Chapter 23: Departure and Journey

"Hey… what's wrong with you?"

Blood-Eye looked up and met the gaze of the little beggar. On that prematurely hardened face, Blood-Eye noticed something strange—where once both his eyes had glowed crimson, now only the right one retained its color. The left had faded back to its original black.

The blade had pierced through the swaddling cloth—skimming the infant girl's body, tearing through the thick wrappings. She remained sound asleep, her face serene with a drowsy expression. Meanwhile, the little beggar was gasping for breath, his body drenched in cold sweat, utterly drained.

Blood-Eye's gaze locked on the boy's mismatched eyes—one red, one black—focusing especially on the black. With a cold snort, it sneered, "What are you hesitating for, boy? Kill her, and you can fully embrace the ecstasy I offer. No more struggle, no more weakness. Where is your resolve? That cold, ruthless judgment that once would've killed for your own survival without a second thought?"

The boy continued to breathe heavily. His fingers, still clutching the sword's hilt, had gone numb. His right arm, bound in chains, trembled. Soon, even the crimson hue in his remaining eye began to fade, returning to its original black.

"Cough… cough…"

His hand slipped from the hilt. The moment both his eyes lost their redness, the chains binding him slackened. He collapsed to his knees, utterly spent, coughing violently. Yet even in the midst of his exhaustion, he reached out with trembling hands to check the baby swaddled before him.

"Tch. An untrained body, and already this exhausted from just the 'First Prison'. But no matter. You're only ten—you'll have ample time to grow accustomed to my power. Still, let me offer a word of praise before the first toast of this banquet ends."

"To retain even a shred of reason in the First Prison… your composure, your sense of self—it fascinates me. Unlike those before you, whose minds I devoured after the slightest taste of my power. Heh, how interesting."

The chain embedded in the boy's arm withdrew, drawing a thin trail of blood. Yet the wounded arm swiftly began to heal, as if time itself reversed. The chain slithered back into the hilt of the now-dormant greatsword. In an instant, the massive blade shrank back into a dagger and slipped into the chain on his right arm once more.

The boy coughed twice, then, having recovered slightly, bent down and lifted the infant girl into his arms. Snowflakes began to fall again, silently settling on his shoulders.

He stretched out a finger and gently touched the baby's cheek. She was sleeping peacefully, a faint blush coloring her small face, the hint of a smile softening her features. Perhaps feeling his touch, her eyes fluttered open, gazing up at the one holding her.

Though the boy still breathed heavily, the baby stared at his sweat-drenched face, and suddenly, she opened her mouth and let out soft, babbling sounds...

Was she saying something? Perhaps not. Perhaps they were merely the meaningless murmurs of an infant. Yet upon hearing them, the boy's arms instinctively tightened around her. The baby, comforted by the embrace, closed her eyes once more and drifted back to sleep—as though nestled in a warm cradle.

...

Night had fallen deeply. Even the snow, as though fatigued, had ceased to fall after covering the mangled remains of the servants with a white shroud. The little beggar, carrying the baby in his arms, retreated into a dark, slightly warmer alley, contemplating the road ahead.

"So, boy—what now? You've angered that oh-so-terrifying little princess. You're no longer the rat hiding in the sewers; you're the rat scurrying down the main street, and everyone wants to crush you."

He huddled against the cold, using a warm water bottle tucked at his waist to gently feed the baby sips of heated water. Watching her greedily suckle at the warmth, the boy fell silent.

"If you follow my advice, throw away the troublesome brat right now. Then you'll be free to walk the streets unburdened. I can turn you from a hunted rat into a dragon mighty enough to raze half a continent. Tempting, isn't it?"

The snow had stopped, but the cold lingered. Wrapped in a blanket, the boy closed his eyes, seemingly fallen asleep. At this, Blood-Eye's gaze dimmed with boredom and slowly closed as well.

"Tch. I forgot—you never trust anyone easily. That's a strength… but it means you don't trust even me. Fine, have it your way! Sleep, sleep! Let's see what ridiculous plan you come up with by morning. Hahaha! This anticipation… it's delightful!"

Clutching the now-fed infant, the little beggar finally slipped into another bout of sleep. The chains on his right arm remained locked tight, but his crimson eyes had softened—for now—yielding to a brief moment of rest.

What will you do tomorrow? Even in slumber, the boy wrestled with this question. Logically, the right choice would be to abandon the girl and escape. But…

Perhaps… he no longer could…

...

Dawn came.

The snow from the previous night had been trampled into a muddy slush, its pristine whiteness gone. The chill of winter still hung in the air, and though the snow had ceased, it compelled every passerby to huddle deeper into their fur coats, shivering into a new day.

The corpses of the servants and the wolfhounds had been discovered. An entire assassin group had been wiped out. Last night's events were already splashed across the morning papers. People treated it like light entertainment—gossip to enjoy over breakfast before heading to work. They speculated gleefully on hidden conspiracies, dissected the government's statements, and laughed as they wove theories of cover-ups and secrets.

Amid the chattering crowd at the carriage stop, a small, ragged figure stumbled by. No one paid any mind to a beggar's presence. At most, they turned away in disgust, pinching their noses and stepping aside. Certainly, no one cared what he might be cradling in his arms.

After two days of medicine, the baby girl's fever had finally broken. That morning, her green eyes blinked up at the boy. For a moment, the cold hardness in his own gaze seemed to thaw. But he quickly suppressed that softness, forced it back into ice, picked her up, and began walking in a determined direction.

He knew now where he had to go—knew exactly what he needed to do. As he stepped over the slushy snow, he gave the pouch at his waist a light squeeze. Inside were 24 Sula and 2 Inel.

At first, Blood-Eye had wondered where the boy was headed. But as his footsteps continued, it understood. When the city's outer road emerged into view, the sword chuckled darkly again.

"Smart move—leaving the city immediately. But tell me, what's your plan?"

Its blood-colored eyes gleamed as it spotted the iron gates on the main road and the soldiers stationed there, checking every person seeking to leave the city. With a sneer, it said, "Before you stands a wall of men. So, tell me—how do you intend to pass through? Or will you hand the baby over? That's not a bad option. Safer than dragging her into whatever mad journey you're planning, don't you think?"

The infant abduction case hadn't been resolved yet. Five soldiers stood guard on the main road, inspecting each traveler. Anyone found carrying a baby was immediately pulled aside to a rain shelter, where a cloaked figure would then escort them into a tent in the back.

It all looked quite official.

The little beggar remained silent, his eyes scanning the queue, the soldiers, the cloaked figure under the awning. At this moment, handing the baby over without a word might well be the wisest choice. No responsibility, no burden. No need to embark on a journey of unknown meaning. Yes… this was clearly the best decision.

And so, in response to Blood-Eye's whispers, the boy finally gave a small, silent nod. He stepped around the waiting line and walked slowly toward the iron gates, ready to cast off his burden, to abandon his responsibility…

"Waaa… uuuh…"

A soft cry made him lower his head. Reflected in the baby's emerald eyes were his own—a pair of weary, clouded eyes. And in that moment, the boy stopped walking.

"Hm? What's wrong?" Blood-Eye asked, a hint of mockery in its tone.

The boy raised his head, and in an instant, those dull eyes sharpened back into cold, glacial steel. He scanned the soldiers again, the crowd, the tent. Then, instead of moving forward, he abruptly turned and slipped into a nearby alley.

From the shadows, his icy gaze studied the search operation one more time. Once confirmed, he retreated further, cradling the baby tightly. His head lowered, mind whirring. With every bit of information he'd gathered, he began piecing together a clear, precise plan…