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Chapter 2
“……?”
She felt no pain. Perplexed, the woman slowly lowered the arm she had raised.
“How did you manage to get in here?”
“…….”
Turning her gaze, she looked at the man approaching her. The man, dismounting from a jet-black horse, was without a doubt a noble of the highest rank.
Even through her tangled black hair—matted from being chased by a pack of wild dogs—his handsome face was clearly visible.
His blue hair caught the sunlight filtering through the leaves, shining with a silvery glow.
Can a person really be that beautiful?
For a moment, she wondered if the man coming toward her was a god.
But then she felt the warm sensation beneath her feet and looked down.
At her feet, dark red blood was seeping across the ground.
A wild dog lay dead, an arrow lodged in its neck. On the arrow’s tip, the image of a blue hawk was engraved.
Reality snapped back into her. Unlike this man—who seemed as though he had descended from the heavens—the ground beneath her was caked in dirt and blood. This was the world she lived in.
“Ah, uh…uhh…”
Her words stumbled. She was so hungry her head barely worked.
“Wild dogs have a habit of attacking people on sight.”
His muttering voice was languid yet oddly chilling. Forcing her unresponsive lips apart, she stammered out,
“F-forgive me! Please, spare my life!”
But instead of a blade, a waterskin was suddenly thrust before her.
“Drink. Looks like you’ve been starving for a while.”
At his words, she said nothing, only staring blankly at the leather waterskin.
Her brown eyes trembled.
Why?
Aren’t nobles the kind who wouldn’t even blink if a beggar like her was mauled to death by stray dogs?
Instead of taking it, she dropped flat to the ground before him. Before he could call her filthy, she roughly wiped the dog’s saliva off her cheek with her sleeve.
“Do you know who I am?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve committed a grave sin.”
With highborns, the best tactic was always groveling. Saying she was starving would never move them.
No matter what she said, punishment was unavoidable.
She shut her eyes, bracing herself. But no rebuke came for failing to answer his question.
Cautiously, she raised herself a little from the ground.
“You’re begging me like this because you know who I am, aren’t you?”
“Y-you’re a noble, sir.”
Truthfully, she didn’t know.
“A noble, is it. You do flatter well.”
The man radiated an overwhelming presence. To think that her savior was an even more terrifying figure than the orphanage director.
Her head spun and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Was it normal to feel fear toward the man who had just saved her life?
If not for him, she’d already have been torn apart by those teeth. Yet alive now, she felt like she might suffocate anyway.
“Perhaps this is what you need more than water?”
From a nearby knight, the man accepted a piece of bread and held it out.
The rich aroma wafted through the air. At that smell, instinct overtook reason.
She reached for it without thinking.
Thud—her fingers brushed against his across the bread.
Startled, she jerked her hand back and threw herself face-down again.
The bread rolled onto the ground.
“I—I deserve death for this!”
“Indeed. Tossing our head chef’s bread onto the dirt like that.”
His casual remark flustered her further. Unsure what was best, she quickly snatched the bread up, blew on it, and stuffed it into her mouth.
It clogged in her throat from shoving it down too fast. She clutched her chest and heaved, shoulders rising sharply.
At that moment, he handed her the waterskin. She grabbed it desperately and gulped down the water.
Clean water. Bread.
“Hhhuuh, uhh, uuuh….”
Tears slipped from her eyes before she realized it.
“Why are you crying?”
He drew out a handkerchief and lightly touched it to her cheek. The white fabric turned gray with grime.
“Because…it’s delicious….”
“Well then. Are you planning to weep as much as you drink?”
At that, she broke down completely, sobbing and hiccupping.
He brushed a hand through his hair, as if at a loss, then offered her another piece of bread.
This time she accepted without hesitation, devouring it at once.
“Don’t steal food again.”
“Hhic, hicc…!”
“Is it really that good?”
She nodded vigorously.
Only after scarfing down three loaves did she have the presence of mind to look around. The knights nearby were all staring at their lord as if they’d seen a ghost.
“Here. Wipe yourself.”
He pressed the handkerchief into her hand.
“…Thank you.”
Awkwardly, she rubbed at her face. Dust and dirt came off, revealing pale skin beneath.
“……”
“What should I…do with this handkerchief?”
“Wait.”
As she lowered her head timidly, his firm hand lifted her chin.
With the dirt wiped away, her features emerged—white skin, round and mysterious brown eyes, a straight nose, full lips, hair black as ebony.
“Wh-why are you…”
“Just a moment. Stay still.”
