TCTR 45

Chapter 45

Tick, tock.

The second hand of a clock echoed quietly in the basement.

A rank stench of mold and rust stung the nose. In that pitch-dark, lightless space, a few chairs had been set out.

Though nothing bound him, the man who had been dragged there sat perched stiffly on a chair, trembling in terror.

He whimpered, his whole body quaking.

The heavy scent of cigar smoke hung thick in the oppressive air.

“Phew…”

One shadowed figure exhaled deeply, and at the tilt of his chin, Liwel, who stood behind, began to step forward. The man shrieked instantly, voice cracking.

“Sp- spare me! I don’t know what’s happening, but I-I’ll do anything you want!”

His hoarse voice grated against their ears.

Across from him sat a towering man—Eshidwa. Resting his arms on his thighs, he leaned forward, lowering his massive frame.

“A-ah! Y-you must have something you want to know? If I know it, I’ll tell you—anything!”

Eshidwa tapped his lips lightly, narrowed his eyes, then asked one of his subordinates in the back.

“Fel, he really was a servant in the duke’s household?”

“Yes. Briefly, about five years ago, he worked in the stables of House Mertiel.”

At the mention of the ducal household, the man’s body visibly shuddered.

Eshidwa’s eyes narrowed further.

“And the others?”

“None remain who know the whereabouts—except him.”

The man, who had just moments ago groveled, swearing to do anything, now could only gape and tremble.

“Th-the Duke… the Duke’s house…”

As though he had spoken something forbidden.

Eshidwa pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Doesn’t look too useful.”

“S-spare me, please! As long as you let me live—!”

At that, a cruel smirk tugged at Eshidwa’s lips. He looked at the man as though he were filth beneath a crawling insect.

“Yes… and this isn’t exactly the best place to linger, is it?”

He rose from his seat. The wooden chair screeched against the floor, its shrill sound echoing in the dark.

Step, step.

“So you’ll answer me, won’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course!”

He had no idea who his interrogator was—but clung to him desperately anyway.

Eshidwa stroked the man’s head in a strangely soothing motion, his voice softening into a gentle murmur.

“Tell me everything you know about Inera Mertiel.”

At the sound of that name, the man sucked in a breath, body quaking violently.

“I-I don’t know anything!”

“Good boy. I won’t hurt you.”

The warmth of that hand, the tender voice crooning at his ear—so deceptively sweet it could bewitch anyone.

“As long as you answer properly.”

Which only made it all the more terrifying.

Which only made him freeze all the tighter.

Here, any wrong move would make him nothing more than an insect thrashing helplessly in a spider’s web.

“Now, speak. I’m listening.”

“Th-the young lady… Inera Mertiel…”

“Yes. Say whatever you know.”

Breathless as if crushed beneath a great stone, the man stammered and finally forced out words.

“She’s someone you must never… never approach.”

“…Hm?”

A deep crease formed between Eshidwa’s brows.

“I-I don’t know why you’re asking about her, but—you mustn’t even meet her eyes, and in her presence, you mustn’t even breathe too loud!”

“And what do you mean by that? Explain carefully.”

Still trembling, scarcely able to breathe, the man suddenly straightened, and in a frenzy shouted:

“Do you know what happened to the ones who thought she was just a sweet child, who approached because she was cute—because she reminded them of their daughter?!”

“…What happened?”

“They died! I saw it with my own eyes! They claimed those people quit their jobs, but I saw them carried out as corpses overnight! I saw it, I tell you!”

Eshidwa’s hand froze mid-motion.

Around them, his men stiffened, their eyes flicking nervously to their master.

“Don’t be fooled! That girl is a demon wearing human skin!”

“I see. So they died—and you’re saying it was the young lady’s doing? How are you so sure?”

“I-I saw it myself… I really saw it!”

The man shook, weeping uncontrollably, until he lost control entirely. The front of his trousers darkened with spreading damp.

Eshidwa clicked his tongue in disgust, stepping back.

