The boy, who had been carefully observing Ruth, asked this question. Ruth let out a hollow laugh, one that was neither truly sad nor happy, but rather a mixture of both.

“No. I knew this would happen eventually.”

Ruth hadn’t really expected anything from him. He had only wanted to buy some time for his mother and Leia to escape and, for one last time, hear the truth from him. Just like he had spoken his heart out when cornered by the worst circumstances, Ruth wanted to hear the truth about his mother from him. And about himself. But in the end, it was all meaningless. Without hesitation, the man had tried to drive a sword into his own heart.

That was the kind of man he was. There was nothing left to hope for or expect anymore.

But still, his chest ached strangely, painfully.

It just hurt.

“How far should we chase them?”

Looking at Ruth, who seemed on the verge of tears, the boy asked. Ruth had asked the Red Scorpions to protect him and to make sure Lyman could not return directly to Karileum, leading him down a long, winding path to get lost. The price for his sins would be repaid once Lyman returned to Karileum.

“Chase them around the Rengetti, all the way to the sea. Stall them as much as you can.”

“Understood. Then, I’ll be going now.”

The boy nodded and bowed his head before leaving the room. As he nodded to his comrades outside, they began to move swiftly. Ruth, who had raised his head and was watching them, felt something odd. Despite the boy claiming to be a mere messenger, the way the adult comrades treated him made it seem as though they were treating him as their leader.

Ruth wondered, and as he stared at the boy, the boy looked back at him and smiled with his eyes. Then, seemingly understanding Ruth’s confusion, the boy sent the other companions ahead and turned to speak to Ruth outside the door.

“With this, the Red Scorpions are almost disbanded. Now, only the elderly, women, children, and a few others who had taken different contracts remain. The ones chasing him now are also just children.”

That thought made Ruth ask again, “Your leader?”

“He was executed for taking the wrong contract and putting the Red Scorpions in danger.”

“Was that your doing?”

The boy smiled and replied, “Perhaps we’ll meet again someday. Or perhaps we’ll never cross paths again. I like you. Helping you is not for the Red Scorpions, but out of mere interest. I like that the path you’ve chosen in the end is so pure.”

He hadn’t answered the question directly, but Ruth knew who the boy was from those words. However, still puzzled, Ruth asked again.

“… Who are you?”

“Anyone who hears my name belongs to me. Do you still want to know?”

“I already belong to someone else. I just want to know.”

“If you learn my name, you’ll have to come with me to the Turthan Desert. You know the tradition of the desert people, right? To tell someone your name is like offering them a proposal. Will you accept?”

Ruth shook his head with a bitter smile.

“Never mind.”

“Then, I’ll be going.”

The boy, who had been smiling at Ruth, slightly bowed and turned to leave. After watching him, Ruth lowered his head, but the boy stopped as if he had just remembered something.

“Ah, you should know this.”

Ruth lifted his head again, and the boy continued.

“Desert people are considered uncivilized, and we believe in the power of curses. But when we curse someone, there is something we must always remember.”

The boy stopped there, smiling as he watched Ruth, who still didn’t understand.

“A curse always returns to the one who casts it. Whether it succeeds or fails, it will return as an even greater disaster. To harm another means to be ready to receive the same in return. Do you understand what that means?”

At those words, Ruth frowned, still not understanding the meaning. The boy, seeing this, smiled brightly at Ruth and spoke.

“I wanted to see if you would curse him. Your other friend turned a curse back upon itself, but you did not. That’s why I find you so intriguing and like you. I’m sure we will meet again someday. And then, I will tell you my name.”

Before Ruth could stop him, the boy was already out of sight, disappearing into the distance. As the sound of his footsteps grew fainter, Ruth replayed the boy’s words in his mind. But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t fully understand. The idea that a curse would return to its caster was, in a way, obvious. But why the boy had said that in this particular situation was unclear to him.

“Ugh!”

A sudden headache struck, and Ruth tilted his head back against the chair, raising his hand to gently brush his temples. His head throbbed, and his wounds ached. His forehead and lips, as well as his abdomen and side, were likely bruised, covered in dark purple marks.

But the real pain wasn’t in his body. The real pain was in his heart, because part of him was still connected to Lyman Kaizel.

His heart ached. If Lyman had been even slightly emotional, even a little remorseful… perhaps he would have given him another chance. But he was exactly as Ruth had expected. He hadn’t changed at all. To Lyman, only Karileum’s imperial power mattered. He was the kind of man who could sacrifice his own children and wife for it.

In truth, Ail wasn’t much different. But Ruth could forgive Ail, because at least he had loved him.

That’s how it worked for everyone. Even if the one you loved was a great villain, if they loved and wanted you in return, and if you desperately loved them back… you would forgive them, no matter how terrible they were in the eyes of others.

That’s what it meant to be human.

And that’s what love was.

That’s why Ruth had asked Lyman, whether he had ever loved his mother, and whether he had ever loved him as his son.

