Chapter 4
Thunk!
Arnulf’s desperately kicked foot struck Sigmund’s shin.
By sheer luck, it loosened Sigmund’s grip enough for Arnulf to break free.
“Ugh… Huff… Gah…”
Gasping heavily, Arnulf bent over, hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. His neck throbbed from being gripped so roughly, and it still felt as if something was pressing against him.
“What… huff… on earth… huff huff… are you doing…”
After a long while, he wiped the sweat from his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened up. He then clicked his tongue inwardly as he looked at Sigmund, still glaring at him with a murderous intensity.
He understood why Sigmund looked so terrifying. To him, Joseph must be the sworn enemy who killed Arnulf.
I should be grateful he didn’t swing his sword the moment he saw me.
Still, the situation was awkward. He had no time to think about what to do because this unexpected encounter had already escalated.
Medical staff, patients, and visitors in the hospital couldn’t approach the pair due to the terrifying atmosphere. Some even backed away in fear.
Some of them might even rush to the security guards to report the incident, which would only make things more complicated.
Arnulf realized that if he wanted to get out of this situation, he would need to handle it himself first. Otherwise, it looked like Sigmund might strike again.
“Sir Sigmund… about Arnulf…”
Saying his own name felt awkward, but Arnulf deliberately ignored the feeling. Right now, calming down the man glaring at him was his top priority. He planned to attempt conversation by expressing regret over the incident.
“Shut up, Joseph Pomozein! Don’t you dare put that precious name in your mouth!”
Before he could even finish, Sigmund’s sharp words cut him off. The violet eyes, now brighter than before, seemed only to fuel his anger further.
This is troublesome.
Arnulf clicked his tongue inwardly. He hadn’t expected Sigmund to be unable to control his emotions to this degree. He knew Sigmund was particularly sensitive about matters concerning him, but this was extreme.
“No, I—I just… wanted to apologize.”
Arnulf spoke calmly, trying to avoid escalating things, but it only seemed to provoke Sigmund more.
“Hah! Apologize? You dare speak such words?”
As Sigmund’s eyes flashed, his sword was drawn from its sheath.
“I’ll kill you right now!”
The blade, resembling a spark of fire, pressed against Arnulf’s throat. Blood trickled from a cut on his skin.
“Ahh! Sir Joseph!”
Pin, watching from nearby, screamed. The sword’s sharp edge seemed ready to slice through Arnulf’s neck at any moment.
Crimson blood ran ominously along the uneven blade, dripping drop by drop to the floor.
Yet Arnulf remained surprisingly calm. He thought, I’ve been in similar situations at club social parties recently, but this is different.
“Please, put the sword away.”
Arnulf’s composed demeanor slightly shifted Sigmund’s expression. He couldn’t reconcile this person in front of him with the Joseph he knew. There was a calmness in his eyes that reminded him, fleetingly, of someone familiar.
Am I going mad?
Sigmund muttered to himself. Since that day, he hadn’t rested, slept, or eaten properly, so it wasn’t surprising he was seeing things.
Arnulf noticed Sigmund smiling bitterly and cautiously moved to push the sword away from his neck. Despite its ornate appearance, the sword was terrifyingly lethal, capable of slicing flesh.
Finally, stepping back to a safe distance, Arnulf spoke again.
“It was an accident, but it was my fault. I sincerely… apologize. I am truly sorry.”
His tone was calm, almost emotionless. Sigmund stared at him as if he were an incomprehensible creature.
He didn’t know Joseph to be so composed. He only knew him as fiery and hot-headed, like his flaming hair. Calmly observing, soothing, and yet composed?
Arnulf noticed a new detail: Sigmund’s face was extremely gaunt. His jawline sharper, dark shadows under his eyes.
Why do you look like that?
Arnulf’s eyes trembled slightly with unspoken regret and concern. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. This wasn’t the time to linger in Sigmund’s presence.
He slowly backed away, like escaping from a wild animal, finally gathering Pin, who had been frozen in shock, and hurriedly retreated.
At the Royal Hospital, Dr. Peter was so tense he couldn’t even wipe the cold sweat from his brow. Sigmund’s unnerving glare made it feel as if the man would strike him down at any moment.
“Joseph Pomozein, what happened?”
Finally speaking, Sigmund’s low voice carried an undeniable pressure.
“Uh… yes, yes. He suddenly contacted us, saying he wanted to leave the hospital.”
Peter responded briskly, voice tight.
“Today? That’s odd. I thought we were just informed that he had regained consciousness recently.”
Tilting his head slightly, Sigmund questioned. Peter stiffened, like prey facing a predator.
“Uh… well… there was no time to inform anyone, so…”
“No time?”
Sigmund interrupted, cutting off Peter’s stammering. His voice was still devoid of emotion, but his presence made Peter’s whole body tremble.
“Uh… um… Prince Pomozein regained consciousness this morning. There were no signs until after lunch. Then suddenly, he contacted us saying he was leaving. And he left the hospital immediately, so there was nothing we could do.”
Even Peter had no way to prevent it. The queen had already covered all medical costs, leaving no grounds to stop him.
But he doubted Sigmund would understand that. Usually calm and reserved, this man now exuded a deadly aura.
Did Prince Arnulf shock him into changing?
People often change drastically after traumatic events. Everyone knew Sigmund’s loyalty to Prince Arnulf. They had graduated from the same Royal Academy, and whenever Arnulf was on the frontier or at war, Sigmund had always accompanied him. Losing such a lord could explain a change in behavior.
Still, Peter’s concern was his own life. He had to survive.
“I-I apologize, Sir Sigmund. I didn’t expect Prince Pomozein to leave the hospital so quickly. It was my fault.”
Wiping his sweat-soaked brow, Peter explained, powerless to prevent a noble’s departure. The thought of the man in front of him, who looked ready to kill at any moment, forced Peter to beg for mercy.
“He regained consciousness today, and moreover, he has lost his memory…”
Peter desperately tried to explain why he couldn’t stop Joseph.
“Lost his memory?”
“Yes. He didn’t recognize himself at all.”
“Are you sure?”
Peter rubbed his damp hands on his pants, recalling his conversation with Joseph.
“He kept asking if he really was Joseph.”
“Yes, Sir Joseph. Do you feel any pain, dizziness, or see anything unusual?”
Peter questioned cautiously, wondering if he was hallucinating due to medication. If so, Joseph would need psychiatric care, not the Royal Hospital.
“Not a dream… this is really Joseph’s body?”
Joseph repeatedly asked, disbelief clear on his face. Only then did Peter realize Joseph’s state was unusual, not due to drugs. He had seen memory-loss patients before, and Joseph exhibited similar behaviors: confusion, denial of circumstances, repeatedly asking who he was.
“Yes. He repeatedly asked if he really was Joseph. Memory loss is certain.”
Sigmund’s piercing violet eyes fixated on him, making Peter shiver despite having done nothing wrong. His hands were slick with sweat from tension.
Suddenly, Sigmund rose abruptly, making the wooden chair rattle.
“Gah!”
Peter jumped in alarm. Sigmund didn’t even glance at him, walking straight out of the room.
“Sir Sigmund.”
A man dressed in black, suspiciously smelling, bowed to Sigmund.
“The person?”
“Confirmed returned home.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Keep observing.”
The man replied briefly, then left. Sigmund, expression hard, exited the hospital.
Joseph Pomozein has lost his memory? Sigmund couldn’t believe it. Earlier, Joseph had even apologized for the incident with Arnulf. There must be some ulterior motive—or at least, there should be.
For a moment, Sigmund thought of the unusually different Joseph today, but quickly dismissed the thought.
