5 - The Time of the Blind Beast (15+ Revised Edition) Episode 5
Chapter 5
She had tried to avoid it, but their eyes met.
The man stared intently at Rose.
They were a pale blue, close to sky blue. His coloring was generally faint. Even his black hair was mixed with faded shades in places, giving it a grayish hue. His composed, handsome face, which was hard to believe had just demanded the death of his own brother, drew close. His skin was pale, perhaps from spending little time in the sun. The tear mole at the corner of his right eye was distinct.
Rose quickly closed her eyes. She worried that if she met his gaze directly, some pretext might be found.
Achenaus observed her face, turning it this way and that, then blurted out,
"You have a very pretty face when seen up close. I couldn't tell because you had your head bowed so low."
For a moment, a chill ran down her spine. Goosebumps prickled her skin.
"It's almost a shame to just send you away."
His thumb dug into the center of her tightly closed lips. Rose held her breath, enduring the touch. It would be wise not to displease Achenaus at this moment.
He slowly traced the soft, tender flesh inside her lips.
"Have you done it?"
"...What?"
"Are you a virgin?"
A wave of terrible humiliation washed over her. Yet, Rose couldn't relax her guard. With a single word from Achenaus, she could be dragged to his bed right then and there.
How could she answer to escape this man's interest?
She didn't know. So, she didn't answer. Of course, in situations like this, silence often became the most definitive answer, regardless of one's intentions.
"What a shame. I'll have to postpone that for later. Virgins are stiff and boring, and it takes a lot of time to teach them. If it weren't for the week from now, I would have taken you to my bed immediately."
It worked. Rose visibly relaxed. It was a relief, even if it was just luck.
"Ah, and don't forget that your parents' lives are in my hands."
While his desire for her was for a later time, Achenaus reminded her with a chilling, almost flippant warning until the very end.
A week later, Ezekiel Valdemara returned to Claris as scheduled, with a grand victory parade. That day, Rose knocked on the mansion's door, holding the pass Achenaus had issued. The Valdemara family's mansion was enormous, with dozens of employees and countless merchants and guests coming and going. Blending in naturally was quite simple.
Carrying a tray with teacups, she silently slipped into Ezekiel's bedroom, as Achenaus had instructed.
She deliberately didn't knock. She had overheard the servants whispering that he was asleep, likely exhausted from the victory parade.
The door was open.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, her gaze was fixed. The tall man, visible at a glance, lay reclined on a long chair, his eyes closed. He had chosen this, rather than his comfortable bed, still in his uniform adorned with numerous medals.
His raven-black hair was casually disheveled across his straight forehead. Unlike his younger brother, who was light in all aspects, Ezekiel was dark in everything. His colors, his lines, his aura.
He was a man whose face was particularly etched with deep shadows. It was said that among a person's many faces, the one seen in sleep most resembles childhood, being the purest and most harmless. However, his sleeping face was neither pure nor harmless.
Such labored breathing could not belong to a pure and harmless face.
Beep. A ringing sound echoed in her ears.
She realized later. Perhaps that ringing was a signal sent by her instincts, sensing danger.
Rose placed the tray on a nearby table and opened the lid of a glass bottle. The contents were a colorless, odorless liquid. She peered into it. She didn't know what it tasted like, but mixed with tea, it would be undetectable.
It was likely a substance that wouldn't be easily discovered, whether seen or tasted. However, the man had never told her exactly what effect this potion had. She could only guess.
Her fingertips trembled. Ezekiel slept peacefully, unaware that the woman who would harm him was standing right before him.
If only he would open his eyes now.
No, if only he would keep them closed.
Her mind was in turmoil. After staring at him like a statue for a while, Rose hesitantly took a step forward.
A faint smell of gunpowder emanated from the man with his eyes half-closed. It was the trace of war.
Ezekiel was renowned as a sharpshooter. His exploits of climbing trees and precisely taking down enemies with a single bullet, especially in situations of numerical disadvantage, were famous.
The company Ezekiel led, belonging to the 37th Regiment, was known for being the unit that ventured into the most dangerous territories and held out the longest. For instance, a legendary tale of a flag so soaked in blood that friend and foe were indistinguishable, turning black, became a symbol, leading his company to carry a black flag separately.
Such a soldier was now on the verge of losing his life to his brother's treachery. It was a truly hollow end for a war hero.
