Searching in the Dark (5)

Leovald moved like a predator silently slipping through the bushes.

In the streets under the thick cover of night, there were no passersby to be seen. Even if there were, no one would approach a suspicious figure lurking in a dark alley. Let alone someone who glided through the night without even the slightest sound of footsteps.

Occasionally, groups of street urchins would raise their cautious faces with sharp, gleaming eyes like stray cats peering through alley gaps, but upon noticing the moonstone necklace hanging around Leovald's neck, they would quietly scatter.

It was strange.

The fact that in just a few days, those who had no safeguard to protect themselves, desperately fighting and struggling, had become relatively tamed and docile.

Leovald looked down at the point where this change had begun. The person was resting peacefully in his arms, fast asleep.

He had expected this. From the moment they began their way back, his strength had slowly drained, and he started to nod off, surrendering his body to the fatigue.

Just a moment ago, the incessant chatter that had been flowing from the Baron's mansion had finally quieted. The man exhaled a deep breath, and his eyelids fell completely shut.

Gone was the brash expression of someone who had ruled with an air of arrogance, casually playing with the chess pieces on the palm of his hand. His face, now in peaceful slumber, was soft and gentle, entirely immersed in the warmth of sleep.

When awake, he moved like a sly fox, full of clever tricks, darting around like a quick-witted weasel, but in sleep, he looked utterly innocent and docile. Leovald found the contrast quite amusing.

In any case, he was an unusual one.

Even after quite some time since their first meeting, he found it nearly impossible to fathom what was truly going on beneath the surface. Occasionally, the man would display some strange, subtle schemes. Nothing about him could be fully grasped.

Leovald quietly looked down at the man resting in his arms, then turned towards the inn. The inn, with its lights long extinguished, seemed to be sleeping as peacefully as its owner. Adjusting the body he held, Leovald felt the man's long legs dangle loosely.

With both hands full, Leovald kicked his foot in a familiar rhythm to knock on the inn's door. Tap, tap-tap.

A moment later, a child peered out of the window to see the visitor and opened the door. Street urchins rarely slept deeply, so it was no surprise the child's ears were sensitive at this early hour. The child stared wide-eyed at the innkeeper, who was asleep in Leovald's arms. Then, the child's mouth moved, asking, "Is he hurt?"

Leovald shook his head. After all, the man had been by his side the entire time—there was no way he could be hurt. Shh, he whispered, and the child, understanding the signal, nodded silently and stepped back.

Leovald moved gently, careful not to wake the man in his arms. His hand, which had been supporting the man's back, slowly slid upward along his spine. As he adjusted the position to hold the body more closely, he could feel the shallow breaths brushing against his ear.

He had chosen to reposition him like this to avoid hitting the man's head on the doorframe, as it was too narrow to pass through while lying horizontally.

In that brief moment, the sensation of his hand grazing the man's back seemed to tickle him, causing the man to shift. Worried that his head might flop back awkwardly, Leovald tightened his embrace, holding him more securely.

Creak.

The quick-witted child, noticing that Leovald's hands were full, had already rushed ahead and opened the door to the innkeeper's bedroom. Leovald, offering the child a small smile as if to commend his actions, entered the room.

The bedroom was a perfect reflection of its owner.

Stacks of papers, a few small pieces of charcoal, crumpled bits of discarded paper, and a disordered blanket littered the floor. It seemed as though the man's hectic daily life was mirrored in the chaos of the room. 

What could he possibly be so busy with, running around like a squirrel gathering winter food? That, Leovald couldn't begin to understand.

Leovald glanced around the room briefly before approaching the bed and lowering himself down. As he bent one knee to climb onto the bed, the combined weight of the two men made the bed frame groan in protest. Leovald, not one to spare even inanimate objects any consideration, ignored the minor creak and settled in.

Dim light filtered through the fluttering curtains. Leovald lay on his side, gazing down at the peaceful face of the man nestled in his arms. His hand reached out gently.

The fine fabric of the mask, made of soft material to avoid irritating the skin, brushed against his fingertips. Leovald carefully tugged the cloth away. Beneath it, the man's face was revealed, the moonlight just beginning to break through, gently illuminating his features. The soft light swept across his cheekbones, like the moon bowing in reverence before the dawn.

Leovald watched him quietly for a moment before his fingers casually brushed the clasp of his own cloak.

Shouldn't one at least sleep comfortably? He thought as he removed his black cloak and, one by one, unfastened his gloves, pulling them off carefully. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room.

When they had prepared this disguise, it was insisted—almost obsessively—that the skin should remain concealed, except around the eyes. Leovald had asked why it was necessary. The answer had been blunt: "Don't underestimate the followers of the Dark Deity." The memory of that stubborn response made him remember how he had eventually stopped arguing, his mouth closing with a faint sense of resignation.

"The marks on your hands still remain."

