Chapter 4
“Ah, sorry.”
Right after the man’s odd, hissing words ended, a woman’s apology followed.
“I apologize on behalf of the eagle. It was a time-sensitive matter, so I didn’t have time to explain.”
Her tone was cool and straightforward, but sincere. It seemed to soften the man’s mood a bit—his voice was gentler than before, although still mixed with that strange hissing sound.
[In the middle of searching for food in the dead of night, I got snatched up by terrifying claws and was battered by wind and rain the entire way here. I’m glad my venom ended up saving a life, but next time, please prepare a proper basket and an explanation of the situation, Ms. Atkins.]
“Basket and explanation. Got it, loud and clear.”
Food. Claws. Venom. Basket. Got it.
It was all incomprehensible nonsense.
But one thing was clear: the life they said was saved—was his.
Underneath the blanket, Cyrus Blanchard’s upper body was surprisingly clean.
The wounds he had gotten in the rain-drenched hunting grounds were completely healed, not a scar in sight.
According to the conversation, the woman had treated him with help from the man.
But… were those wounds really treatable to this extent?
“……”
Cyrus Blanchard frowned, his head swimming with questions.
Or perhaps… this was all part of another trap.
Just as the people in the hunting ground had tried to kill him, maybe this woman was also trying to lull him into lowering his guard so she could finish the job.
The moment that thought struck him, rage surged from deep within his chest.
There was only one reason the assassins at the hunting ground had targeted his life.
“…Damn title.”
The title he never wanted—never even considered his—had threatened his life over and over again.
As he struggled to survive, the people in his mansion had changed many times.
It was all part of weeding out those he couldn’t trust.
Eventually, only the loyal remained—or so he had thought.
“…Hah.”
Cyrus ran his fingers through his pitch-black hair.
His revealed face was stunningly beautiful, but only for a fleeting moment.
That beauty was quickly replaced by a coldness as sharp as frost.
He would kill them.
He would return and punish those who had betrayed him.
That oath filled Cyrus’s eyes with a deep darkness.
A scar-like darkness, so dense that nothing could ever lighten it.
Cyrus turned slightly and set his feet on the floor beneath the table.
This wasn’t the time to dawdle.
He had to get out of here and return to the mansion.
To the place where they were no doubt celebrating his death.
And once he arrived… first…
“……”
Just then, a strange sensation made him glance down. There at his feet, he spotted a piece of black leather.
It didn’t take long for him to realize it was the leather hunting jacket he had been wearing.
Still damp, the leather was full of punctures from sharp bolts.
And then…
“……”
More confusion struck him silent.
The thick buffalo leather jacket had been torn in half.
The jagged edges looked like they had been ripped by hand—no scissors, no blade, just brute force.
Cyrus shook his head in disbelief.
It didn’t make sense.
If he’d encountered a beast strong enough to do that, it was a miracle he was still alive.
[Anyway, Ms. Atkins, well, the situation wasn’t great, but it was good to see you. I have to go now—my wife is probably looking for me in a panic.]
Cyrus finally looked away from the torn jacket at the sound of the man’s voice from outside the window.
The man seemed to be leaving soon.
Since Cyrus had no idea what was going on, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least see the man’s face.
He stepped toward the window and looked in the direction of the voices.
“Oh, right. Take this with you before you go. I made it yesterday while working on the medicine—good for fertility.”
[Oh, excellent. Thank you, Ms. Atkins.]
“No big deal. I’ll pack it in the basket. Tell her to swallow it in one bite.”
[Got it, Ms. Atkins.]
“Just call me Lizzy, please.”
[No, Ms. Atkins. I’m comfortable with ‘Ms. Atkins,’ Ms. Atkins.]
“Ugh, I’m going to get a gestalt overload from hearing that name.”
[What is a gestalt?]
“It’s… never mind, it’s a long story. You should go now. If we meet again, I’ll send the basket and a proper explanation with you.”
[Understood, Ms. Atkins. Then I’ll be off.]
Cyrus watched the casual back-and-forth with a strange expression and ran his hand through his hair again.
The fierce anger on his face was gone.
Naturally so.
When a snake and a person were having a conversation like it was nothing, assassins and betrayal seemed far less important.
A dream.
Cyrus was certain.
This is undeniably a dream.
While he stared out the window, a brown snake—about a meter long—slithered into a linen-lined basket.
