Chapter 44
“Kill them.”
At Gerald’s command, the knights hesitated. Theodore’s eyes drooped like a panda’s, filled with pitch-black terror. The commoners of the domain were aghast, their mouths hanging open, not knowing what to do.
“What are you all doing?”
Gerald swept his gaze over them and rebuked them coldly.
In the end, the knights drew their swords with a shing and began to approach the frightened dogs that the orphans were clutching in their arms. Some of the children, hugging their dogs tightly, turned and bolted.
The townspeople bit their lips, wondering if they should join in this flight.
But then—
Theodore dashed forward with all his might, his bangs flying, and blocked the knights’ path. Planting his fists on his waist, he defied the Archduke for the first time in his life.
“I, Theodore, cannot obey this order. If they die… if they die… uuhhhnng!”
But in the end he couldn’t finish his words and burst into tears.
The knights were at a loss before the pitiful resistance of the young heir, and looked back.
Gerald was just as taken aback. He had never imagined Theodore would step forward like this, let alone weep loudly in public.
Theodore had never known tantrums or tears. Thanks to his governess and tutors, he was always taught to face surging emotions with composure.
Well—there had been one exception, in front of Gerald. At Crown Prince Alfred’s birthday banquet, when Alfred held Empress Kenneth’s hand and came to greet their table before leaving, Theodore had sulked.
Gerald had guessed the reason but did not ask. He had believed, as always, that the boy would endure. But then Theodore suddenly asked:
“Why don’t my mother and father come hold my hand like that?”
“The dead cannot return to this world, remember?”
“They could ride a carriage to come.”
“The dead cannot ride carriages.”
“Then they could come on horseback.”
“Theo.”
No matter how many times Gerald explained, Theodore couldn’t grasp what death meant. Seeing the moist eyes of his nephew always pained him, but he did not wish to inflict false hope either.
It was a fate the boy would have to overcome. And Gerald himself was now both mother and father in place of his sister and friend.
“Theodore, once someone leaves this world, they can never come back by any means.”
“But if I, Theodore, miss my mother and father this much, then surely they must miss me a lot too.”
When Gerald put on his sternest face, Theodore’s eyes rippled with grief. That dam could not be allowed to break—not here, not in this place crawling with people who wished to target, sneer at, and belittle this fragile life.
After all, the Archduke’s heir outranked even the current Crown Prince. Gerald himself was first in line to the throne, Theodore second, and Alfred the third.
Of course, Emperor Herais would have preferred to elevate his own son Alfred to first, but the nobles loyal to the late Emperor Julius would not consent. And the Emperor, of course, blamed Gerald for that.
And now, here of all places, tears? Theodore must not show such weakness before these watching eyes.
“Theo. Once you die, you cannot feel such emotions anymore.”
“But I, Theodore, miss my mother, my father, so very much. I, I…”
The boy couldn’t finish. He clenched his fists tight, squeezed his eyes shut, puffed out his cheeks like a pufferfish, and drew in deep breaths.
“Theo, you have me, don’t you?”
Theodore pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded. Tears must not be shed, not before all these people.
And yet—this child, who knew better, was now sobbing uncontrollably. With snot dripping from his nose, no less.
It was a shock.
Then the witch stepped forward. Without a shred of concern for propriety, she knelt before the child in front of everyone, met his gaze, and comforted him.
She even embraced him, stroking his hair—just as any commoner would.
“Your Highness, please don’t cry. Your stepmother will speak for you.”
“I, Theodore, will protect my friends. Waaaah!”
And Theodore clung to the witch’s neck, weeping.
Gerald was devastated. Confounded. It felt as if Theodore had slipped too far from his grasp to ever touch again.
He had to bring the boy back to a place of authority and dignity.
“Theo. That is enough. Cease your crying at once.”
Gerald spoke sternly.
And then—to his dismay—
Just as Theodore’s sobs were dying down, he suddenly collapsed to the ground, gasping in strange, choking hiccups as his body shook.
Did the boy finally grasp what death truly was?
Crack—
Something broke within Gerald’s chest. Theodore’s tears poured straight into his own heart.
The boy’s grief burst open all the locked drawers inside him.
Gerald’s breath came fast.
The pity, the pain, the yearning, sorrow, guilt—all the emotions he had long hidden threatened to erupt through his diaphragm.
Whether as a scream, or a cry, or as long-restrained tears—!
But he must not. He must not be swept away by the witch’s schemes into this maelstrom of emotion. He must save his child from drowning in grief.
So Gerald resolved to bear the boy’s sorrow in his own chest. However that pain might transform with time, he would endure it.
He stretched out a hand toward Theodore—
Woof! Woof!
Suddenly, a rabid dog came charging straight for Theodore!
