Chapter 42

“You disobeyed my order and tried to unilaterally kill a protected person who had no intention of resisting. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No, there isn’t.”

Teumesia’s lower lip trembled.

Destroying her lord’s property recklessly was a grave crime.

But the Riorem Velik she had observed was not someone to make such a summary execution decision immediately.

At least… not until that red-haired woman arrived.

‘I chose him as my lord because he always came to rational conclusions, almost to the point of being prudish.’

For someone like that to make such an emotionally biased judgment… and for her to vanish because of that decision.

It was unbearably unfair.

So Teumesia stared straight at the trajectory of Riorem’s sword aimed at her. Her eyes widened fiercely, bloodshot.

But suddenly, something blocked the blade.

Swish!

Before she could even realize what was happening, bright red blood splattered.

“Ugh.”

A groan, as if in pain, came from behind her.

Teumesia slowly turned her head to the left.

An astonishingly soft and slender arm was wrapped around the back of her neck, as if protecting her.

And at the end of it, a beautifully white hand — like a painting — gripped the sharp blade tightly.

Chernea had blocked Riorem’s sword with her own hand.

“To me—”

Chernea said in a hoarse voice,

“—aren’t you going to ask what’s going on?”

Though her tone was as indifferent as usual, her voice trembled terribly.

Riorem’s chest heaved roughly.

“…What are you doing?”

“I told you… I’m not asking.”

Chernea answered, forcing herself to calm her breath.

“Is that all?”

A voice like burning flames whispered from the underground.

“Your ladyship’s hand could have been cut off. And yet, you blocked my sword for that petty reason?”

At those words, Teumesia sighed.

‘The general stopped the attack halfway.’

Riorem swung his sword with the intent to cut Teumesia’s neck.

Such a strike would never have been stopped by the frail arm of a noble lady.

‘But…’

Teumesia felt her lips go dry.

Still, he probably couldn’t bring the sword to a complete stop.

Moreover, Chernea had grabbed the blade directly with her hand to prevent Riorem from changing the sword’s trajectory and cutting Teumesia’s neck.

I don’t know the details, but it probably hurt enough to expose the bone.

You could tell just by looking at how pale Riorem’s face had become.

“What do you want?”

Riorem asked through gritted teeth.

“What do you want that you’d go so far as to do this? To spare Teumesia?”

“Yes. Because your subordinate shouldn’t die unfairly…”

“…Die unfairly? Are you the one strangling her?”

“Yes. The truth is, nothing happened. Ah… right, Teumesia?”

A chill ran down her spine.

She recalled what Chernea had just said.

‘You asked how I’m going to handle the aftermath. Not to kill me.’

A hollow laugh escaped her lips.

Disgusting.

It was terrifying to the point of being creepy — a woman who uses even a situation where she nearly got strangled to get what she wants.

But even so, if such a person insisted on sparing her life, she wasn’t going to refuse.

She had come this far with Riorem as her lord, after all.

Teumesia slowly nodded. Chernea, watching the scene, also lifted the corners of her mouth.

Riorem squeezed out an order.

“…Leave.”

Teumesia bowed slightly and left the bedroom.

Her hands and feet trembled uncontrollably, but she couldn’t show it.

The door closed, and silence settled heavily in the room again.

“Let go.”

After a silence so still it felt like even the air had stopped moving, Riorem barely spoke.

“This sword is for cutting people. Let it go at once.”

His cold voice warned her.

But Chernea ignored him.

On the contrary, she pulled the blade closer toward herself.

She taunted him,

“Are you ordering me? Or are you worried your hand might be cut off?”

Blue eyes sparked fiercely.

“Do you want to have a showdown now? Shaking like that because it hurts?”

“I was just… asking.”

At her calm answer, Riorem decided to stop the conversation here.

Thud.

Riorem quickly closed the distance between himself and Chernea.

His large hand twisted the wrist that stubbornly refused to release the sword.

With just a bit of force, Chernea’s grip weakened.

Clang.

The bloodied sword dropped to the floor.

At the same time, the woman’s right hand was revealed.

As expected, it was in a horrifically terrible state.

“Damn it.”

Riorem lifted Chernea up in his arms.

He immediately took her to his room.

There was no time to summon a doctor or servant.

If he didn’t treat her right away, such a beautiful, crafted hand would be ruined.

That obsession filled Riorem’s mind.

He sat Chernea on his desk and frantically began treating her wounds.

He poured hemostatic herbs on the wound in large amounts since the bleeding refused to stop.

However, the wound did not heal even a little.

Suddenly, Riorem thought his ears were too noisy.

The pounding noise that continued like running footsteps nearly deafened him.

It was only much later that he realized the noise was his own heartbeat.

Meanwhile, the woman’s blood didn’t stop flowing, and her heart beat faster and faster.

He felt dizzy.

He couldn’t understand how such an injury could happen just from gripping a blade.

Was it because his mind was confused? It took him a while to remember that he had to press the wound to stop the bleeding.

By then, Riorem’s hands were soaked in blood.

The bitter wetness mixed with the hemostatic herbs, sticky and horrible.

“Why, why is there so much blood…”

Riorem let out a strained breath.

“Why are you doing this to me too? There’s no need for you, Miss, to remind me I’m acting beyond my station.”

At those words, Chernea laughed aloud.

“You call me ‘Miss’ whenever you’re in a hurry.”

Riorem closed his mouth.

Probably true—he usually chose his words carefully.

Since she was his possession, he avoided calling her ‘Miss.’

The more composed she acted, the more he had to control himself tightly.

Otherwise, he would find himself kneeling before her, licking her feet without even realizing it.

Chernea smiled as if she knew all that.

“A sword that cuts people really carries weight in your words.”

“…Are you joking now?”

“Joking? I’m just reflecting on the punishment you gave me.”

Chernea picked up a bandage that had fallen on the desk.

“I’ll ask again. What do you want to do with me, Riorem? Did you bring me here to insult me, or to serve me?”

While wrapping her wound with the bandage, she asked.

Riorem didn’t answer but instead took the bandage from her hand and pressed it firmly against the wound as he wrapped it.

Watching this, Chernea said casually,

“To be honest, I don’t care either way. If I was brought here as spoils, then it ends with a proud slave being punished. If I was brought to serve, then your mistake means you slightly hurt me.”

“But either way, you must take responsibility.”

“Are you telling me to decide whether to blame this on myself or you? And to take responsibility accordingly?”

In other words, she was saying he should decide how to treat her.

If she were just Riorem’s possession, he could ignore the opinions of other nobles or retainers.

But if she was brought as a person, she was a ‘noble prisoner,’ deserving corresponding treatment.

‘And to some extent, allow other people to visit.’

Riorem tightened the bandage with force.

The pressure seemed to work well; the blood flowing from the wound noticeably decreased.

Of course, it still bled, but it was enough to prevent death from excessive bleeding.

Thinking that, his pounding heart gradually calmed down.

In a firm voice, Riorem said,

“…This is not your fault. You belong to me. Therefore, all your faults are mine.”

Of course, he could treat Chernea with some respect as a person.

But he did not want to give her a separate room as a lady, or ask for her opinion and follow her wishes.

What if Chernea wanted to leave this mansion and go somewhere else?

What if Riorem himself chose a man born with something he could never possess?