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Chapter 13
It was the dim hour before dawn, when thick clouds veiled the moonlight.
Arthif’s eyelids lifted, revealing his chilling crimson eyes. From the terrace came the sound of clashing blades.
He began to rise but stopped, gazing down at Shasha asleep in his arms.
Shasha breathed softly, clinging weakly to his robe with her tiny paw. That grip was faint and fragile, yet it weighed him down as if it forbade him to move.
Just then, a groan of pain rang out.
Arthif’s faint smile vanished. He pressed a kiss to Shasha’s forehead before standing.
Taking up the sword he always kept close, he strode toward the terrace. Without hesitation, he flung open the door—an assassin leapt at him.
“Graaagh!”
Arthif parried the blade with ease, then drove his sword into the assassin’s limbs, ensuring he could neither flee nor take his own life.
His sudden appearance turned the tide. Within moments, the battle was over.
“Treat the wounded. The rest of you, clean up.”
Among the attackers, three still clung to life.
“I’ll question them myself. Drag them to the dungeons.”
Though he intended to head straight underground, Arthif paused to look at Shasha, still sound asleep despite the chaos.
Her lips twitched faintly, as though she dreamed. Cold reason melted, replaced with warmth.
He didn’t want to wake her. And yet… he couldn’t resist the urge to tease. He reached to press her nose but froze when he noticed the blood staining his hand.
Shasha’s innocent face blurred, replaced by the memory of a blood-soaked night.
Arthif shut his eyes tightly.
That year, he had just come of age.
He had drunk holy water to restrain his beast, but no one told him that once he reached maturity, he would need much more to preserve his reason.
On the night of the full moon, he returned to his human form, awakening deep in the forests of Redmond territory.
He didn’t understand what had happened. Only a terrible dread gnawed at his chest.
He hastily wrapped himself in a discarded cloth, then ran down the mountain.
The manor should have been lit, the gardens glowing softly as always. But everything was gone—dark, silent, like a ruin.
Inside, only Allen awaited him.
When Allen saw him, his strained composure broke. His voice shook with sobs, words slurring with grief.
“My lord… hic… you’ve only just returned, and yet… forgive us, forgive us!”
The ornaments his mother had chosen with care lay shattered on the floor.
“You must, hhhk, you must meet the departed at once!”
Dark stains still clung to the walls.
And then—
“Duke…”
Not “young master.” Duke.
The weight of reality crushed Arthif to his knees.
That night, when the moon vanished, the black wolf had lost its reason and slaughtered everyone within the manor—his father, his mother, the servants.
By his own hand.
“Your Grace.”
Arthif’s body twitched at the knight’s voice, dragging him back from the torment of memory.
Shasha slept peacefully. Her silver fur was so pure it seemed even a drop of blood might stain it forever.
“This time… I will protect you.”
He clenched his fist so tightly veins bulged, then strode to the dungeons.
A knight stepped forward.
“One bit through his tongue. He lives, but he cannot speak.”
“Kill him.”
Such resolve meant he would never yield, no matter the torture.
With cold detachment, Arthif sat before another assassin.
“Who sent you?”
“Ha! Do you think I’d tell you?”
Without a word, Arthif signaled. A knight drove a dagger into the man’s thigh.
“Gaaahhh!”
“Was it the Retel house? Or the Crown Prince?”
“Ghhk. Torture me all you want, you won’t—AAARGH!”
Another blade pierced his other thigh before he could finish.
Arthif didn’t bother with further questions.
“His nails.”
Expressionless, he watched as the assassin’s fingernails were torn away, one by one.
“Mercy! Your Grace, I’ll tell you everything! Please, I beg you!”
At the fourth nail, the assassin broke, sobbing at Arthif’s feet.
Arthif gave a slight nod, and the knight stepped back.
“Who sent you?”
“J-just one thing. Swear me this.”
“Pull another.”
The knight moved again, and the assassin shrieked.
“Wait! Just listen! If I speak, I’m dead anyway. Let me live here, in this dungeon, just for a while longer!”
Arthif inclined his head.
Relief washed over the assassin.
“The one who sent me was—kghhh!”
Before the words could form, something black appeared. Too dense to be smoke, too shapeless to be matter—it writhed like a shadow-born creature.
In an instant, it devoured him.
Arthif leapt to his feet, sword flashing. But the darkness dissipated like mist, leaving only a skeleton where the assassin had been.
The knights recoiled in horror.
“Wh-what is that…?”
“Black magic.”
“What?! But that’s the power of demons!”
Even battle-hardened knights paled.
Arthif recalled the writhing void, its formless tendrils.
The moment the assassin tried to name his master, death claimed him.
“They weren’t after Shasha.”
The power was far too great for a mere abduction.
Black magic—taboo sorcery. Granted only by demons, or to those who bound themselves in contract with them. But always, the price was devastating.
“A grudge deep enough to corrupt the soul itself.”
Not just hatred—pure damnation.
Arthif had many enemies. Yet none he could think of who would go so far.
“Preserve the scene. Lock up the survivors so they can’t kill themselves. And summon Allen to my office immediately.”
With hurried steps, he left the dungeon.
That night, the stars glittered unusually bright.
The heavens were crowded with light, and yet he felt strangely empty.
Arthif had always been busy, but since Leandro’s visit, he had scarcely been home at all. Sharing a room felt like an illusion.
“He only comes back before dawn…”
What warmth Shasha knew of him was limited to the quiet, endless strokes of his hand in the dark of night.
“Shasha.”
I lifted my head at the low voice.
—Arthif!
He was home early.
Overjoyed, I dashed to him, and he caught me with practiced ease.
—You’re back early! Does that mean you’re finished for today?
His cheekbones were sharper, his frame thinner. Was he neglecting meals?
I pressed my paw to his cheek. He kissed my jelly-like pads in return.
“It’s been a while… Shall we take a walk together?”
—Yes!
He bundled me in a blanket, tucking me tight.
—This is suffocating, you know.
I grumbled, but I was used to it. I let him wrap me without protest.
Nestled in his arms, I was carried into the garden.
Cool night air drifted with a faint fragrance of blossoms. With no one else around, it felt as if the world held only the two of us.
A pond lay ahead, violet flowers reflecting in its waters, a small round bridge arching across. Like a dream.
Arthif led me to a marble gazebo.
“You seem pleased.”
—It’s wonderful! If I’d known it looked like this at night, I would’ve asked to come sooner!
The garden by day was nothing like this.
Arthif sat down on a bench and set me gently on the table.