“Enough trembling. Answer me properly. What exactly did you see?”

The man looked ready to faint. Then, mustering the last of his will, he bellowed so loud the small chamber shook:

“She’s a monster! At twelve years old—I saw her strike down grown men in their thirties!”

✦ ✦ ✦

By nightfall, the pain came again.

“Cough!”

I buried my shivering body beneath the covers.

It hurt so much… maybe I should crawl to the fireplace.

Rolling myself up in the blanket, I dragged my body like a worm toward the old stove where the last embers still burned.

My head dropped against the wooden floor.

On nights like these—when I was sick and cold—I always remembered that time.

Yes… that time.

I must have been twelve.

That day too…

Snowflakes fell in beauty, but upon touching the earth, they turned into calamity.

A seizure struck.

“It hurts…”

Why was I the only one born like this?

I told myself it couldn’t be helped—that everyone in the world had hidden sorrows they bore in silence.

But those words no longer comforted me.

“I don’t want to be alone…”

I whispered the same plea over and over, fever-bright beneath my thin blanket.

Father, Mother.

If I went to them—would they hold me?

They never had before.

But if they saw me like this, suffering, maybe… maybe they would worry. Maybe they would embrace me.

“I miss my nurse, too…”

In my fever, I staggered to my feet.

Barefoot, I left my room and wandered the halls.

The chill crept up from my soles, climbing from my legs to my chest, twisting and distorting me as it went.

And then—I saw the face I longed for.

“Father.”

“Well timed, Inera. I happened to need you.”

For once, my father greeted me warmly, indifferent to my sickly appearance.

When he said he needed me, I rushed to him.

And suddenly, a sword was in my hand.

“I’d like to see your skill.”

The blade I had trained so hard to wield was not pointed toward some noble cause—
but toward the people kneeling at my feet.

A creeping, crawling sensation like insects up my legs tightened around my throat.

What was that feeling?

“A perfect chance to test your strength. You’ve never used it on people, after all.”

An unnamed emotion clenched my neck like a vice.

The people before me stared up with wide eyes—seeing me for the first time.

And I—shaking harder, unable to move.

When I hesitated, Father’s eyes turned cold.

As if to say: useless.

Under that chilling gaze, my hands began to tremble violently.

“N-no… I can do it. I can do it, Father.”

I raised the sword.

What I remember after that is only fragments: me with the sword, and the people collapsing helplessly to the floor as if the world had ended.

The most horrifying thing was… how easy it was.

Terrifyingly easy.

All sound grew faint and distant.

When I finally lowered my blade—Father was smiling.

“That will do.”

And that alone was enough.

What I had just done no longer mattered.

“You’ve done well. As expected of my child.”

“Father…”

Praise… he praised me.

For the first time, he smiled at me.

I clutched his robes with hands stained in blood that could never be washed clean.

Ordinarily, he would have shoved me away—but not that day.

Daring, I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“So it wasn’t useless, teaching you.”

He did not push me aside. Did not scold me.

I was finally useful to him. In that moment, it felt as though I owned the whole world.

I wasn’t cold anymore. I wasn’t in pain.

Inside my head, fireworks burst; sunlight poured down on me alone.

“I’ll work harder… I’ll become someone worthy of you, someone who raises the name of Mertiel high!”

After that… I think it happened more times.

But now, those memories are too dreadful to recall.

Each time my hands were stained with blood that could never be undone, the blackness seeped deeper into me, staining me beyond redemption.

My eyes fluttered open, hazy, as if forcing open an old wound.

‘When… did I fall asleep?’

The world wavered, blurred through wet lashes.

I saw someone before me, and slowly raised my hand.

He stood, wordless.

My hand dropped, weak.

As he turned away without hesitation, the back of his golden head—his retreating figure—brought back that winter’s biting chill.

I had endured it countless times in the past.

So why did it hurt more than ever now?

“…Eshidwa.”

My broken voice cracked into the silence.