MEBD 05

Chapter 05

The First Button Fastened Wrong (1)

After the first funeral, the people of House Wiltierra were hurrying along the still-snowy mountain paths, on their way to the second one.

It usually took about a week to reach the Marquisate from the capital if one took the main road heading east.

However, since they had to travel with the carriage bearing Bledin’s coffin, the Marquis had to choose the fastest route possible.

“Mother, are you still feeling unwell?”

Inside the swaying carriage, Berenice asked worriedly, gently rubbing the Marchioness’s back.

She had seemed fine while they traveled on flat roads, but the moment they entered the mountains, the Marchioness’s complexion turned drastically pale.

She appeared to be suffering from severe motion sickness. The Marquis had considered slowing down, but only half an hour ago, his wife had shaken her head, refusing—her eyes fixed on the carriage carrying her son’s coffin.

“Father, I think we should rest for a bit,” Lowell said, his face filled with concern just like Berenice’s, as he looked at their mother.

After glancing around the carriage, the Marquis gently took his wife’s hand, patting it reassuringly before opening the window and ordering a brief stop.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured weakly.

“It’s all right. Bledin would want you to think of your health first. Don’t apologize,” the Marquis replied softly, helping her down and supporting her trembling frame with care.

Berenice watched her parents lean against one another, their eyes fixed on the coffin carriage. Her gaze then shifted toward Lowell, who was moving briskly, searching for a place their mother could sit and rest.

Perhaps because Bledin had given up his position as heir early on, Lowell had long assisted their father in managing family affairs. His composure and authority in giving orders now looked entirely natural.

Although this was a remote mountain road, it was still maintained for occasional travelers, wide enough for carriages to pass.

That must have been why the Marquis chose it—cleaned and cleared of obstacles, though that also meant there were few tree stumps or boulders suitable for sitting.

Should I look around too?

Still clutching Bledin’s sword to her chest, Berenice glanced around, then stepped off the path into the forest.

It was still midday, the sun high overhead, and she had no intention of going deep in—so it shouldn’t be dangerous.

Even if danger arose, a single signal would summon the Marquisate’s knights stationed nearby to protect her.

Of course, I’d probably outrun them before that.

Not to boast, but Berenice had evaded the Imperial trackers for eight long years.

If nothing else, she was confident in her ability to sense danger and escape it faster than anyone else in the Empire.

Actually, maybe that is something to be proud of.

With an ironic smile at the thought, she wandered farther in, snow crunching underfoot—and soon her eyes widened in awe.

A forest of towering evergreens stretched before her, their deep green branches heavy with snow.

Wherever the sky peeked through, soft white snow glistened, creating a picturesque harmony with the sharp, upward-reaching trees.

“Wow…”

She let out an involuntary breath, her voice a mist of white in the cold air. Then, out of habit, she scanned her surroundings for signs of human presence.

It was a reflex she had developed during her fugitive years, having narrowly escaped death countless times.

Back then, even unfamiliar places hid assassins waiting for her.

And yet, she had survived—proof of the instincts she’d honed through those years.

I was just lucky, she murmured, confirming there were no traces of people nearby.

She mentally mapped escape routes next—another survival habit that had kept her alive through endless pursuit.

—Tuduk—

Some time passed before the sudden sound made her flinch. Berenice instantly crouched low, slipping behind a thick, dark tree.

Snow?

A quick glance showed a small pile of snow at the base of a tree that hadn’t been there before. It must have fallen from a branch under its own weight.

I should go back.

She’d seen enough of the scenery. There was no suitable place for her mother to rest, so she should return quickly anyway.

Even if she found a spot here, it would be impossible to bring her mother this far.

Just as she began to rise—

Blood?

A faint, unmistakable metallic scent reached her nose.

Berenice froze, pressing her back against the tree, every sense on edge. Her amber eyes sharpened with alertness.

There had been nothing there moments ago—yet now the air carried the distinct tang of blood.

A person? Or an animal?

Either way, it was dangerous.

But since the Marquis’s carriages were nearby, she had to confirm what it was.

Focusing, Berenice used her heightened senses—sharper since her regression—to trace the source of the smell.

It’s not far.

Normally, she would have called the knights guarding the vicinity.

But something told her she needed to see this for herself.

Since her return in time, she had learned to trust such intuitions—they were often divine warnings or guidance.

Then I should move.

From her cloak, she drew a small whistle—barely the length of two fingers.

Each family member had taken one before leaving the capital, to use in case of emergency.

Clutching it tightly in one hand and Bledin’s sword in the other, she took a deep breath and began moving carefully through the snow.

She advanced slowly, adjusting even her breathing.

Before long, she spotted it—a figure lying slumped against a large tree.

The air was thick with the smell of blood, pooling darkly around him. His entire body was cloaked in black.

Is he dead?

She couldn’t see his face beneath the hood, but judging by his build and clothing, the person was likely a man.

What should she do?

Then she noticed his chest—rising and falling faintly. He was still alive.

Scanning the area, she sensed no other presence.

That meant—for now—he was alone.

Still, I should call the knights.

Berenice crouched behind a tree again, her eyes narrowing as she raised the whistle to her lips.

A sharp, long note rang out—a signal only the trained knights of House Wiltierra would recognize.

Even from this distance, it would reach them.

Estimating the carriage’s direction, Berenice stood and approached the fallen man cautiously.

He wasn’t moving, but a wounded man could still lash out unpredictably. She kept her guard high, each step deliberate.

Finally, she reached him—close enough to see the shallow breath fogging from his lips.

She bent down, peering into the shadow of his hood—

And froze.

Tanned skin. Black hair like the night.

Strong brows, closed eyes, a straight nose, lips pale from blood loss, and a sharp jawline.

She knew that face. She knew what color those eyes would be when they opened—and what kind of voice came from those lips.

“…You’re… not here… to kill me… are you?”

That voice.

Even near death, it still carried power—low and commanding.

And then—

“Who… are you?”

Those eyes opened, burning red like living flame, the kind that scorched everything it touched—including the one who bore it.

“Your Highness Kaiden… Why are you here?”

Kaiden Manus.

The second prince of Egonid, the late crown prince’s younger brother—

And the man who, in her past life, had pursued Berenice to her final breath, demanding only one question.