Chapter 11
“Urgh!”
But the masked man continued to struggle violently.
Then, as if realizing resistance was pointless, he suddenly went still. His bloodshot eyes darted sideways for the briefest instant, and at that same moment, frothing blood spilled from beneath his mask. His body went limp, collapsing like a corpse.
Dalia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“…My God.”
“It seems he took his own life before his identity could be revealed.”
The man who had been under threat remained surprisingly calm. Normally, one would recoil in shock at such sudden changes—the shift of scenery, a stranger appearing before him—but his composure was unshaken.
“You, girl. Who are you? You wield considerable power.”
His gaze was almost curious as he looked at her. Dalia placed a hand on the hilt at her waist and asked, sharp and direct:
“First, answer me. Why was that man threatening you?”
“What?”
“I won’t ask twice.”
With that, Dalia drew her blade without hesitation, pointing it directly at him. The man did not flinch; he simply continued watching her.
He killed himself the moment he was caught. Then, the masked one must have been the villain. But this man… why does he feel so familiar?
An odd sense of déjà vu made her stare at him longer than she should have. Quickly, she steeled her gaze again.
This was no place to lower her guard. Should he act suspiciously, she was prepared to use the power of the clock again at once.
“To speak so rudely to your savior—you’re hardly a man of manners.”
“You expect me to address you with courtesy?”
“Yes. Unless you’re royalty, that is.”
Something in her words amused him. He chuckled softly, then inclined his head from where he sat. His pale neck and loosely open collar were exposed in the movement.
“My apologies. Thank you for saving me, young lady.”
Dalia frowned. The words were polite, yet they sounded as though he were mocking her. His manner of speaking was stiff, as though he had never properly used formal speech in his life.
Foreign, perhaps?
He did seem unable to fully rise, suggesting his body was indeed weakened.
“I truly do not know why that man attacked me. But there is one thing…”
Before finishing, he suddenly stripped off his loose outer garment in one swift motion. Dalia, startled, pressed her blade closer in alarm.
“Why are you taking your clothes off? Put them back on!”
“Would you remove this for me?”
“What is it?”
“Here.”
The man, docile as a lamb now, raised his hand and pointed to the back of his neck. Something there glinted faintly.
What on earth…?
Still wary, Dalia leaned closer. A flat, needle-thin shard of metal was embedded deep into the nape of his neck.
Poison on the tip?
The skin surrounding it had hardened unnaturally, black and rigid, like something not quite human flesh.
Carefully, she gripped the protruding end. It was blunt where it stuck out, narrowing thinner where it pierced into his body.
“Ah… ngh…”
The instant she touched it, the man groaned, his voice rough with pain.
She hesitated only for a breath before steadying his shoulder with one hand and pulling the shard out in a single motion. Delaying would only prolong his suffering.
His body trembled with agony, the vibration running through her hands.
And yet, as soon as the shard left his flesh, the blackened skin cleared, returning to its natural tone as though nothing had happened.
“Thank you, my lady.”
He exhaled with a groan, massaging the back of his neck. Dalia studied the object in her hand intently.
“What is this?”
The slender, gleaming shard looked untouched by blood despite having pierced his flesh, its surface glowing faintly with a strange power.
For a moment, Dalia found herself entranced by it, until she caught herself sharply.
What am I doing? I should be running, not gawking at this thing.
“Can you stand?”
“….”
“Hey!”
He groaned, unable to support himself. Only when Dalia slapped his cheeks sharply did he manage to lift his head and look at her. His blue eyes were clouded, hazy like a lake drowned in fog.
“We can’t stay here. Can you walk?”
Before he could answer, a shout rang out from the distance.
“This way! We’ve found the young lady’s trail!”
“Over here! After them!”
The glow of torches flickered between the trees—at least a dozen or more.
“…Damn.”
The viscount’s hunting party had arrived. The letter she had left on the desk must have been discovered far sooner than expected.
The sounds of pursuit drew closer, closing the noose around them.
Can I make it…?
She glanced up, gauging the moon’s position. Even if she used the clock to stop time, crossing the mountains from here on foot was impossibly far. And tonight, with hunters spread through the woods, she wasn’t sure how long she could maintain the power without collapsing.
I’ll have to regulate it carefully, push myself just enough…
Her hand was already moving toward the clock when the man spoke.
“They’re after you, aren’t they?”
“You catch on quickly.”
“But it’s too dangerous. Don’t use that.”
“…What?”
She froze. Then, realizing he could not possibly know about the clock, she relaxed slightly. He must have been referring to her sword.
For now, she abandoned the idea of using either weapon or time itself, instead hauling him up to his feet.
“So, are you on the run as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking if you’re fleeing, same as me.”
Fleeing… not entirely wrong, but being lumped with him—
Annoyed by his casual tone and provocative word choice, Dalia folded her arms.
“Not quite. I’ve never done anything to earn such hatred that a man would try to slit my throat.”
“…I see.”
He nodded, oddly accepting, his brief expression of childlike innocence strangely at odds with his sharp features.
Catching herself staring, Dalia cleared her throat.
“Well, I’ll at least see you safely to the village.”
As she moved to support him again, he asked curiously,
“But why are you helping me?”
“What else would you have me do? Leave you here as food for beasts when you can’t even walk?”
“From your point of view, that would be rational, wouldn’t it?”
“If you value your life, stop spouting nonsense.”
Her retort was curt and final. To abandon him would not only be heartless—it would dishonor the very god who had once saved her.
Not that I can tell him that, or he’ll think I’m insane…
“But you’re in danger too. Those men will close in any moment.”
“So it seems.”
She was just about to open the clock when the man caught her hand, stopping her.
“Don’t.”
She stared, startled, but his smile was bright, almost carefree.
“You saved me. Now it’s my turn.”
“You’re injured. What can you possibly—”
Before she could finish, the world around them vanished.
The sudden shift sent Dalia reeling, dizzy as she stumbled to the ground. But instead of earth and grass, her hand met cold, smooth stone.
She blinked rapidly, but the forest was gone. Only pale walls surrounded her.
“What… is this?”
“How is it?” the man asked.
“This gloomy cave? Where are we?”
He faltered, as though wounded by her words. “Gloomy…?”
“Where are we?” she pressed, glaring up at him.
He hesitated, then distorted the space around them again.
“Perhaps this is better.”
Another wave of disorientation struck, and Dalia nearly collapsed. He caught her easily, lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing.
She shrank against his chest, her heart hammering wildly—whether from fear or the intimacy of the closeness, she couldn’t tell.
“What is this? I didn’t know you had such strength. Were your injuries just an act?”
He smiled as he laid her carefully onto a bed.
“No. You removed the sword lodged in me.”
“…Sword?”
She frowned. Was he delirious from the pain? That tiny, needle-like shard—he was calling that a sword? Unless it had been deliberately shrunk…
Looking around, she realized this was no cave at all but a lavish chamber, high-ceilinged and finely decorated.
“This place is…”
“Do you like it better?” he asked, almost like a loyal hound seeking praise.
“…Yes. It’s far better than that strange cave.”
“Good.”
He smiled in relief.
What on earth is happening to me?
Reality itself had twisted before her eyes, spaces folding and reshaping at his whim. And yet, he carried himself so naturally, as if it were nothing at all.
The feeling was eerily similar to that impossible day—when she had died, and in the afterlife, stood before a god.