Gerald instinctively snatched the sword from a nearby knight’s scabbard and moved to strike.
But Sinclair leapt up to shield Theodore. The beast switched its target and lunged for her. Gerald cut it down in one blow.
Yet the dog’s claws raked across the thin fabric of her dress and tore into her tender back.
Pow!
With Gerald’s shock spell, the dog was roasted like meat on a spit and collapsed to the ground.
“Are you all right?”
Against his own resolve, Gerald asked in concern as he approached the witch. Sinclair sank to her knees before him and said:
“Please, drape your cloak over me.”
But Gerald could only stare in anguish at the torn flesh of her back.
“Theodore is watching. Quickly!”
Only then did Gerald hastily cover her with his cloak. The wound was deep, though strangely little blood flowed compared to the torn flesh.
Even so, Sinclair trembled in pain. Yet she opened her arms wide to the boy, forcing a smile.
“Your stepmother is all right!”
Gerald was bewildered. Why did this witch always place the child’s safety above her own?
And sure enough, Theodore ran into her embrace, as if seeking refuge in a bomb shelter during war. He looked up at her with worried eyes.
“Are you really all right?”
“Of course. Your stepmother is fine.”
Then Sinclair’s body swayed. Gerald had no choice but to support her.
The fields fell quiet.
The townsfolk had taken the stray dogs and cats to the monster farm. With rabid animals roaming about, it was the Archduke’s duty to ensure the safety of his lands.
Gerald tried to send Theodore back in a carriage with Ariel, but the boy insisted on staying with his stepmother.
Now Theodore clung only to Sinclair, refusing to go to Gerald. But Gerald and Sinclair had much to discuss.
In the end, Theodore agreed to wait with Ariel until their conversation was over.
The two walked in silence. It was meant to be a talk, but instead they marched side by side, their steps heavy and synchronized—left, right, left, right.
‘It must have shocked him—seeing my back raked so deeply, only for it to heal so quickly.’
But Sinclair was just as shocked. Even if he was an archduke hardened by campaigns in the demon realm, how could he so mercilessly unleash such a bloody frenzy?
Before children, no less. She couldn’t comprehend it.
She had fled from Michael and Ian, only to find someone even more frightening here.
It was overwhelming. In such an environment, was it any wonder people became demons?
She had only five years left to live.
But she had to survive. So she spoke demurely.
She nearly called him “husband,” but instead said,
“Your Grace.”
“….”
Gerald glanced at her briefly, then let out a deep sigh.
Of course. After what had just happened, she couldn’t remain ignorant.
This was a man who had waged war against the demon realm, after all.
Yes, appeal to his humanity.
“…Husband.”
“Let’s just walk in silence.”
“Pretending nothing happened won’t do. Did you already know?”
“….”
Gerald’s cold gaze made Sinclair falter, but she summoned her courage.
“Yes. I’m a witch. I imagine what you saw startled you. I have the ability to regenerate quickly from wounds. Even if you kill me, I will not die.”
She spoke quietly, submissively, eyes lowered.
If she dared look him in the eye, she felt she might not survive.
Gerald exhaled heavily.
He couldn’t banish the image from his mind—the pale flesh beneath her torn dress, the blood beading along the dog’s claw marks like scarlet flowers blooming on snow.
But worse were the other scars—slashing across her delicate back like tangled threads, clear evidence of long years of abuse.
He had glimpsed them in the dark before, but under daylight they were far more brutal, like the bite marks of serpentine demons.
Thick and deep, thin and faint—
She must have been abused up until her marriage.
Michael had probably tried to kill her. The kind of man who would. He had slaughtered demons alongside Emperor Herais, after all.
A fanatic of pureblood supremacy.
And yet he had loved a witch? Even fathered a daughter with her?
How ironic.
And then tried to kill his own daughter.
The Owen family must have chosen imprisonment for her instead of death.
“I still don’t know the full extent of my abilities. As you might expect, I was confined all that time.”
Gerald only listened in silence.
“But you know I love books. And alchemy. So I planned a great many things in that room.”
“….”
“As I told you at dawn yesterday, please support my business. What if we appoint Schmidt as an advisor? I promise to run it fully within imperial law. If you wish, I could even share a small portion—just a little—of the profits.”
“…!”
Gerald stared at her in disbelief.
Was this really what she chose to say, here and now?
“Once I lift the young lord’s curse, I will leave at once. I will live hidden, ensuring the ducal house suffers no harm.”
“….”
“For reference, stabbing me doesn’t work, hanging me doesn’t work, and poisons don’t seem to affect me either.”
…Good heavens.
Gerald’s face twisted. Tears threatened as he imagined her tragic past.
Had he gone mad? Had he fallen so thoroughly under this witch’s spell?
Jerking his head away, Gerald strode ahead with long, decisive steps.
