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Chapter 16
Hunting
“…I wasn’t angry. I was worried.”
Anastasia stepped down from the bed and stood in front of the window. Outside, beside the mansion, Enoch was leading a horse.
“I’ll let the people of this house attack me as much as they want.”
Arthorius couldn’t understand her.
“That way, when I later… swallow up the ducal house, I’ll have justification, won’t I?”
The wind blew in through the window.
Anastasia’s golden hair fluttered long, and Arthorius silently watched her back.
Like the scar he had left when his sword once pierced that small upper body, he was certain her small soul also carried deep wounds.
“Can’t we just take them down now?”
Arthorius stood up from his seat.
“Right now, we could destroy this mansion and wipe out the entire family. Why don’t we, Anastasia?”
His words were both painful and compassionate, and at the same time filled with pity.
But Anastasia rejected all of it with unwavering resolve.
“That would be too comfortable an ending, Arthorius.”
The Duke of Etranje stood in his study, looking out the window. Aslan had just left, and he had heard the full report.
“…Just as reckless as her mother.”
A knock came at the door.
“Enter.”
When the Guard Knight stepped inside, he always had doubts about the thickness of this door. Why would anyone need something this heavy?
But the moment he saw the Duke’s face, he understood.
It was fear.
“You called for me, Your Grace.”
“…Come in.”
He was clearly afraid of his youngest daughter. The Guard Knight had also heard the rumors.
“What is the matter?”
The Duke handed him a ring. It was one of the few remaining relics, a magical mineral known as the “Tears of Dilemma.”
It could nullify any magical harm directed at its owner once.
“Watch Anastasia from a distance. If the opportunity arises, you are permitted to eliminate her.”
His expectation was not wrong.
“Understood.”
“I trust you will not disappoint me.”
Unlike a knight formally knighted, this man wore a black cloak and plain black leather armor. The Guard Knight knelt on one knee.
“I will not disappoint you.”
She could mount a horse alone.
It was not a difficult task.
With a simple spell—no incantation even needed—she could lighten her body and float up.
But Anastasia did not refuse Arthorius’s offer to lift her onto the saddle.
The horse’s coat was black and glossy.
“Good work, Enoch.”
“It was nothing. Ah, Trish will arrive tomorrow or so.”
“Good.”
It was about time to stay alert to her surroundings.
Bath time was especially problematic.
Sleeping, bathing, and eating were the moments when one was most vulnerable to external attacks.
But even more frightening than that was the blade raised by someone at her side.
Surrounding herself with people she could trust.
That was Anastasia’s top priority.
“When will you return?”
“Before the sun fully sets.”
Arthorius was so tall that he even towered over Anastasia on horseback.
“Come with me, Arthorius. I’ll show you the family forest.”
The brown forest.
That was its name. It was simply called that—because in this vast forest, there was one hill where all the leaves had turned brown.
They had died.
But for some reason… Anastasia liked it. It was the same place she had passed when heading to Aquila Castle to deal with Arthorius.
She tightened the reins and urged the horse forward. After a few kicks in the stirrups, the horse broke into a gallop.
“I did say I could follow.”
And Arthorius truly kept pace without falling behind at all.
Branches snapped under his steps with every stride.
Nothing could withstand the monstrous strength of his grip as he broke aside any branches in his way.
“…I didn’t think you could actually keep up.”
Anastasia looked at his face, riding closely beside her with an incredulous expression.
He even seemed relaxed—clearing branches ahead with a simple reach of his arm.
Soon the green forest passed behind them, and the so-called “brown forest” appeared.
A forest of dead trees.
“…You like a place like this?”
Arthorius sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Yes. For some reason, it makes me feel calm.”
At the center of the hill stood a single enormous, grotesque tree larger than any other.
Strange.
“Normally, trees in a forest don’t vary this much in size…”
Arthorius approached the massive trunk slowly.
From beneath the roots, a strange energy could be felt.
“…This is.”
Anastasia had already dismounted and was sitting against the dead trunk.
He didn’t even have time to stop her.
