current Grand Duke of the Higher family, known as the Sword of the Empire.
As Empress Roselia’s cousin, he was also the sole legitimate bloodline of the royal family.
The Higher family had always been plagued by early deaths.
Logan, its only remaining heir, had inherited the title at the tender age of fifteen after losing both his parents.
Public opinion regarding the extraordinarily handsome man—blessed with both prestigious birth and beauty enough to draw sighs—was sharply divided.
Half the world worshipped and revered him like a god.
The other half clicked their tongues at his cruelty and did everything in their power to stay out of his sight.
To put it mildly, Logan was a man who had never learned to respect life.
To put it bluntly, he regarded killing others as an exceedingly simple and effortless thing.
As a minor, he had merely been someone whose thoughts no one could read.
But after coming of age, glimpses of something far more chilling had begun to surface.
And no one wanted to remember what had happened over the past year.
It had started with him gutting a noble who was fawning over him in an attempt to curry favor.
No one knew exactly what had provoked him.
But Logan had murdered the man in the middle of a banquet hall, in full view of everyone present.
Ordinarily, such an act should have resulted in immediate arrest and trial.
But that was impossible.
Every citizen of the empire knew why.
And afterward, no one dared speak carelessly in Logan’s presence.
Instead, increasingly bizarre rumors began spreading from mouth to mouth.
That the Grand Duke’s mansion was littered with corpses.
That Logan Higher’s blood was actually blue.
In short—
Logan was not a man who tolerated disrespect.
“Stand back.”
No one knew that better than his own knights.
The man standing directly behind Logan delivered the warning without lowering the sword he had drawn from his hip.
If the Grand Duke killed the man they had only just managed to save, the consequences would be troublesome in more ways than one.
A noble of their own country was one thing.
The prince of another nation was something else entirely.
The knight glanced toward the Grand Duke’s scabbard.
Just as he was about to step forward, Logan—who had willingly bent down for the man audacious enough to seize his uniform collar with his bare hands—finally opened his mouth.