TCTR 41

Chapter 41

“I….”

What exactly was I afraid of?

Clench.

The hand I had been gripping was already so bloodied that it could no longer bleed.

While Ashidwa was the one risking his life in battle, I, unable to even control my own body, trembled behind him and tore at myself.

A sword skimmed past him by a hair’s breadth, a perilous situation I could hardly bear to watch.

The urge to cover my eyes overwhelmed me.

“Ashidwa….”

The scent of death lingered in the air.

Shaking, drenched in cold sweat, I clutched at my pounding chest, curling up as if to protect myself.

Though I hadn’t moved, my lungs felt crushed, as though I had been running endlessly.

My body staggered, struggling to keep its balance.

“Inerua!”

The air split apart with the sharp cry calling my name. I snapped my head up in shock.

My vision was blurry, my body soaked with sweat.

And right before me stood a pitch-black assassin.

‘Ah—no.’

But by the time I thought it, it was already too late—the assassin’s sword was raised high.

I clenched my teeth, forcing strength into my trembling body.

That was when Ashidwa, dressed in stark white in contrast to the assassin, threw himself at me and wrapped me in his arms.

“Ugh!”

He grunted briefly as his arms tightened around me, then twisted his body, kicking the assassin who had attacked us away. His back came into full view before me.

I could only clamp both hands over my mouth.

“Ash… Ashidwa.”

My voice trembled on its own.

No… no, this couldn’t be happening.

Across his back, a deep gash split his body open.

His white clothing began to soak with red.

A sensation beyond words consumed me.

After fending off two more assassins, Ashidwa leaned on his sword for balance, his leg giving way as he collapsed to the ground.

This made no sense.

How had he gotten injured?

Without hesitation, I rushed to his side and pulled his face into my arms.

His entire body was cold.

The warmth that always radiated from him was gone.

“Are… are you okay?”

No answer.

The blood-scent wafting from Ashidwa was unlike any I had ever smelled—it carried death itself.

Panic surged through me.

The thought of losing him made my blood freeze.

I looked around frantically.

Assassins, seizing the chance, pounded the ground as they charged toward us.

No!

Just like him, I turned pale.

My fingers twitched.

In that moment—death rushing in like a blade cutting the air—something inside me snapped.

“Ashidwa….”

I grasped the hand still clutching his sword.

The solid grip drained the warmth from mine.

His appearance was so unfamiliar, so unlike the Ashidwa I knew, that my fingers shook.

‘I never wanted to face this kind of situation again.’

Never again did I want to stand on the edge of life and death.

The assassins were already upon us.

Chaos filled my head.

I pulled Ashidwa into my arms.

His weakened body fell easily against me.

I lifted my gaze, drenched in cold sweat, toward the approaching assassin.

Whoosh.

The sound of a blade cutting through the air.

I shut my eyes tight and tightened my arms around Ashidwa.

“What do I do… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

Only now did I realize—how agonizing it was to see someone precious in pain.

The face that had always gazed far away, smiling gracefully with ease, was now twisted with agony.

In that instant, everything before me looked like flames rising red from the depths of hell.

It swallowed me whole.

“Ah….”

Strength drained from my hands as I staggered to my feet.

I locked eyes with the assassins, ready to lunge.

But whatever happened next, they would never know.

Thunk!

The sound of a blade piercing echoed through the night.

A strangled cry shattered the air as one assassin fell.

“I… I.”

The words came out like a proclamation.

“I’ll protect you.”

Her shoes were gone, her bare feet crushing the earth.
Like a dancer, the small woman—barely over five feet tall—extended her arm in a long, fluid motion. Her sword dripped blood that glistened as her knees bent gracefully.

When she rose again, the assassins could see nothing.

Death had already arrived before them.

✦ ✦ ✦

Looking into the heavy darkness, I thought:

Tonight, the moon is especially beautiful.

The clouds drifted around its round glow, and from them, white flakes of snow fell gently, painting the night in magic.

A picturesque scene.

And yet, holding a brush dipped in black ink, I slashed a dark stroke across that painting.

“Ha… haah….”

Clinging desperately to the last thread of reason, I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

This was a vow.

Gripping my sword as though it were my own heart—

“Khk!”

The blade felt both unbearably light and crushingly heavy.

The weight of this very moment.

Turning with the flickering moonlight, I spun, leaving a trail in the air with my sword.

“As long as I live—”

“Haa… haa…”

Breath tore from me.

I stood with my back to the fallen Ashidwa.

“No one touches this man.”

The desperation, fear, and pain threatened to drown me.

“I won’t let any of you leave alive.”

I raised my free hand to my face.

Slide—

My palm left a streak across my twisted expression.

“I don’t care who sent you or why you’re after me.”

They wavered, but as trained assassins, quickly regained their stances.

“If you turn back now, I won’t pursue you.”

But it was futile.

They still faced me, and I had something to protect—I could waste no more time.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

As my knees bent and I pushed off the earth, I gave them no chance to think.

“Once you’ve seen me raise my sword—”

In the blink of an eye, the bodies of those in front crumbled to the ground.

“You cannot leave alive.”

Red flowers bloomed across the white snow.

The sword I thrust was heavy, unbearably so, yet utterly cold.

‘I’m wielding my sword again.’

Never again.

I had sworn never again to hold my blade like this.

But if it meant protecting myself… protecting my own—

I would bear the weight of this accursed sword as many times as needed.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d at least make it quick for me.”

The blade reflected moonlight as I swung it in a smooth arc, slicing through the night’s glow.

With a surge of killing intent, I leapt lightly into the air.

My upper garment shredded, baring my back.

But beneath the torn cloth, there was no wound—only scars, etched deep across my skin, stark beneath the moonlight.

Scars no one would expect to see on the cherished, greenhouse-raised daughter of a duke.

I tore off my blood-soaked gloves.

Splatter. They hit the ground, revealing twisted, calloused hands, rough and battered.

“Heh….”

Hands no noble lady should possess gripped a beautifully crafted sword.

“Who… are you?”

Someone finally spoke, their voice tinged not with scorn, but with fear.

“You came here already knowing.”

I sprang forward, landing right before him, wings of death at my back.

“Inerua Mertiel. 18th head of the House of Mertiel.”

Even with me standing directly before him, he neither fled nor dared strike.

“What more is there to explain?”

There was nothing more. Even if I said it, he would not hear it.

I filled my eyes with their defeated forms.

Their final desperate attacks never reached me.

They were nothing but fleeting gusts of wind.

“….”

I seized the wrist of one holding a dagger.

Squeeze. I crushed it in my grip.

His eyes darted past me, desperate.

Without hesitation, I bent low and kicked his left side, sending him crumpling.

The moment his torso folded, a blade swept past where my head had been.

“…Haa.”

Thud, thud.

My heart pounded like a drum as I planted my sword in the ground to steady myself.

My vision swam red, clouded with blood—whether mine or theirs, I could no longer tell.

“You were never going to defeat me.”

My breaths came ragged.

“You should have known that before coming here.”

What fell from my chest now—was it pain? Or the last of my resolve?

I no longer knew.