Chapter 4
Domenic leaned casually against a tree with his arms crossed, as if he owned the place. His red eyes glowed vividly in the dark, fixed right on her.
Bellona looked down at him, completely dumbfounded.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her voice was half a laugh, half disbelief. Rose, who had just finished making the bed, turned toward her.
“You said you saw a cat, my lady?”
“No. Never mind. Thanks, Rose. I’m tired from going to the temple today. I’ll sleep early. You can go rest too.”
Bellona quickly stopped Rose from walking toward the window and nodded toward the door.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t believe how openly Domenic was standing out there. What’s going on in that guy’s head?
“Are you sure, my lady? Should I bring tea or something to drink?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for today.”
She smiled kindly like a sweet, innocent young noble lady — playing the role perfectly. Only after Rose hesitated and finally left did Bellona drop her polite smile and glance down through the open window.
Apparently, Domenic had heard everything, because now he was standing right below the window.
It looked like a scene from a fairytale — like a prince come to rescue a princess from her tower. Bellona leaned her chin on the window frame and muttered lazily,
“If you came to save me, Prince Charming, you’re wasting your time. I actually like living in this tower.”
“Wouldn’t it be more romantic if we were forbidden lovers instead?”
Bellona sighed. Trying to win an argument against him was pointless. That was her mistake.
“…You really think it’s polite to jump someone’s wall in the middle of the night?”
“Nobody ever taught me manners. Didn’t have anyone to learn from.”
He said it like a joke, but the graceful tilt of his head still carried that noble elegance — the kind that screamed royal blood.
Guess some people really are just born with that.
No matter how many times she lived again, one thing never changed — Domenic was still an annoyingly perfect man.
So unfair, she thought. Some people spend years learning how to move gracefully, and he’s just… naturally like that.
She frowned.
“Now, tell me properly — why did you come here? Before I shut this window—”
Suddenly, the lights went out, and the whole room was swallowed by darkness. Bellona froze; she instantly knew he had used black magic. That faint, thick, unpleasant feeling in the air — she’d learned to recognize it over many lifetimes.
“Careful.”
She stumbled back, startled, and felt strong arms catch her waist, pulling her upright again. Then the lights flicked back on.
“What the—”
She tried to pull away, but the metallic scent of blood hit her nose. Her instincts took over — she grabbed his arm and leaned closer.
“You’re hurt?”
She lifted his black cloak, and her eyes widened — his white shirt was soaked in blood.
What the hell happened to him?
It wasn’t like she’d never seen him injured before, but Domenic wasn’t someone who got hurt easily.
She reached toward his shirt to check the wound, but he grabbed her hand. His skin, usually cold, was now burning hot.
“You’re being awfully forward, Lady Rozentin.”
His tone was teasing, but his hand moved fast — like a cat ready to bolt, tense and defensive.
“You’re the one who came to me first.”
Bellona kept her voice calm, soothing.
“Let me see. Don’t just leave it untreated.”
“No need. It’ll heal on its own.”
Domenic said it flatly, as if he didn’t care, still watching her closely like she was part of an experiment. His grip loosened a little.
“What stupid thing did you do at the temple to end up like this?”
“I thought you were worried. Turns out you just wanted to insult me.”
Honestly, the first emotion she’d felt when she saw his blood was worry, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Losing to him — even emotionally — felt irritating.
“Of course I’m insulting you.”
“…I hypnotized the High Priest to erase his memory. On the way out, I ran into some returning holy knights.”
“What?”
“Couldn’t kill them, so it got messy. People with holy power are annoying to deal with.”
He said it so casually that Bellona just stared at him for a moment — then practically screamed,
“Are you insane!?”
Domenic wasn’t invincible. Sure, he could heal fast from most injuries, but holy power was poison to him — it burned his body and slowed his recovery worse than for a normal person.
“You said not to kill anyone. If I went too far, they’d be mush by now. So I held back.”
His tone almost sounded like he was expecting praise. Bellona was too stunned to respond. Was he always like this?
“I said self-defense was fine! If someone’s trying to kill you, you’re supposed to protect yourself!”
She smacked his arm — not hard, but enough to make a point.
“Ugh—”
He groaned and staggered, then collapsed right onto her bed. Bellona, half-trapped in his arms, ended up sitting beside him too.
She had never seen him look this weak before — in any of her lives. It was so shocking she blurted out an apology before thinking.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
She couldn’t believe she was apologizing to him. What a day.
Pushing that thought aside, she decided to take advantage of the situation. She grabbed his shirt and started unbuttoning it.
“You’re getting a little too aggressive, you know.”
“…Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
She didn’t even bother replying to his nonsense. Because the moment she peeled back his shirt, she froze.
The wound across his shoulder was horrific — a long, deep slash, barely held together with some sloppy bandages. The flesh seemed to close a little, then split open again, over and over, like it couldn’t decide whether to heal or not.
Around it, his skin was darkened — poisoned by holy energy.
“This can’t stay like this—”
“It’s fine. If I stop the bleeding, it’ll heal eventually. Just takes time.”
He spoke lazily, as if it didn’t hurt at all. But Bellona knew better. She’d experienced wounds like that before — she could feel the pain just by looking at it. Her face twisted in sympathy.
“And yet you came here?”
“Not despite it. Because of it.”
Without further comment, he shrugged off his cloak and threw it over a chair, then pulled off his blood-soaked shirt completely.
His toned abs and chest came into view, along with the deep gash across his shoulder.
Noticing her stare, he smirked.
“You could at least pretend to be embarrassed.”
“You’re the one stripping in front of me. Why would I be embarrassed?”
She didn’t even blink. Inside, she was a bit flustered — but she refused to show it. Losing even a small verbal battle to him wasn’t an option.
“Fair point,” he said, amused.
Then he turned toward the window, watching outside quietly. As he did, Bellona’s eyes fell on his bare back — and her breath caught.
It was covered in scars.
Countless lash marks crisscrossed over his muscles — healed but still raw-looking, like they’d been reopened again and again.
So the rumors were true… the priests really did abuse him.
Seeing it in person was completely different from just knowing it.
“What are those scars…?”
Without realizing it, Bellona reached out. She didn’t touch the scars directly — just the uninjured part of his shoulder.
He turned slightly, and when he saw her face — full of shock and worry — he let out a small laugh.
“From when the priests whipped me as a kid. Probably not something a noble lady should be looking at.”
“My mental health isn’t the problem here…”
She stepped closer, tracing her fingers gently over the rough skin. The scars were thicker and more uneven than she’d imagined — splitting and merging in every direction, like a roadmap of pain.
She could almost see it: blood reopening before it even had a chance to heal.
“…That must’ve hurt.”
There were so many things she wanted to say, but none of them mattered now — it was all too late. So that was all she could manage, in a quiet, choked voice.
Her hand slid lower, brushing against his back — and then Domenic caught her wrist.
“…?”
Startled, Bellona looked up — and suddenly realized how close they were standing.
