Chapter 46

― I don’t want to die. That’s why I’m searching for a way to get better.

The tense look on Sasha’s face as she said those words had been deeply striking.

That small child, toddling forward with determined eyes.

Later, as she grew taller, Sasha could be seen watering flowers in the garden.

Cough—

Even as she coughed, she stubbornly kept reading her books.

Scenes like that were always noticeable—sometimes even irritating.

“Y-your lordship, I made a mistake…! Kkhhkk—!”

Inside Rosento, in a hideout belonging to the underworld, the dark syndicate’s field captain Zarhan was kneeling before Jin, trembling violently as Jin’s black flame clutched his throat.

Beside him lay a shattered dagger, broken clean into three pieces—evidence of his failed assassination attempt.

Jin’s eyes flickered coldly as he stared down at the man.

A moment later, another tendril of black flame lashed out from Jin and struck Zarhan.

Kwa-kwagwang!

The man’s body flew backward with a deafening crash, slammed into the wall, and then dropped to the ground.

The other members of the syndicate standing near Jin only clicked their tongues and looked at Zarhan with pity.

“Cough… Y-your lordship… I’ve committed… a mortal sin…”

“What exactly did you plan to accomplish by killing me?”

Jin strode forward, step by step, until he loomed over Zarhan.

Once, Zarhan had been the second most powerful figure in the underworld.

Orphans, vagrants, hired killers—none could act without his command.

He had believed his comfortable life, not unlike that of a noble lord, would continue forever.

“Planning to take this place back for yourself?”

Indeed, never had he imagined that the Winchester brothers—mere children back then—would decapitate the underworld’s leader and seize control.

“T-that’s…”

“Even if I die, Othello remains.”

Jin’s lips curved upward.

Though he looked like a handsome boy, no taller than an adult woman, the sharp green eyes in that youthful face gleamed with feral menace.

Everyone knew: the sons of the four ducal houses who manifested abilities were not ordinary humans.

Mature in both mind and body far beyond their age, a single such boy could overwhelm ten mercenaries.

And here, there were two such monsters—the brothers. What use was there for talk of first or second place in the syndicate?

“Cough, cough…”

Zarhan understood. Even if by some miracle he struck down Jin, Othello Winchester would have slit his throat soon after.

“Besides,” Jin continued, “my father is Duke Ricardo Winchester.”

Everyone in the room stiffened at the name.

The ruler of shadows—the Dark King.

If he so much as extended his influence into Rosento, every creature of the night would bow.

“Your courage, at least—the courage to ignore such consequences—I’ll commend.”

For those who lived by the night, Duke Ricardo was an object of inescapable awe, the absolute sovereign.

“…Ugh.”

Jin’s black flame once again lifted Zarhan by the throat.

Blood smeared his face as his eyes met Jin’s cold green ones.

Recklessness only bred death. This was proof.

“Zarhan.”

Jin’s low voice reverberated through the chamber.

“I’ll give you a chance to die peacefully, without knowing too much. Cooperate with me.”

“P-please… just give the order…”

“Twenty years ago, you murdered the physician of Arcada whom you once served, stealing his wealth. That’s why the Empire marked you a criminal.”

That was the reason Zarhan had sought refuge in Rosento’s underworld.

“Y-yes…”

“In that physician’s library, three books went missing. Books about the elixir of immortality.”

Blood dripped from Zarhan’s chin and nose.

He coughed, then rasped, “Y-you… you want those books…? Cough—”

“Yes.”

A single, curt reply.

Even a boy who already had everything, it seemed, could not resist the lure of immortality. Zarhan thought bitterly.

Twenty years ago, as the physician’s apprentice, he had stolen those volumes.

But they had contained no true path to eternal life.

There had been notes on an “Elixir,” a panacea—but the formula was incomplete.

Still, there was no need for him to reveal that.

“I’ll retrieve them for you. I know where they are.”

He swore his cooperation, coughing blood.

But Jin showed no intention of releasing him.

The unease dawned too late—right as Jin’s lips curled into a smile.

“If you know where they are, then I don’t need you.”