This was clearly harmful to all living things. As far as he knew, only the strongest resentment and obsession could form such a presence.
Yet strangely… it did not affect Anastasia.
Or rather, more precisely—it wasn’t that it could not affect her.
It was choosing not to affect her.
“Does it feel peaceful?”
Anastasia no longer bothered to ask what it was.
Whatever spirit was bound to this tree, it held no hostility toward her.
When he approached, it emitted a sharp, piercing aura—but even that faded when Anastasia looked at it.
“It feels peaceful.”
That was when it happened.
Without warning, Arthorius suddenly pulled Anastasia into his arms.
She froze inside his massive embrace, confused, and then heard the unmistakable sound of an attack.
Whoosh—thunk!
An arrow.
Not into the tree. Not into her.
Then it was clearly—
“…Arthorius?”
He had shielded her again.
“Shh. Stay still, Anastasia.”
He held her tightly without moving and whispered.
She remained completely still. His embrace was… not warm at all. In fact, it carried a faint chill.
Then came rustling from the bushes. Footsteps.
“Best stay still.”
A low voice she had never heard before.
Even though she couldn’t recall every knight of the ducal house, she remembered most she had met.
Faces, actions, voices.
But no matter how she searched her memory, this voice did not exist.
“I coated the arrowhead in poison. The more you move, the sooner you die.”
Arthorius remained silent.
He was waiting for the moment—when the attacker came closer, close enough for a decisive strike.
One step.
Leaves crunched.
“…Hand over the princess—!”
Arthorius slowly rose.
Only then did Anastasia see the attacker.
A hooded figure in black, black leather boots and gloves…
“I’ve heard of them…”
The hidden force of the ducal house: the Raven Feather Knight Order. Once inducted, their identities are erased.
“Stay still.”
Arthorius warned in a low, rumbling voice. Any human would have frozen at it.
This was not even Saden anymore.
His instincts screamed that the being before him could no longer be called alive.
It was fear itself.
As Arthorius drew his holy sword from his back, a radiant blade lit up the brown forest.
“Move, and you die sooner.”
Sir Bowie felt the clarity of death before him.
He regretted it.
He should have noticed the anomaly.
The glowing blue eyes, the princess who had completely changed in mere days, and the knight beside her…
He clenched his fist.
After killing the escort knight with a poisoned arrow, he had believed the princess would be easy to subdue.
He even had the “Tears of Dilemma” ring. If he closed the distance, he was confident he could drive his blade into that small body.
“But how…”
Arthorius did not answer.
Instead, he slowly removed his helmet.
With Anastasia behind him, she could not see it.
The face of the monster.
Corrupted by the abyss, melted in darkness—no longer a man, but something that could only be called despair incarnate.
Something he never wanted Anastasia to see.
“Do you think I am alive?”
Sir Bowie collapsed onto his knees. His legs gave out completely.
“W-how… what are you… what are you…”
Arthorius pulled his twisted helmet back on and raised his long sword again.
An old companion.
The holy sword of the royal family had once chosen him—and it grew to match his body as it distorted and lengthened beyond human limits.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve stained this blade with human blood. Over a hundred years, I think.”
The sun was sinking behind the mountains. The blade was stained red by the sunset.
Then—
“…Sir Arthorius.”
He stopped.
“Anastasia?”
“Stop.”
Anastasia rose from the tree root, brushing off the dead leaves clinging to her.
“…He tried to kill you, Anastasia.”
His voice was heavy with suppressed rage.
“I know.”
Anastasia looked at the kneeling Sir Bowie, trembling and crying in terror.
Her small frame, dulled from confinement in the tower, made her eye level nearly match his.
“What is your name?”
He couldn’t answer at first.
She calmly removed both her gloves and held them in her right hand.
Then she slapped him across the face.
Smack!
“—Hah!”
He finally came to his senses and looked at her.
But he did not dare draw his sword.
Because of the terrifying blue gaze behind her.
“That means… you spared me…”
“…A-Albert. Albert Bowie.”
He immediately pressed his forehead to the dead leaves on the ground.
“P-please spare me, my lady!”