And the one who grabbed the basket’s handle was, incredibly, the giant Galloway eagle he had once seen during a hunting trip.
[Hold on tight! Taking off now!]
[Then, Ms. Atkins, goo―]
‘―dbye’ was never heard.
The basket disappeared in an instant, leaving only the snake’s hissing echo behind.
“……”
Cyrus couldn’t make sense of anything.
Oh, not the talking snake or the eagle giving it a ride—that part was beyond sense anyway.
What didn’t make sense was:
Why was he having a dream like this?
“You should throw that out immediately.”
That’s what the man had said long ago, when Cyrus was just a boy.
The man had snatched away the fairytale book he was holding and tossed it into the fireplace without blinking. Then he had looked straight at him and said:
“You won’t have time for such childish fantasies anymore.”
And he had been right.
From the moment he became the heir, Cyrus had no time for dreams.
Cold and harsh tutors, brutal training in swordsmanship and martial arts just to survive.
Assassins showing up daily. Servants who would willingly pour poison into his drinks.
The painful resistance he had built to survive the poisons, the side effects—until eventually he became known as a “monster.”
In a life so full of struggle just to survive, fairy tales had long been forgotten.
Which made it all the more strange.
He had never nurtured this kind of ridiculous imagination.
“…I must’ve hit my head hard in the hunting grounds.”
[Your head wasn’t injured though.]
The unexpected response to his muttered words nearly made Cyrus scream—but he held it in. Barely.
The only visible sign was the twitch of his jaw muscle from clenching his teeth.
Never show agitation.
Recalling the most important rule of survival, Cyrus slowly turned his head.
“……”
Okay, but how is one not supposed to react when a crow talks?
He blinked.
A jet-black crow was sitting calmly on the blanket he had just been lying on.
[You were hurt mostly in the shoulder. Shoulder and side. Stopping the bleeding wasn’t easy. But no, your head was fine.]
“……”
[What’s with that look? Never seen a crow before?]
“……”
To be accurate, he had never seen a talking crow before—but he wasn’t about to correct that.
It felt like saying it out loud would push him past a line he couldn’t return from.
Meanwhile, the crow tilted its head curiously while examining Cyrus’s face.
[Hmm. Something’s different. I could’ve sworn your eyes were… huh.]
But before the crow could finish its sentence―
BANG!
The cottage door burst open with a thunderous crash.
The woman who had been chatting with the snake (completely insane) walked in.
“Ugh, I’m so tired I could die.”
[Lizzy! Lizzy! This guy’s acting weird―]
“Staying up all night is the worst.”
[No, seriously, he’s weird―]
“Oh? You’re awake?”
[…]
Cyrus watched the crow’s disgruntled expression as it got cut off again and asked quietly:
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“…What?”
Since becoming a duke, no one had ever responded to his “Who are you?” with “Who are you?” His brow furrowed deeply.
But the woman didn’t seem to realize what she had done.
“You’re the one who collapsed in my tomato field. You should be the one introducing yourself—and thanking me for saving your life while you’re at it.”
“Unbelievable.” Cyrus scoffed.
“I never asked you to save me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have passed out in my tomato field in the first place.”
“That was…”
His sharp retort trailed off.
A small but puzzling detail had suddenly come to mind.
Tomatoes?
He’d barely dragged his bleeding body to what seemed like a sturdy tree in the woods.
There was no way it was a tomato field…
[You nearly died, you know. If one of those fallen tomatoes from the storm had hit you in the head, antidote or no antidote, you’d be long dead.]
“……”
Cyrus said nothing, not expecting an explanation from the crow anyway.
The carrot-haired woman let out a sigh, clearly impatient.
“Anyway, seriously, what’s your deal? Why were you passed out in someone else’s―…”
But she trailed off mid-sentence.
Cyrus, confused, looked at her as she stepped closer in disbelief.
“What the―”
Before he could step back on instinct, the woman grabbed his chin and pulled his face toward hers.
“…!”
Caught off guard by the closeness, Cyrus sucked in a breath—just as the woman (Lizzy Atkins, apparently) gasped louder than he did.
“Wait, what the hell, why are your eyes purple?!”
Cyrus Blanchard’s eyes, which had glowed blue before he was treated with morghillen, were now sparkling like violets in the sunlight.
The exact color of the eyes belonging to the most notorious villain in this world—the Duke.