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Chapter 33
Believe me? Believe in me?
She had asked him to trust her, but she never thought she’d actually hear those words in return.
Seeing Erin stiffen up, he gave a faint smile.
“Let’s go, Dame Erin. I’ll help you.”
With that, Ferdin tightened his hold on the child in his arms.
A sudden curiosity struck Erin.
Would he still say those same words after he one day learned everything?
Ferdin didn’t know how many secrets she carried.
If he ever came to know the truth, he surely wouldn’t be able to speak to her the way he did now.
Even though she tried to reason with herself like that, her racing heartbeat wouldn’t stop.
That Ferdin trusted her—
From the moment she heard those words, she found herself wanting, somehow, to be worthy of that trust.
To do that, I’ll have to get us out of here safely first.
With that thought, Erin drew her sword.
Erin’s blade against the wolf-tribe was merciless. With every swing of her sword, another wolf-warrior fell.
They attacked ferociously, but their claws never even grazed her.
She moved at a speed that even Ferdin struggled to follow.
“A demon! A demon has appeared!”
“That’s no human. No human could be that strong!”
At some point, the wolf-tribe had begun trembling in fear of her.
That was how little mercy was in her hand.
Watching her while keeping the surrounding wolf-tribe at bay, Ferdin felt a question arise.
Were the wolf-tribe always this weak?
Seeing them fall so easily beneath her blade, that thought was inevitable.
Their claws were sharp, and their force rivaled that of mid-level knights.
Yet Erin fought them as if she were breathing—effortless and composed.
Had Ferdin not been standing right beside her facing the wolf-tribe himself, he would have truly believed they were weak.
To take on twenty beastmen of mid-knight level strength all at once… As far as Ferdin knew, only a Sword Master could accomplish such a feat.
Could those outrageous rumors actually be true…?
He recalled what people whispered after the monster subjugation.
“They say that Sword Master was actually Erin Lyserth. She grew close to the duke’s daughter because she rescued her.”
“That villainess? Don’t be ridiculous. From what I heard, that wasn’t the mark of a Sword Master at all…”
Of course, the moment Ferdin’s fierce gaze fell on the gossipers, they had fled in a panic.
Still, the rumor had been there.
When at last the wolf-tribe guards collapsed, Ferdin looked at Erin with awe.
She stood there as if she had done nothing remarkable at all.
“Sir Ferdin, I’ll go in first.”
Erin stepped closer to the underground prison’s door, carefully opened it, and slipped inside.
Ferdin followed behind, still carrying the child.
The first thing that greeted them was the icy air. Shivering, the child burrowed deeper into Ferdin’s arms.
Watching the boy, Ferdin suddenly realized—in all the chaos, he hadn’t even asked the child’s name.
“What’s your name?”
At his words, the boy squirmed in his arms.
“If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”
“That’s not it…”
“…?”
“I don’t have a name.”
“…What…?”
“I’m sorry…”
Ferdin’s expression darkened, and he hugged the boy tightly.
Just from the glimpse of his past and this short exchange, Ferdin could imagine the kind of life the child must have lived.
With firm resolve, he said,
“That’s not your fault.”
The words were no different from something he told himself.
“Wretched brat.”
“Dirty blood shows itself no matter what. Tsk.”
The Emperor’s scorn from his childhood echoed in his mind.
Back then, he had truly believed it was his fault.
This boy, too, seemed to think it was his own fault that he had no name, that his life was full of misfortune.
But how could that be true? They had committed no sin.
Ferdin adjusted his hold on the child and looked ahead—at Erin’s back as she walked before him.
Her hastily braided hair swayed lightly.
Somehow, those small shoulders looked steadfast to him.
Then—
A sudden pain stabbed through his skull. Ferdin clutched his hair with one hand.
He realized his ability was being activated. An indescribable agony wrapped around him.
This wasn’t pain of the body.
It was the anguish of the heart—from Erin’s own memories.
“Erin, what happens to children who don’t listen?”
“I-I was wrong, Mother. Please, forgive me just this once.”
He saw the Marchioness of Lyserth. Her face twisted with irritation.
Ferdin had met her occasionally at the imperial palace.
She had always seemed gentle, dignified—a paragon of the social world.
That same Marchioness, revered by ladies everywhere, often came to the palace under the pretense of educating the princes.
But the woman in Erin’s memory—her face was nowhere near gentle.
Fury distorted her features as she raised her hand.
Little Erin stood before her, weeping endlessly, resignation etched across her face.
The ability activated again.
Space twisted, and Ferdin saw Erin lying alone on a bed, crying.
Curled up, she whispered,
“No one can find out…”
Tear stains crusted her young face.
“I miss you, Calypse…”
Ferdin’s face turned pale. He clutched the pendant at his chest and hurriedly set the child down.
Through his wavering vision, he saw Erin rushing toward him, alarmed.
Her hand gripped his arm, trembling with worry.
Reality and illusion blurred together. He heard her call out,
“Sir Ferdin!”
But his ability didn’t stop there. His vision twisted again, drawn out from the pendant.
He saw a place he had never been before.
And there—he saw himself.
Lying on the ground, a sword pierced through his abdomen and shoulder, dying.
His ability only ever showed the past.
But this—he had never lived through this.
Then what was this vision?
He watched his dying self clutch the pendant, lips moving.
Ferdin staggered closer, straining to hear.
And when he caught Erin’s name, he froze.
“Erin… misfortune… please… protect her…”
What… what was he saying?
The words were too faint, and Ferdin leaned closer to his fallen self—
When suddenly—
“Don’t forget.”
The words rang out with a clarity stronger than anything else.
At the same moment, a violent shock slammed into his head, and Ferdin’s eyes snapped open.
“Sir Ferdin!”
Erin’s voice brought him back to reality.
She looked at him, her face full of worry.
His head was reeling from the overuse of his ability.
Erin steadied his staggering body, gazing up at him with anxious eyes.
Seeing her like that, Ferdin felt only more certain.
Erin… hadn’t killed Calypse.
He didn’t know why such false rumors had spread.
But what he had long suspected was now confirmed through his ability.
From the glimpses he’d seen, he couldn’t even begin to fathom the life she had endured.
Condemned as a villainess for a crime she never committed, cursed by others—Ferdin’s heart ached for the small woman before him.
“Dame Erin…”
“Are you all right? Is your head hurting?”
She fussed over him in distress.
Ferdin gripped her shoulders. Surprised, she looked up at him with wide eyes.
In those clear eyes, a sudden impulse rose in him.
He wanted to ask—
What did the Marchioness do to you?
You’re not the villainess people say you are, are you?
And Calypse—he too must know you didn’t kill him.
And… the fact that the him of some unknown past called out your name—
Could it be that we… had met once before?
