Chapter 29

The prince watched the display, murmuring, “They are noisy beasts.”

“I apologize, Lord Kaiyan. They mean no harm.”

He wasn’t entirely certain if that was true, but he scrambled to defend them regardless. Beside him, the tigers were bellowing in tactless protest: 「Children?! This little black-haired youngster dares call us children?!」 Even so, Isaac could not stand by and watch them get slaughtered before his eyes.

The prince appeared lost in contemplation for a moment before he lightly shook his head.

“They are not entirely wrong. I have been considering the merit of isolating you somewhere permanent.”

The casual tone sent a frigid shiver down Isaac’s spine. This was dangerous. Every instinct screamed that he was standing on the edge of a precipice.

“What if I demand you swear by the River of the Moon that you will come to me whenever your magic is not in effect?”

When his magic was not in effect. In the mundane reality of daily life, when no protective barrier stood between them. A time when the prince could seize Isaac and dispose of him as he pleased. Isaac met the prince’s gaze, unable to discern if the blue eyes held genuine intent or were merely testing his resolve. After a heartbeat of deliberation, he replied.

“I will not.”

His tongue felt thick with tension, for the refusal was absolute. He knew the outcome of surrendering to the prince in his normal life: a lifetime sequestered in an underground dungeon, shielded from accidents, yet forever denied the outside world. To be raised like livestock, his blood drained by the prince every new moon. It was a fate far more harrowing than death.

“You will not?”

“I will not.”

“Even if I cut you down right here?”

“I will not.”

The prince stared, his gaze so piercing it felt as if he might bore through Isaac’s soul. Isaac forced himself not to look away, locking eyes with those freezing blue depths. The prince studied Isaac’s rigid, mask-like face, then suddenly tilted his head. Crack. The sound of shifting bone echoed in the quiet room. He tilted it to the other side. Crack.

The prince’s gaze drifted momentarily, as if he were weighing his options, before stopping at a fixed point in space. He had reached his conclusion.

He rose from the sofa and moved with a fluid, predatory grace. When Isaac watched him reach for the sword mounted upon the wall, his own hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

“You will not?”

The prince posed the question again as he closed the distance.

The blue-edged blade gleamed in the ambient lamplight. He looked indifferent and languid, utterly unlike a man prepared to execute someone. Yet, Isaac recognized the look—it was the same expression the prince wore when he slaughtered men and beasts alike. He knew that, painkiller or not, if something displeased Lord Kaiyan, the blade would fall without a second of hesitation.

This was no game. No masquerade. It was lethal reality.

Isaac felt his muscles lock, every hair on his body standing on end. Death was swaying directly before him.

And—

“I will not.”

The words were a faint whisper, barely escaping his lips. At that instant, the prince swung the sword.

The blade cleaved through the air, carving a straight, merciless line toward Isaac’s head. The death god’s scythe had descended.

“…”

The motion ceased.

The edge of the blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his scalp—so close that had Isaac merely tilted his head, he would have been cleaved in two. A few severed strands of dark hair drifted slowly down his face. Only after drawing two shaky, ragged breaths did Isaac confirm his survival. Why hadn’t he finished it? Isaac lifted his eyes, meeting the prince’s steady downward stare. But the prince was not looking at his face. He was looking lower. At Isaac’s waist.

Puzzled, Isaac followed the prince’s gaze. Only then did he realize where his hand had moved unconsciously. Even though he wore no weapon, his fingers had reflexively reached for a hilt that was not there. He was grasping at nothing but empty air.

“A witch who uses a sword.”

The prince murmured the words as if to himself, his gaze sharpening into a blade of icy blue as he fixed his attention on Isaac’s hand.

Isaac snapped to attention, his pulse hammering against his ribs as he stammered, “No, this is…” It had not been an act of defiance, merely a reflexive twitch. He possessed no weapon, and even if he had dared to strike, he stood no chance against such a man. He stumbled through a haphazard string of excuses, but the prince seemed to pay them no heed, simply looming over him in a suffocating, absolute silence.

Then, the silence broke.

“Where are you hiding?”

