chapter 09
“Aagh!”
“Who are you?”
Dantes tightened his arm around the man’s neck as he spoke. His sword, meant as a warning, slammed into the wall right beside the man’s face. The chill of the blade would’ve been more than enough to seep into his skin.
“P-Please spare me! I-I’m Monternero Aventurine!”
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“T-That’s what I should be asking you!”
“What?”
“Th-this place… only the men of the Aventurine family are allowed in here! W-who are you? Please don’t kill me!”
“Shh. Quiet.”
Dantes covered his mouth. Monternero sputtered in disbelief, but his body was stiff with fear. Dantes kept the chokehold firm as he pressed on.
“Why are you here? What’s your reason?”
“I-I’m supposed to be here! This is where I belong!”
“Don’t talk nonsense. The baron told me he only shared knowledge of this secret passage with you. Were you waiting for me here at this time? What’s your true purpose?”
His voice was sharp, cutting like a blade. Dantes hadn’t stopped investigating Monternero just because the man seemed clumsy and curious. From goblins, he’d heard the story of why Monternero had been captured, and learned this wasn’t the first of his odd escapades.
At the very least, he dabbles in magic—or has an interest in it. Maybe even researches monsters. Either way, not ordinary.
Dantes was still torn on whether it was right to let Monternero continue his contact with Roberto. He had planned to decide after tonight, but the man had appeared of his own accord at this late hour.
This was no coincidence. It was deliberate.
Dantes was Emperor of Delion. That title wasn’t just about wielding power—it meant surviving countless wars and standing firm amidst endless schemes.
“I know what I heard, but what does it matter? I can’t even fight! I only came because Mr. Roberto keeps refusing food, so I wanted to check on him!”
Monternero was loud, but his eyes darted nervously at Dantes.
“Wait… then the one choking me right now… is His Majesty the Emperor?”
“Shh.”
“Fine, fine! I’ll be quiet, just let me go! You’re too strong, I feel like my body’s going to break!”
Dantes finally released him—but just as Monternero thought he was free, his wrist was seized and twisted sharply. The pain silenced even his cry.
“Go straight out this passage. Stand guard at the entrance. If anyone comes down, I’ll kill you.”
“Wh-what? You’ll kill me?”
“Go.”
His tone was cold as ice, absolute. He truly meant he could kill Monternero without anyone knowing. Trembling violently, Monternero didn’t dare resist. Dantes said nothing more, just glared at him, radiating a deadly aura even in the dark.
Monternero shook his wrist free and scampered up the stairs in a panic. Dantes resolved that at daybreak, he would sever every path that allowed Monternero access to Roberto.
A dangerous man. He may have led me closer to Roberto, but his true motives are too murky. I may have to take him back to the capital.
He waited until the sound of Monternero’s retreating footsteps faded, then descended deeper below. The delay had cost him precious time.
He moved silently through the darkness. Step by step, closer to Roberto. His heart pounded—not with simple rage, he knew, but with a passion so old he himself had almost forgotten it. A longing with no clear name. Only the burning determination to find Roberto had carried him this far.
As a glow of torchlight reached him, Dantes pressed his body against the wall. This secret passage opened directly into the guards’ area.
“Urgh!”
He struck swiftly, subduing two guards before they could react. A blow to the nape, a precise press to a nerve—enough to knock them out instantly. Even seasoned knights were helpless before him.
Stepping over their slumped bodies, he entered Roberto’s cell. The baron’s prison was harsher than he expected.
Roberto lay asleep against the freezing stone wall, without even a blanket. Heavy iron shackles bound his wrists and ankles.
Moonlight, slipping through a window no bigger than a handspan, spilled across his pale, scarred feet. His face was drawn and weary, yet still youthful, untouched by time. Light freckles, long lashes, delicate nose and jawline—everything about him looked fragile, almost too delicate to be called a man.
It was the same back then. A small frame, short height, that expressionless face. And yet, every time we sparred, I could never fathom how such strength came from such a body.