But Lyman wasn’t worth asking those questions. He had to return to Karileum and be executed for treason. And Ruth, too, would face the same fate.

For some reason, tears kept flowing. The sense of loss, as though a part of him were disappearing, brought the tears.

But he had no intention of stopping or wiping them away. He would pour all the bitterness Lyman Kaizel had left in him into those tears. He would empty every last drop and erase him from his memory. There wasn’t much time left with Ail. During that time, he just wanted to forget everything.

Loss brings forgetfulness.

Soon, everything would be okay.

Soon, everything would return to normal.

Now, everything…

***

Lyman, who had run out of the annex, was horrified by the strangely silent surroundings. As Ruth had said, the hundred mercenaries and the knights he had brought from Karileum had all vanished. The only thing left outside was the carriage he had arrived in.

“Where is everyone? Kal, Mel!”

Even though he shouted loudly, the garden remained eerily quiet, with no response. There was no sign of anyone. Everything was wrapped in an unnerving silence. The stillness made Lyman and his knights shiver. Something was terribly wrong. No, something was definitely wrong. How could so many people have disappeared without a sound in such a short time?

The rain had stopped by now. Stepping on the damp earth, Lyman looked around frantically. The wind rustled the trees above him. Suddenly, the branches shook, and droplets of water fell. Startled by the cold droplets falling on his shoulders and hair, Lyman screamed, rushing to climb onto the carriage. The knight, sitting on the driver’s seat, took the reins and cracked the whip.

Inside the quickly moving carriage, Lyman looked out the window. As they passed the main building of the inn, he noticed that it, too, was empty. The owner and workers he had greeted when he entered, as well as the bustling customers, were nowhere to be found. At that moment, Lyman remembered the Red Scorpions’ method of hunting humans, and he shouted to the knight to go faster.

The Red Scorpions’ method of eliminating targets was unlike any other assassination group. They never missed their targets. Boldly, they would start by destroying the place where the target was staying, and from there, they would hunt. The places they typically targeted were deep in the mountains or vast, treeless wastelands.

As Lyman shouted that they must not head toward the mountains, the knight began retracing their path. Looking out the window at the rapidly changing scenery, Lyman tried to calm his unease by thinking through the situation. Once they crossed the bridge, they would enter the opposite village, where the contact would be waiting, ready for action. Just in case, he had given orders to five of his escort knights to gather mercenaries and follow them if anything went wrong. They only had to cross the bridge.

Despite his attempts to calm himself, his hands trembled. He had been foolish. This wasn’t Karileum; this was clozium. This was not a place where he was welcomed. He didn’t even know the geography of the area or where to ask for help. He had been so pleased at the news of Ail’s death that he had visited Clozium without even checking the map. He should have at least learned where the government offices or the Rengetti lord’s estate were.

It was foolish. The price of his brief lapse in attention was greater than he had imagined.

As Lyman, trembling with fear, shouted once more to hurry, a chilling sound of a flute reached his ears. The horses began to stir restlessly at the eerie sound. Both Lyman and his knight were startled, looking around frantically. Just then, a flaming arrow struck the roof of the carriage. Seeing the arrow lodged in the ceiling, Lyman grabbed a cushion inside the carriage and quickly tried to extinguish the fire. Of all things, the rain had stopped. The rain that had been falling relentlessly had inexplicably ceased now, and a bitter lament filled his mind. As he finally managed to put out the fire, two more flaming arrows pierced the roof.

The arrows, soaked in oil, had pierced through the roof of the carriage, and flames were spreading uncontrollably.

“This can’t be happening!”

Lyman screamed like a madman and considered abandoning the carriage to ride the horse, but that wasn’t feasible either. If he stopped the carriage now and tried to dismount to remove the harness, he might be killed in the process. Praying for rain, Lyman worked desperately to extinguish the fire, lifting the cushion. But the fire, fueled by the oil-soaked arrows, transferred the flames onto the cushion, and the fire spread. In a panic, Lyman threw the cushion out of the window.

By that time, the fire had already spread fiercely across the carriage. The rapidly moving carriage was racing along the bridge over the Norman River, still burning. Thinking that they only needed to cross this river, Lyman again grabbed the cushion, trying to put out the fire in the shaking carriage. The carriage’s speed was increasing. The horses, too, were running frantically, likely spooked by the flames.

As the speed of the carriage picked up, an odd squealing noise came from underneath. It was the sound of the well-assembled joints twisting and rattling. As the noise grew louder, Lyman stopped moving, sitting down in his seat and hunching over. He listened closely, turning his ear to the sound coming from below.

The squealing noise soon changed to a loud “taang!”—the sound of something breaking apart. The wheels of the carriage were coming off. A loud crash followed, and the rear of the carriage dropped down. The floor of the carriage began scraping the ground, and the clattering sound of metal striking metal filled the air.

“Farell! The carriage…!”

Before Lyman could finish his sentence, the sound of the front wheel coming off reached his ears.

And then, in the next instant, a deafening crash rang out, and flames shot up right in front of him.