He recalled that, in his rush to get the gloves, he hadn't found the right fit. Now, looking at the marks pressed into his skin by the stitching of the leather gloves, Leovald unconsciously took the hand and gently massaged it. Perhaps if he did this, the blood would flow again, and the marks would fade.

Of course, a few minutes of rubbing wouldn't make the marks disappear entirely. But he did it anyway.

"Mmm."

The man, who had been sound asleep, stirred slightly. Leovald gently soothed him, brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The soft strands of his hair caught lightly between Leovald's fingers.

Then Leovald lowered his body further. As for the pants… it seemed better to leave them on, so he skipped that step.

After removing all the unnecessary outer garments, only light underclothes remained. The discarded clothes were folded neatly and placed atop the desk. Leovald then approached the desk, tidying up the charcoal that had been scattered haphazardly and slowly gathering the papers that were strewn around. He began to straighten the stack.

Suddenly, his eyes wandered across the disordered papers on the desk. At the edges of the pages, crude scribbles seemed to flutter like butterflies.

"Hmm."

Looking at it now, it seemed so simple and utterly ordinary.

Leovald ran his hand over the scribbled writing, which looked like it had been hurriedly scrawled in flight, before his eyes shifted to the man lying on the bed, dozing peacefully.

He walked quietly to the head of the bed and looked down. Just then, moonlight, slipping through the curtains, spilled directly onto the figure of Leonardo, casting a pale, frost-like glow that broke the darkness.

The neatly lowered lashes, the bluish-green hair tinged with a faint silvery sheen—it was a sight that almost reminded him of what he had once been. Enveloped in the silvery glow, Leovald stared down at the innkeeper quietly, then pondered.

If he were to carefully part that delicate veil of hair, what would he find inside his mind?

Creak.

Leovald lightly perched on the edge of the bed. The bed frame groaned again, protesting under the weight.

It was a simple, fleeting curiosity. After all, he had never faced anything so unfamiliar and perplexing before.

One day, this man had approached, inserting himself into Leovald's life, acting as though he knew everything. And yet, he never clearly gave away any answers. Like an illusion, he seemed to waver and remain distant from the world, as though separated by a thin veil of glass.

Leovald was unaccustomed to such things.

In the battlefield, where he had spent most of his life, there had been no need to think twice. His world had been that simple. When faced with an enemy, he would split their armour with his sword and watch their blood scatter across the ground. Relationships with people had boiled down to one of two things: to kill or to spare, to obey or to command.

Kill, cut, kill again. Over time, he had become all too accustomed to the act of holding back. The habits he had developed in the battlefield had taken root deeply in his very nature.

So, it would be a lie to say that the fluttering, trivial things in front of him didn't bother him. If something seemed suspicious, he would dig into it; if something irked him, he would surely root it out. That was Leovald's way. Yet, for once, he had endured with the patience of a human being. And, in truth, having the man by his side was somewhat enjoyable.

He was caught up in a daily life unlike any he had experienced before. Having never been ensnared in someone else's world like this, he found unexpected amusement in the man's sly, calculated actions. It was as though he was feeling what it is like to be a normal person.

Without saying a word, Leovald gently held a handful of the man's hair, watching as strands slipped through his fingers. It was a sensation so unfamiliar to him—he had never handled human hair so delicately before. After all, there was no need for such gentleness when dealing with the hair of a condemned prisoner or an animal. Amidst this unfamiliarity, he felt his curiosity growing.

Some people explore distant oceans or the ends of continents, seeking the unknown. But…

Why bother searching for the unknown in faraway places when most humans can't even fully understand the person right next to them? After all, the greatest mystery is human nature itself.

Sometimes, he felt the impulse to slice through someone's layers and spread them open, to truly see what was inside. Wasn't that the kind of imagination anyone could have?

Of course, if he actually followed through with it, all he'd likely end up with was the soft flesh of the body, its connective tissue, bones, and the sticky blood clinging to his hands, instead of the true essence of the person.

'I just wish he wouldn't keep making me curious, letting it all linger in my mind.'

His subordinates sometimes found this side of Leovald downright chilling, shivering at the thought. But, well, they too were hardly normal. It's why they all got along so well in the first place.

After all, how could anyone in the front lines, constantly battling monsters, keep a normal state of mind? That's why they had the audacity to defy a king and end up imprisoned or captured.

Leovald blinked.

He soon shook off his thoughts and cast a glance toward the window.

From the eastern shore, a faint, uncomfortable sensation reached him. Ever since that time he'd visited the underground passage…

The underground. From that dark, damp cavity, the tombs of incomplete creatures that mimicked humans. He felt the subtle stir of dark, treacherous powers—the same forces he had swept through and annihilated ten years ago, from the subterranean depths to the surface.

With his pathetic, glittering noble body, he wondered whether he could face them again. 

But still, Leovald wasn't concerned. No matter the circumstances around him, what difference did it make?

Whether it be King Godric's head or some obscure, rebellious creature raising its head again, or any incomprehensible other.

So what?

In the end, he would always reach his goal and claim what he desired.