Dantes gazed at him, lost in memory. Roberto had always risen before anyone else, washed alone, and trained long after the others stopped. He never showed weakness or carelessness. This, now, was a Roberto he had never seen.
Is this what I wanted to see?
No—he hadn’t chased him for years just to see him so broken. His hands and feet were calloused and scarred, testament to relentless struggle.
And still, for six years of life on the run, to remain like this was a miracle. Only Roberto could have endured it. He didn’t look filthy or pitiful—he looked like a persecuted saint.
Exhaustion had claimed him, and he slept sitting against the wall. Dantes couldn’t bring himself to wake him. But neither could he turn away.
He wanted to see him. This face.
He had missed him so desperately.
Dantes silenced even his breath as he studied Roberto’s sleeping form. His chest didn’t feel like it would burst from anger—it ached with sorrow. He wanted to hoist him up, carry him out, and give him a proper place to rest.
If only he could feed him bread and watch those thin cheeks swell as he chewed, like a small animal. Maybe then they could talk again.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Hey, it’s shift change already. Why hasn’t one of them come up? We’ll get in trouble if the reports are late.”
Voices echoed closer. Dantes slipped swiftly into the secret passage.
Moments later, the new guards entered and caused a stir.
“What the hell—? What happened to them? Where’s Roberto Brida? Did he escape?”
But when they rushed to the cell, Roberto Brida was still asleep.
“What? He’s right there. Sleeping. What’s going on?”
“Should we report this?”
“Not now. Wait till morning. Wake the higher-ups now and they’ll drag us all in. Damn it, this is bad luck… Roberto, Robert—whatever his name is!”
Grumbling, the guards left the dungeon. Only when silence settled did Roberto slowly open his eyes.
In truth, she had been awake ever since Dantes took down the guards. Years of running had left her unable to sleep deeply—she awoke at the slightest noise. But she hadn’t had the courage to face Dantes.
She was never good at lies or acting, but she was skilled at playing dead—or asleep. It was part of the advanced knight training she and her comrades had once received.
Yet now, she might truly have to die. Better death than letting Dantes discover the truth and despair at her deception.
In that long silence, when he had simply stared at her without a word, Roselina had cursed her own stubborn will to survive that had led to this moment.
But most of all, she cursed the aching temptation to open her eyes.
To look at Dantes, now grown into a man. To take in the noble, radiant figure of him in his twenties. And not just as a friend.
That was why I ran.
She remembered the day, six years ago, when the rain poured without end. Drenched from head to toe, Dantes Belkin had come to her crumbling home, his face full of turmoil.
Roselina had been grateful to have even that dilapidated house, barely kept afloat on the wages she earned as a squire.
Her father, a crippled mercenary who had lost a leg, could no longer work. Her brother was born with a weak heart. On rainy days, both suffered worse.
While others buzzed with excitement for the knight investiture ceremony the next day, Roselina had been consumed with tending her family.
And yet… Dantes still occupied her thoughts. Especially after, for the past month or two, he had so clearly avoided her. People even began to ask why. She didn’t know the reason, nor did Gunter or Marco. Only Cesario seemed to suspect something—but all he said was to give Dantes time.
Time passed mercilessly. And always, the dread gnawed at her: how long could she keep hiding that she was a woman? What would happen if she was found out? Without her late master to protect her, no one could shield her. The Imperial Order would never accept a female knight. Worse, if her secret was exposed, it might tarnish Dantes’s honor forever—just for having a woman hidden in their ranks.
But above all, it would mean Dantes’s disappointment in her.
In truth, many problems weighed on her—but at that time, her every thought was of Dantes.
She remembered vividly that moment.
The pounding on her door.
The door flying open.
And Dantes standing there.
It had felt like a dream.
“Roberto Brida. I think… I like you.”
Even that confession, like a blow to her very being. Something that should only ever have existed in a dream, never in reality.
Roselina shut her eyes again, replaying that moment in her mind. And once more, she regretted it. Regretted that she had not died back then.