Her gaze slowly traced his face. The skin, bronzed by the heat of battle, deepened the shadows of his prominent features. Though his eyes were closed, she could clearly imagine the sharp lines they would form when opened. Ironically, there was a mole on the left side of his face, as if the brothers had each received one.
His impression was similar yet dissimilar to his elder kin. If Achenaus had a pretty face, Ezekiel's was more fittingly described as beautiful. If Achenaus's flippancy and playfulness were removed and replaced with color and weight, this man would be the result.
Clatter. Something crunched under her heel as she stepped carelessly. Her heart sank.
The object her heel had caught was a long Rifle. Placed artfully across the carpet of the same color, it looked like it had been set up to detect an intruder. It was likely a habit from setting traps on the battlefield, unconsciously carried over.
Just then, the man who had been asleep moments before suddenly opened his eyes. His slightly furrowed blue eyes were a dark, deep blue like the night sea. His sharp gaze quickly scanned her attire down to her feet.
It was instantaneous. He kicked the Rifle away with one foot and snatched her wrist towards him.
The man's hands, weathered by countless battles, were rough and calloused. The history of pulling triggers and wielding bayonets hundreds, thousands of times, was etched into the still-raw scars. They were completely opposite in appearance to his brother's soft, pale, and smooth hands.
In the midst of the sudden turn of events, she was merely bewildered. The muzzle, kicked by his foot and spun halfway around, suddenly spat fire.
Simultaneously, a deafening roar, bang, tore through the air.
It was a gunshot loud enough to summon everyone in the mansion. The glass window, struck by the bullet, shattered and fell in an instant.
It was a miracle she didn't scream. Rose froze, her eyes darting to the Rifle. The Rifle was still spinning in place from the impact of the discharge.
She vaguely recalled hearing something. Rifles could unexpectedly misfire with even a slight shock. Sometimes, bullets would even discharge during loading, injuring oneself or nearby comrades.
However, she hadn't expected a gun, brought back from a victory parade, to still be loaded.
More than anything.
More than anything...
The man was still holding her wrist. The blood in her body turned ice cold. She had been found out. Caught. Her back was slick with sweat.
Even without checking the faces of every servant passing by, once people started gathering in the space where the accident occurred, the situation would change. An explanation for the accidental discharge would be required, and the servants would soon testify that she was an unfamiliar face in the mansion. Under interrogation, the identity of the glass bottle, her purpose for entering, who had hired her, and why she had no choice but to accept the job, would all unravel in a chain reaction.
Then, it would all be over.
She had to escape somehow.
Instinct overrode reason. Rose flung the contents of the bottle into the man's eyes.
"Ugh!"
As the surprised man covered his eyes, she twisted her wrist free and ran out of the bedroom in a single burst.
In her utter panic, her memories of what followed were fragmented and unclear. While the mansion was thrown into chaos by the sudden gunshot, Rose fled the Valdemara mansion and ran home distractedly. She locked herself in her dark room, pulled the covers over her head, and shivered uncontrollably.
From that day on, Rose couldn't step outside her house. Fearing that servants from the Valdemara mansion might be searching the neighborhood for a suspicious woman, she locked all the windows and pretended the house was empty, keeping her presence hidden.
Sometimes, she wondered if it was a dream. But the half-empty glass bottle constantly reminded her of the act of terror she had committed. Yet, she lacked the courage to ignore or discard the bottle.
Being alone, her mind kept sinking back to that day. Piecing together the fragmented memories, like an unfinished puzzle, Rose suddenly shivered.
The sudden burst of flame and the bullet hitting the glass window.
If he hadn't kicked the Rifle, redirected it, and grabbed her, who would the loaded muzzle have shot?
It had only been a moment, perhaps a second or two. But in that brief moment, he had chosen to save her, and she had chosen to harm him.
Opposite choices led to opposite outcomes. Perhaps because she was consumed by a single thought all day, Rose suffered from nightmares for many nights. In her dreams, she was hit by a stray bullet and fell, or she was caught with the glass bottle and dragged away.
Her parents returned around that time. They had been held captive somewhere unknown, and though they were somewhat thinner, their health seemed fine. In contrast, Rose, who had been hiding and confined at home, had become much more gaunt and pale, looking like an invalid.
"They say you've lost your sight."
Her parents already knew what their daughter had done to save them. Rose froze at the news Achenaus had conveyed through her parents.
