Chapter 41

Chapter 41. The Touching Scars (1)

Rosalyn pulled away from Nadan and asked. The words she had just heard left her dazed, something she had never even thought of.

“That woman… she was carrying your child?”

And then Nadan lunged into Rosalyn’s guard, aiming for her throat. His sword came down at her neck in a diagonal strike.

“Die!!”

The blade was filled with murderous intent. Rosalyn realized in that moment that Nadan truly meant to kill her.

At once, an impulsive killing urge rose within her as well.

“Kh…!”

Rosalyn narrowly deflected Nadan’s sword. The moment she saw an opening, she swung her own blade.

It was a purely instinctive movement.

“Ugh!”

Her sword slashed across Nadan’s neck.

Hot blood gushed from his carotid artery. Nadan Mason’s body crumpled to the ground.

“Haa, haa…”

Rosalyn looked down at Nadan Mason, collapsed before her.

“Ah…”

Even though she was drenched in his hot blood, it felt as though it had gone cold. As reality sank in, her breath caught in her throat.

With trembling hands, she pressed against Nadan’s wound.

“This… no. Nadan… wait. Just wait… is there no one outside!”

She must have gone mad.

No matter how much he had tried to kill her, she could not believe she had cut him down.

It felt like being dragged into an endless abyss.

The sensation under her hand was sickening. The blood kept spilling out in waves, refusing to stop.

“Is no one outside? Bring a doctor!”

“…Rose.”

“Nadan, stay with me.”

Rosalyn didn’t even know what she was saying anymore, but she kept speaking to him.

“No… not like this. I… I was wrong. Don’t leave me.”

“Why…”

Nadan’s face twisted. His body shook as he burst into sobs.

The sound of his ragged breaths grew harsher. Each desperate sob forced more blood to pour out.

“How… did it come to this…”

It was a question that pierced through their entire relationship.

How had things fallen this far into ruin? Where had it all gone wrong?

But now, such questions were useless.

And those words became Nadan’s last.

“Nadan!!”

* * *

Rosalyn, buried in the horrific memories of the past, began to sob.

“Hhuuuhk…!”

Rosalyn wept aloud like a child.

It was the first time she realized that memories could be this painful. If she could, she wished someone would strike her head so she could lose her memory forever.

“Rosalyn.”

Sionne wrapped his arm around her shoulder and called her name.

But Rosalyn couldn’t hear his voice. Her blurred crimson eyes trembled, unable to focus.

‘I shouldn’t have listened.’

The more violent Rosalyn’s reaction became, the more Sionne regretted it.

It wasn’t that he had wanted to pry into her memories. It wasn’t that he had thoughtlessly tried to dig to the bottom of her soul.

He felt a faint dizziness rising.

The shock and grief of killing someone dear with one’s own hands.

That… was a feeling one could never understand unless they had lived it themselves.

Ripples spread across Rosalyn’s tear-stained face. Like gazing into a lake, he saw a reflection of his own past within her.

“Stop. I won’t listen anymore. So you should stop thinking about it too…”

Sionne patted her back as he spoke, but Rosalyn’s response only grew more frantic.

She began to tremble uncontrollably. And then—

“Uuhh…”

She clawed at her own neck with her hand. Rosalyn couldn’t endure the burning pain of the scar.

Her rough nails tore into her flesh. Just like that day, blood welled from the wound on her neck.

Yet strangely, it didn’t hurt—it felt relieving. The more blood that welled up, the lighter her suffocating heart became.

“Rosalyn!”

Startled, Sionne seized her hand.

“Stop it. You’re bleeding.”

“Let go…!”

“This won’t help. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Rosalyn tried to shake off his grip, but his hand only held hers tighter.

“I said let go!”

“I know it’s tragic, but in war… such things happen often. And wasn’t it that man who tried to kill you first?”

“…What do you know! You know nothing!”

Rosalyn shouted at him, twisting her body to free her restrained hand.

Then—

“…I do.”

Sionne pulled Rosalyn into his arms.

“Let go! Let me go!”

The more she thrashed, the more he tightened his hold so she couldn’t move.

“What do you know…”

After a long while, Rosalyn’s strength gave out, and as she panted for breath, Sionne whispered quietly.

“I know what you’re feeling right now.”

“…”

“So from now on, focus only on my voice, Rosalyn.”

But as he was about to continue, he closed his mouth again.

“…”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wondered if it was right to share his own story just to calm her down.

His wounds hadn’t even healed yet. The memory of that day was still a trauma.

‘Do I really mean to tell her that?’

It felt like deception. The truth was, he didn’t know at all how one was supposed to become ‘okay’ again.

And what could be more pathetic than pretending to know and offering advice?

Besides, just because Rosalyn had bared her scars didn’t mean he was obliged to bare his.

‘This isn’t some contest to see who suffered more.’

Sionne mocked himself with bitter cynicism.

But when Rosalyn, limp in his arms, rubbed her face against his shoulder, he reflexively began to speak.

“As you may know…”

Her breathing was becoming ragged again. Before her memories consumed her once more, he had to distract her with something else.

“The 23rd King of Feitan was my maternal grandfather. Eight years later, he was usurped by my uncle.”

For all his hesitation, Sionne had dredged up an old memory.

“My father was executed by my uncle when I was six. My mother took my younger sister and me and fled for a year.”

“…”

“What I remember most… is always watching my mother’s face. Whenever she looked terrified, that was when we had to run.”

Sionne continued, patting Rosalyn’s back for no reason.

“Then one day, the knights began searching the village where we were hiding. My mother handed me my little sister and told us to go into the forest behind the house.”

As the story went on, the memories of that childhood day resurfaced.

“Sion, do you remember the big tree we saw with Mother? Hide in the hole beneath it with El.”

He hadn’t known then, but now he understood.

Her darkened eyes. Her lips biting back tears. Her hands stroking him again and again.

Mother must have known she was walking to her death.

“I’ll follow right after you… now go!”

Little Sionne was pushed out the back door, holding his sister’s hand. Somehow he led his drowsy sister to the tree’s hollow.

“Brother, where’s Mom…?”

When she awoke and realized the situation, his sister Ariel began to whimper. She insisted on going home, crying that she wanted their mother.

“El, look at this.”

“Huh? A necklace?”

“Yes. Mother said if you wait patiently, she’ll give this to you.”

In the end, Sionne rummaged through the bundle their mother had prepared and pulled out a necklace.

“Really?”

Ariel rushed close, eyes wide. She had always loved necklaces and earrings, enough to secretly dig through their mother’s things.

“Yes, really. So stay here with me.”

“Okay!”

Ariel nodded and clutched the necklace. She played with it, hanging it around her neck to pass the time.

But it didn’t last long. For children, sitting quietly in the dark was torment.

“Ninety-nine, done! Brother, I counted. When’s Mom coming, huh?”

She had counted up to 99—the largest number she knew—over and over again, until finally she asked, exhausted.

But Sionne had no answer. Mother had said she’d come soon, but who knew how long ‘soon’ meant.

“If you count five more times, she’ll come.”

He cut her off before she could cry. At his words, Ariel obediently began counting again.

“Forty-two, forty-three… forty-five…”

Before long, her voice faded. At only six years old, she couldn’t fight off sleep that late at night. Her head drooped lower and lower.

“El…”

Sionne whispered softly to his sister, who had fallen asleep against the tree.

“Ariel… are you asleep?”

He gently shook her shoulder. But the sister who had sunk into slumber never woke again.