“……?”
His sharp, hawk-like gaze studied her face intently.
Her body froze. Nobles were so disgusted by commoners they wouldn’t even let them touch a silver tray.
And yet this man touched her unwashed face.
“I—I deserve death…”
“Shh. I think I’ve just thought of the perfect way to make those old schemers choke.”
Old schemers? She didn’t understand, but kept silent, waiting for his judgment.
“Your origins.”
“The slums of Ellem…sir.”
“Any living family?”
“I was abandoned at birth, so…I don’t know….”
“That’s convenient.”
?
A question mark popped in her mind. Instead of asking, she only bowed lower, begging pitifully.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why do you keep apologizing? Being abandoned wasn’t your fault.”
Her eyes lifted in bewilderment.
…Not my fault?
“I haven’t introduced myself.”
“……”
“Perhaps it’s enough to say I am the master of the land you stand on.”
Her thoughts stopped dead.
“Y-you’re…the Duke…”
“That’s right. Duke Caron Feyros. That is me. And so—are you afraid?”
She had thought him one of the Duke’s retainers. To learn this was the Duke himself—no wonder his presence had felt so crushing.
Now she was certain she was doomed. For this was none other than him—the one they called a devil across the Empire. The brother-slayer.
“…Hhicc.”
“How tiresome. Afraid of me just from hearsay.”
“Sp-spare my life…”
“Your name. What is it?”
His voice was low, yet it carried no anger or contempt.
Most nobles she’d met had quick tempers, striking peasants for the smallest slight.
But he was different.
Realizing this, she dared lift her gaze. And at last, their eyes met.
The Duke’s black eyes were like an abyss—terrifying, yet strangely captivating.
“Your name.”
“I…I don’t have one.”
“No name? Then what were you called?”
“…Number Eight. Eight, sir.”
The wind whistled sharply between them.
Caron fell silent, his face cool and unreadable.
Her whole body shook with fear.
Should she have lied? But lies never came easily to her.
It was too late now. She lowered her gaze again.
“Do you have a home?”
“…No, sir.”
“No name, no home.”
“…I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip, shrinking even smaller.
I’m sorry had become her reflex for survival, a shield against beatings.
“That is not your fault. Don’t apologize.”
Never before had anyone told her it wasn’t her fault.
To her—whose very existence had always felt like a crime—his words sounded like: It’s all right that you were born.
“Please…just let me live.”
“Only your life?”
“…Pardon?”
Puzzled, she blinked.
His eyes curved like a fox’s, alluring.
He slowly bent down.
Her breath caught.
The Duke of Feyros knelt before her on one knee, meeting her gaze.
She saw the dirt stain his expensive trousers.
To someone who could never earn enough in a lifetime to buy cloth that fine, the sight was overwhelming.
“F-forgive me…!”
“Would you not come with me?”
“…What? You mean…you won’t drive me away?”
She asked dumbly.
Nobles.
They were like gods—high, pure, radiant. And they despised those low, filthy, and dark.
Yet in his eyes, there was no contempt.
With a face so beautiful it was frightening, he offered a bewitching proposal.
“Yes. So, my hand?”
Caron extended his hand to her. White, slender, beautiful. The kind of hand that would etch itself forever into memory.
“…But I am a worthless creature. I know nothing.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“……”
“I will not hurt you or cause you suffering. I swear it on the honor of House Feyros. So—come with me.”
Before such sweet words, she thought: even if he truly was the devil they whispered about, she would not care.
This man had saved her life.
He had given her bread, and water.
And now he was offering her a place to live.
Standing before her, gazing steadily, respectfully offering his hand—he looked more like an angel than any angel spoken of.
Devil and angel.
Two words that shouldn’t fit together—yet both seemed to describe him.
She made her decision instantly. To live, she had to take his hand.
She hastily wiped her dirty palms on her clothes, then placed her hand upon his immaculate one.
“You’ve chosen well.”
Caron Feyros clasped her small hand and lifted her to her feet. Offhandedly, he spoke,
“El. From now on, you will be called El.”
“El…”
She whispered the name to herself, rolling it on her tongue.
“Yes. El. Simple, isn’t it?”
Caron scooped her up into his arms and set her onto his elegant black horse.
That day, El entered the Duke’s mansion, carried in his arms.
The man who gave her a name, the first to take her hand.
So dazzling he seemed like a god descended.
Even if he was a devil—it didn’t matter. Whoever he was.
El had been saved. What he had given her was salvation.
(To be continued in the next episode)