At the prince’s low, melodic inquiry, the air left Isaac’s lungs. Where? Somewhere he had been forged into a swordsman. The prince slowly raised his weapon, the steel catching the dim light. Even as the blade drifted away from his throat, Isaac felt no relief. Instead, a glacial frost crawled up his spine.

The prince smiled.

For the first time.

Oh no. I am absolutely screwed, Isaac realized with a jolt of pure terror.

That was the look of a predator finally cornering its prey. Worse, the prince had caught the exact second the realization dawned on him.

“Oh? Look at this.”

A faint, cruel amusement tugged at the corner of the prince’s mouth, his blue eyes narrowing as he bored into Isaac.

He was doomed.

Isaac clutched his chest, feeling his heart plummet into an abyss.

The oppressive gloom of the night offered him no refuge, despite the approaching dawn signaling the end of the new moon.

Isaac was generally perceived as an easygoing, placid individual, but in truth, his instincts were razor-sharp. They were particularly acute when it came to detecting danger or avoiding inevitable ruin.

It was only natural; he had survived the teeth of a harsh world on his own since childhood. His intuition had flared at critical junctures throughout his life, and it had never once faltered.

With a success rate that defied probability, perhaps his witch blood played a part.

THUD

And now, that instinct had flared again after a long dormancy. It was more visceral and undeniable than anything he had felt before. This intense, suffocating sensation of being hunted. It felt as though a hound as large as a manor house was pursuing him at a blistering pace, its hot breath mere inches from his neck.

Even worse, the phantom beast gave off no sound, no presence he could latch onto, leaving him blind to how close the end truly was.

Every time he considered checking behind him, he felt certain that at that very instant, the beast’s jaws would snap shut around his throat. It felt inexhaustible, a relentless force that would never tire while he withered.

I am terrified, Mom.

“Look, I was thinking… is there any way I could use a wish to have him selectively scrub only the specific memories I want him to forget?”

After sitting on the floor for an eternity with his hand pressed against his throbbing temple, Isaac finally muttered the question. The cats, perched by the window overlooking the graveyard as they washed themselves in the red light of dawn, rolled their large, unsettling eyes toward him.

「It is possible.」

「Though he will likely find it disconcerting that his memories have holes, as if insects had feasted upon them.」

「That handsome one is a bit dull, is he not? He likely will not notice.」

“…”

No. That won’t cut it. He was way too sharp. Everything in his life was connected. If he just erased little patches of his memory, he’d definitely get suspicious—especially since a guy like him probably had never dealt with something as trivial as memory loss.

「Acquire the tinderbox. With that, everything will be solved.」

「He never understands, even when we hand him the answer.」

「He looks as though he would spit it out even if we spoon-fed him.」

Isaac glared, exhausted, at the chattering felines and tried again. “How about you just use a wish to fetch me the tinderbox directly?”

The cats sealed their mouths instantly. Their massive eyes narrowed into sharp, triangular glares, and Isaac knew he would receive no further cooperation.

「You should understand that magic cannot be leveraged against an object of higher rank than the tool being utilized.」

「You should be aware that the tinderbox is a far more precious treasure than the flint.」

「Our Muddlehead is only half-witch, yet he lacks even the most basic common sense. Truly, it is like leaving a toddler by the water’s edge.」

“…Fine. Let’s say I earn some merit and somehow get my hands on that stupid tinderbox. I could still get your help after that, right? What if I asked you to bring me the person who actually murdered Leon? That would be a foolproof way to gain some credit, wouldn’t it?”

A sudden clarity flashed through Isaac’s mind, and he snapped his fingers, lifting his head. It had struck him out of the blue, but it was a stroke of genius. Why had he not considered this before? Yet, even in the face of this splendid proposal, the cats merely rolled their eyes, looking utterly indifferent.

「Listen, Muddlehead.」

“Stop calling me that. Just tell me—is it doable?”

「You can only cast wishes on the nights of the new moon, correct?」

“Yes, that’s right.”

「But during the new-moon night, you must remain in the presence of that handsome one for the duration. And you must ensure he remains unaware of your appearance, which leaves you with only a single wish.」

“…Damn. You’re right.”

「Then are you intending to summon this culprit to the very location where you and that handsome one are sequestered?」

“…”