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Chapter 15
A black shadow appeared within the swirling black mist.
“Dieee!”
The young knight swung his sword toward the massive figure before him. The owner of that towering shadow, Hector, frowned deeply.
“This brat—can’t even recognize his own senior knights? Unbelievable.”
“Sir, please! Go easy on him…!”
The senior knight holding the young one tried to stop Hector, but Hector swung his iron-hard hand toward the back of the boy’s head.
Thwack!
The young knight, who had been wildly slashing his sword, rolled his eyes and collapsed with a dull thud.
“…That sounded like a skull cracking.”
“I controlled my strength,” Hector replied flatly.
The knight who now had to carry his unconscious junior on his back looked at Hector with horror.
Their lord, Theodore, was a monster in his own right—but Hector Roddick was no less of one.
He was huge to begin with, but lately there was another reason he seemed even more monstrous.
“How many layers are you wearing, exactly?” someone asked.
Hector shrugged and held up three fingers.
Ever since the day he almost died, Hector had worn as many chain mails as his body could bear.
“You don’t have to go that far, Sir,” another knight protested, unable to stand it any longer.
But Hector ignored him and continued layering armor, muttering under his breath,
“They told me to wear chain mail.”
He even wore a helmet, something he had never used before.
“They told me to wear a helmet, too.”
“…Your survival instincts are off the charts,” someone murmured.
A single layer of steel chain mail was already heavy enough to weigh a man down. Yet Hector wore three, and still moved about without difficulty. No monster could compare.
He followed Theodore as they advanced through the foggy forest.
The mist was so thick he couldn’t see a step ahead, but as long as he could glimpse the red arc of Theodore’s sword cutting through the darkness, he feared nothing.
“My lord!”
Hector grinned and rushed forward, swinging his greatsword back to back with Theodore, who decapitated another monster with a clean slash.
Theodore fought with agility and precision, his lithe frame cutting down foes with ease.
Hector, meanwhile, relied on sheer overwhelming power, cleaving enemies in half at the waist.
Together, they were unstoppable. Within moments, the area was cleared.
Theodore brushed the sweat from his forehead and asked casually,
“How many are left?”
“Eighty, sir.”
“Half are down already, I see. And one of them had his skull crushed by you, Hector.”
He was referring to the young knight Hector had just knocked out. Hector shrugged.
“If he can’t even endure that much, he has no right to call himself a Calypse knight, my lord.”
Theodore smiled faintly—but his eyes remained cold as he scanned their surroundings. Hector dared not relax.
“The concentration of miasma has suddenly increased,” one of the knights reported.
Ordinary humans couldn’t last ten minutes in miasma this dense.
At first, those who inhaled it felt only a mild dizziness, but soon hallucinations and delusions followed.
Eventually, they turned on those around them—unable even to recognize their own kin.
In villages consumed by miasma, parents stabbed their children, and children slaughtered their parents.
It was a horror too gruesome to watch.
Only those with superhuman strength could endure it longer.
Knights who wielded aura were among them—they gathered energy in their lungs and heart to resist the miasma.
But doing so meant sealing their aura within their core, drastically reducing their combat strength.
Theodore bent down and pulled a blackened purification stone from the ground.
“Replace the stones. Any that show wear—remove them all and install new ones.”
“Yes, my lord!”
While the knights moved in perfect order, Theodore examined it—the corpse of one of the creatures.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Hector muttered with disgust.
Theodore didn’t reply. He studied the corpse closely.
He had wondered if it might be a human mutated by miasma, but the hardened claws were far too dense—no human could possess them.
Just as the miasma had appeared one day without warning, so too had these creatures.
A chill ran down his spine, as if one disaster had piled upon another.
As Theodore kicked the corpse over with a hardened expression, the surroundings began to brighten.
Through the leaves, the sky showed a faint blue glow—like the arrival of dawn.
“It’s all finished, my lord!”
Thankfully, the water source was untainted.
Still, to be sure, Theodore ordered samples collected and pointed at the scattered corpses.
“Take several of the bodies for study. Burn the rest.”
As they worked, the miasma began to fade quickly—like water draining away—sucked into the purification stones that dotted the area.
Theodore’s cold gaze lingered on the stones.
They were both salvation and Calypse’s snare.
At that thought, a woman’s face surfaced in his mind.
A face pale as snow, with eyes the color of pink gemstones—unearthly and beautiful.
‘Theodore.’
The voice that used to call his name so naturally echoed in his ears, and a faint smile crept across his lips.
Seeing their lord suddenly smile, the knights looked at him with wary eyes.
He bowed his head slightly, chuckling under his breath, then roughly wiped the sweat and blood from his face.
Beneath his calloused hand, his expression returned to its usual composed calm.
He looked at them lazily and smiled, as if to say—what are you all so tense for?
“Well done.”
Stepping over a pool of blood, Theodore issued his final order.
“Let’s return.”
Return.
That single word lit up the knights’ faces with joy they couldn’t hide.
Theodore gave a faint smile at their relief—but the veins on the hand gripping his sword still throbbed, blue and tight.
[You okay?]
Like sandbars emerging as water recedes, awareness began to return.
[Come on, open your eyes! …Bella!]
The moment Ophanel called her name, Bella’s eyes snapped open, as if breaking through the surface of deep water.
The sudden light stung her eyes. The patterned wooden ceiling above her slowly came into focus.
After blinking several times, she realized—this was Theodore’s room.
“Where’s the baby wolf?” she murmured.
She’d taken a wound straight through her stomach for that creature. How could she have fainted afterward?
The moment she came to her senses, she looked around for the little wolf.
“Madam! You’re awake!”
Just then, the informants who had come to check on her condition saw her sitting up and rushed over.
“Are you all right?”
“My wolf—where is it?”
At her question, one of them glanced toward the foot of the bed and opened his mouth to answer—
Rustle—!
Something furry wriggled beneath the blanket and began crawling up her thigh.
Startled, Bella looked down sharply.
The smooth indigo blanket bulged—and then, from between the folds, a fluffy white puff peeked out.
A tiny face, no bigger than a fist, covered in soft white fur.
In that small face, two golden eyes sparkled like sunlit fruit.
“Kyuu!”
The white baby wolf stuck out its tongue and chirped a greeting at Bella.
The little fluffball yawned, then eagerly burrowed into her palm with its tiny black nose.
Warm fur and a soft, pliant body pressed against her hand.
As she stared blankly at it, the pup began to lick her palm.
Its damp tongue stuck to her skin—lapping eagerly—and before long, it tried to suck on her thumb.
The pure warmth of the creature clinging to her so trustingly felt foreign to her. Without realizing it, Bella lifted her hand.
“Whine… whimper…”
The baby wolf immediately made a pitiful sound, its bright eyes drooping sadly.