“Wh-what…?”

The black flame writhed in Jin’s hand.

“I’ll take my gift for my little sister myself.”

His lips moved, cruel light glinting in his eyes.

“Y-your sister…?”

“Shadow of the Abyss.”

A dread incantation. A sorcery of black fire that burrowed into the mind, tearing out every secret—but at the cost of reducing the victim to a drooling husk.

“N-no… Aaagh!! My head!! Aaaaagh!!”

Every syndicate member present lowered their heads in fear.

In Jin’s sharp green eyes, Zarhan’s memories rose like smoke—

The physician’s final moments as Zarhan’s dagger slit his artery.

The stolen books.

And the very place where he had hidden them.

“Guugh! Aaaagh!!”

Amidst Zarhan’s agonized screams, Jin collected all the useful knowledge.

“Guhhk…! Kkghhh…!”

His lips curved into a merciless smile.

“Sasha, I’ve found a gift for you.”

Truth be told, Evan could not understand it.

― Please, kill me quickly.

He remembered the face of a woman, frail and emaciated, begging him for death.

She was merely one of countless dying creatures he had seen across all his regressions.

Always, consistently, she had longed for escape through death—and more than once, he had granted it.

“….”

Evan opened his hand, stained by blood innumerable times.

At some point, even the pain in his chest had ceased.

Witnessing death no longer stirred him.

After so many cycles of regression, his human identity and emotions were wearing away.

Perhaps he would become a monster no different from Persetos.

He had thought all his remaining hope extinguished.

And yet—the clarity did not manifest.

Instead, an intruder appeared uninvited into his Square.

That day he had arrived at the Winchester estate, he noticed her watching him.

From a second-floor window, silver hair glinting round and bright.

Their eyes had met—before she ducked away, like a child playing a prank.

I need to know.

Evan’s blue eyes glinted coldly.

First, whether you are truly Sasha Winchester.

He had identified the trespasser entering his Square; that much was simple.

Now, with quarters so near Sasha’s room, the opportunity would come.

But then—an unfamiliar noise carried down the corridor.

“The young lady has a fever again. Summon the physician. Report to His Grace as well.”

“Yes, Lady Maya.”

Evan frowned toward the closed door of his own chamber.

When he thought about it, he realized he knew very little of the girl.

Only that she was always pale, always looked as if in pain.

Moments later, more voices sounded outside.

“His Grace is on his way here.”

“So soon? Understood.”

Barely a minute since the servant left to deliver the message—so he must have already been coming.

The household stirred, hushed yet busy.

“Prepare! His Grace is arriving!”

Evan narrowed his eyes, lying back on his bed.

Ricardo Winchester.

The man who regarded humans as nothing more than insects—was he really the type to come running because his daughter was unwell?

A sickly girl in the Winchester estate, and the Dark King who sought her…

Two years ago, at the Hunting Festival ball, he had thought it mere coincidence when the duke entered carrying the child.

But with this much, coincidence could no longer explain it.

That grim, blood-reeking mansion—once so desolate—seemed now to revolve around one small girl.

It clashed with every memory Evan had of the man.

My head felt like it was splitting open.

The fever made my whole body tremble.

Cough, cough.

Even after taking the medicine the physician prescribed, the heat refused to subside.

The room spun dizzyingly before my eyes.

“Uuh…”

I clutched tightly at the fingers resting beside me.

Maya’s hand? It felt long and slender—but somehow larger than before.

Were the veins always this pronounced?

“I-it hurts…”

My cracked voice slipped out weakly.

Each ragged breath made my throat burn.

“I… miss you… Mom…”

When sick, it was always family one thought of most.

The faces of the mother and younger siblings I’d left behind in my past life rose in my mind.

They’re probably living fine without me… right?

Even as I spoke, strength drained from my body.

My eyelids slid shut.

At my ear, a low voice murmured:

“…Looked at this way, you’re unmistakably…”

It wasn’t Maya’s voice. But before I could think more, sleep claimed me.

“…just a child.”

It hurt. I only wanted to rest.

A rougher hand than Maya’s softly covered my forehead.