Escape [2]

After traveling for seven days, we finally entered the North. To avoid being caught, we had taken a different route and ended up in the mountains. The journey had been grueling.

Even though we were riding on horseback, which Serra led, I couldn't stop vomiting. My body felt weak, and every bump on the rocky path made it worse.

It was exhausting. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to lie in a bed—just once, without feeling like the world was spinning.

Serra glanced back at me as I struggled to stay steady in the saddle. "My lady," she said softly, "we can't go any further right now."

Her expression was tense, her eyes scanning the surrounding forest. "Wolves," she murmured, her voice low and cautious. "They're surrounding us."

"But that's not the real problem."

Serra looked at me, her tone calm but serious. "Are you afraid of blood, my lady?"

I gazed at her with hollow eyes, my thoughts swirling within me:

'Blood? Not quite. I've witnessed enough of it in my past life. Yet, how could a typical noble lady remain unshaken by blood? And so, I should pretend to be.'

I nodded in response.

Serra helped me down from the horse, and gently covered my eyes with a cloth, blocking my view.

She guided me to sit against a large tree, her voice soft as she reassured me, "Lady, don't be afraid. It will be over soon."

With a swift motion, she sent the horse off, her voice unwavering as she spoke to it, "Go find the knights. Lead them here."

The distant sounds of a struggle reached my ears—wolves growling, the clash of steel.

I let out a long, weary yawn, feeling the weight of exhaustion pull at me.

What if a wolf comes now, rips me apart... would I even feel it? Would I just die quietly?

A voice broke through the silence.

"The situation is really bad."

I blinked, disoriented. Had I imagined that? I yawned again, trying to block it out. Maybe I should just sleep. If I die in my sleep, at least it'll be painless... right?

But the voice came again.

"So bad... the knights are coming."

My eyes snapped open. Who the hell is talking?

Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of a wolf's footsteps nearing, its heavy breathing cutting through the air.

Serra lunged forward, her blade flashing in the daylight. The wolf was sliced cleanly in half, its blood spraying in all directions—but not a drop touched me, for Serra stood firm, a barrier between me and the chaos.

More wolves appeared, their snarls filling the air as they leaped toward us, but then I heard the sound of more footsteps, this time human.

"There!" a voice shouted.

The knights rushed toward us, steel drawn, and began to fight fiercely with the wolves. Their swords flashed as they cut through the daylight, battling with precision.

One of the knights approached us, breathless from the exertion. He bowed slightly, his expression concerned. "Ladies, are you alright?"

Serra immediately stepped in front of me, her voice shaky. "No, my lady isn't alright. She's trembling uncontrollably and is terrified of blood. She's so frightened, she can't even speak."

The knight nodded in understanding. "It's common for many women to fear blood. Even some men have a hard time with it."

He glanced at the horse. "But it looks like you've got a very resourceful horse. It led us right here."

Serra's voice softened as she replied, "Yes, my master gave it to me before his passing, so I could survive situations like this."

The knight's expression grew somber. "That's unfortunate..."

Just then, another knight arrived, scanning the area and looking at Serra, who was covered in blood. "The fighting's over, but it's still not safe here. We need to leave. But... who took care of the wolves before we arrived?"

Serra looked down, her eyes full of emotion. "As I mentioned, my late master taught me a few survival skills for situations like this."

"A few?" The second knight raised an eyebrow.

And in the midst of it all, I couldn't help.

"Pfft." I let out a quiet laugh.

The first knight looked around, eyes wide with confusion. "Did you hear that? Someone just laughed at us?"

The second knight looked at him, confused as well. "What are you talking about? Who would laugh in a scene like this?"

'What are you playing at right now, Serra? I couldn't help but laugh.'

Serra, clearly trying to cover up my laugh, said, "We're on our way to meet the Duke of the North."

The second knight glanced at the first Knight, a flash of surprise crossing his features as the thought crossed his mind: Two ladies? One a maid and the other a noblewoman... both on their way to the Duke mansion?

For a moment, the two knights stood in silence, processing the unexpected sight before them.

Finally, the first knight spoke, his tone respectful as he bowed. "We've heard of you both. If you would permit us, we would be honored to escort you to the Duke's estate."

Serra nodded, her expression unwavering despite the chaos around them. "Please, we would appreciate that. However..."

Her voice faltered just slightly. "As my lady is particularly sensitive to blood, she will need to keep her eyes covered until we've had the opportunity to change."

The knights exchanged a knowing glance, both nodding in understanding. The first knight spoke again, his voice low but assuring. "Of course, We will take care of everything. Rest assured, you are safe with us."

'Ah, they were informed too? I thought, exhausted. Anyway, keeping my eyes covered until they change is quite exhausting.'

With that, the knights led the way, the sound of their boots echoing in the distance as they began their journey toward the Duke's mansion.

---

On the other hand, seven days ago at Solandris Mansion, it took the entire night to extinguish the fire at Tyrian's estate. By dawn, most of the estate had been reduced to smoldering ruins.

That morning, Duke Kaelric stood in the grand hall, fury blazing in his eyes as he surveyed the kneeling workers before him. The air was thick with tension, the acrid smell of smoke still clinging to their clothes.

"Who did this?" The Duke's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

The kitchen workers, heads pressed against the cold marble floor, began to wail, their voices trembling with fear.

"Forgive us, my lord! It's our fault! This tragedy... it happened because of us!"

Tyrian, standing to the side, snapped sharply, his frustration evident.

"Forgiveness? Your apologies mean nothing now! You can't undo the damage with mere words!"

Lysara stood apart from the commotion, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The Duke's piercing gaze swept across the assembled workers, his sharp eyes counting each face. Then, he froze. His jaw tightened. Something was wrong.

"Recard," the Duke commanded, his tone laced with suspicion, "Call for Erana."

Tyrian's brow furrowed at the order. Erana? What could that useless girl possibly have to do with this fire? He dismissed the thought, shaking his head. She's too weak, too inconsequential to be involved.

Recard bowed and swiftly ascended the staircase. Upon reaching Erana's room, he knocked several times, his knuckles rapping against the wood with increasing urgency. But there was no answer.

His frustration mounting, he shoved the door open.

The room was eerily quiet, shadows pooling in the corners where light from the curtained window barely reached. Recard's heart pounded as his eyes landed on the table. A single letter lay there, folded with deliberate care.

Breathing heavily, he grabbed the letter and rushed downstairs. His vision blurred slightly from the rush of anxiety as he reached the grand hall.

The Duke, sensing something was amiss, turned sharply toward him. "Where is she?" he barked.

Recard, his throat dry, extended the letter toward the Duke. The silence in the room deepened as the Duke snatched the letter with trembling hands. He unfolded it hastily, his eyes scanning the carefully penned words.

---

Duke Kaelric,

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

Thank you for adopting me seven years ago. Not for kindness, but for cruelty. You gave me a life not of shelter, but of abuse and misery—a cage dressed as a home.

You should know this: your wife's death wasn't Lysara's fault. It was mine.

I can no longer stay in this place, breathing air poisoned by your presence. Goodbye.

—Erana

---

The Duke's face contorted as he reached the letter's end, his hands shaking violently. The paper crumpled in his fists as he screamed, raw and guttural, "No!"

His voice echoed through the hall, startling the workers, who shrank back in fear.

"Call the knights! All of them!" he roared, his rage swallowing reason. "Find her! I don't care where she's gone—bring her back to me!"

His fury reverberated in the silence, but beneath it lay something more: a sliver of fear, he would never admit.