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Chapter 16
Around the same time, in Ronin’s room.
Pam asked in an irritated voice,
“What on earth happened?! How does someone turn into a walking corpse in just half a day?!”
She wasn’t wrong.
Wrapped beneath a soft blanket, Ronin lay there with a deathly pale face, doing nothing but breathing weakly. His complexion was so white that it was barely distinguishable from the blanket itself.
Even without Galahad lifting a finger, he looked as though he were about to cross the River Acheron at any moment.
Supported by Pam as she helped him sit up, Ronin barely managed to speak.
“I’m just… a little… Cough, cough!”
He couldn’t even finish a few words before a fit of coughing interrupted him.
Looking utterly exasperated, Pam poured him a cup of medicinal tea.
“Here, drink some warm medicine! Slowly! Don’t upset your stomach again!”
“I’m… sorry, Pam…”
“Oh, honestly! I come all the way here only to end up nursing you again!”
Even after venting her frustration, Pam still looked unsatisfied and repeatedly pounded her own chest.
The sight suited someone her age so perfectly that Ronin couldn’t help smiling, forgetting his situation for a moment.
“If you’re a Beta, at least you should be healthy! But you’re sick all the time! You’re completely useless!”
She muttered the last words almost to herself.
Ronin’s smile quickly faded.
‘…Useless. She’s right. If only I had been an Omega, I wouldn’t have needed to wear such thin clothes, and I wouldn’t have fallen ill with this fever.’
Ronin, now twenty years old, possessed extraordinary beauty.
However, unlike an Omega, his body wasn’t naturally slender and supple.
Because of that, he had no choice but to conceal those shortcomings in other ways.
One of those methods was wearing clothing made from incredibly thin fabric.
Fabric so delicate it looked as though it could be torn apart with a single finger.
After riding horseback in such clothing and exposing himself to the North’s freezing cold, it was only natural that Ronin had fallen ill.
Yet there wasn’t a single person here who would defend him.
Not even Ronin himself.
Suppressing the guilt rising within him, he quietly said,
“…I think… I’m feeling better now. Cough. Pam, you should get some rest too.”
“Really? Because if you suddenly keel over and die after saying that, I’m going to be in serious trouble.”
Pam narrowed her eyes and carefully inspected him.
At least it wasn’t entirely a lie.
After drinking the medicinal tea, some color had indeed returned to his face.
“My room’s right next door, so call me if anything happens. And if you can’t even do that, pull the bell cord. You can manage that much, right?”
Ronin nodded.
Still unconvinced, Pam finally left the room.
After all, the exhausting journey to the North had worn her out as much as anyone else.
Once alone, Ronin closed his eyes.
Even though he knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.
It was simply a habit his body had learned.
Knock.
Knock.
Because he remained awake, he heard the knock.
It was so quiet that it almost sounded as though it had drifted in on the wind by mistake.
Ronin hesitated.
Should he wake the young maid sleeping next door to check who was outside?
Or…
His hesitation didn’t last long.
Unsteadily, he climbed out of bed.
After pulling on the robe that had been tossed carelessly nearby, he opened the door.
Standing there was someone he had never expected.
“Sir… Leofric?”
Callion Leofric looked down at Ronin with the same cold, expressionless face as before.
His pale moonlit eyes shone even in the darkness.
He wasn’t wearing the military uniform he’d worn on the journey north, yet he still felt like an enormous fortress wall.
He was a man who embodied the North’s “Black Wall.”
Even though Ronin knew it couldn’t be true, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering whether Callion had come to kill him.
After a brief silence, Callion finally spoke.
“I heard from the servants that you developed a fever… I came to see whether it might be the northern fever.”
As he spoke, his eyes slowly examined Ronin.
His hair, flattened on one side from lying in bed.
His unnaturally flushed face.
His uneven, labored breathing.
Everything proved that Ronin Alistair was genuinely ill.
‘At least he isn’t foolish enough to fake something like this.’
When he’d first heard that an Alistair had fallen sick, Callion had found the idea utterly ridiculous.
He had naturally assumed it was nothing more than an act.
Even so, he had no choice but to come to the Alistair’s room.
‘If it’s an endemic disease, others could become infected.’
The illnesses common in the North made an already difficult life even harsher.
Once infected, recovery was slow, and the mortality rate was fairly high.
Fortunately, they weren’t especially contagious.
Still, caution was necessary.
‘Even if it were the northern fever, there would have been nothing I could do…’
If an Alistair had truly contracted the disease, an open conflict with House Alistair would have become unavoidable.
Yet perhaps…
Perhaps it would also have been an opportunity to finally sever the long-standing, hateful relationship between their families.
Thinking that, Callion looked Ronin over once again.
His conclusion was simple.
‘He’s far too thin.’
It wasn’t an exaggeration.
The Alistair before him seemed barely half his own size.
And judging by the heat radiating from him despite the distance between them, the fever had taken hold completely.
Unable to remain standing any longer, Ronin slowly sank back onto the edge of the bed.
“…Please forgive my discourtesy… for receiving you while seated.”
Even now, he hadn’t forgotten his manners.
It was exactly what one would expect from someone of that family.
Anyone looking at Ronin now would immediately recognize him as a patient.
‘The North’s cold is difficult to endure.’
Seeing someone barely half his size struggling like that stirred a faint sense of pity.
Yet the moment Callion remembered that Ronin belonged to that Alistair family, his heart turned cold again.
Wasn’t that family famous for wearing harmless, obedient faces while stripping their opponents clean, leaving not even the bones behind?
In truth, the Alistairs weren’t the only ones who coveted the Leofric bloodline.
Every noble in the capital wanted his bloodline.
They all sought legitimacy by any means possible.
To them, marriage and childbirth were nothing more than tools.
If obtaining Leofric’s direct heir required enduring humiliation, they would gladly do so.
The memories of being hounded by those Omegas since childhood remained vivid.
The tearful faces begging him for his seed.
The sweet, cloying scent of Omega pheromones.
Among them all…
The Alistairs had always been the worst.
‘They’re practically the very embodiment of Omegas. And by flattering His Majesty, they even managed to force this marriage.’
Whether the Alistair standing before him was an Omega or not made no difference.
No matter what happened…
Callion had no intention of leaving behind an heir.
‘The curse ends with my generation. I won’t allow that tragedy to repeat itself.’
Though he had no intention of giving Ronin his seed, nor of ever sharing a bed with him, Callion’s expression never changed as he calmly spoke.
“We were married only a few days ago. A marriage publicly proclaimed by His Majesty, ruler of the Empire, and by the revered High Priest.”
“Huh? What suddenly brought that on…?”
Ronin trailed off.
In truth, simply being alone with Callion while still burning with fever was exhausting enough.
Yet Callion showed no sign of backing down.
“In the North, they say that anyone who refuses to look after an ill spouse has no human heart. Are you suggesting, my spouse, that I am no different from a monster?”
