As soon as Angela, her feet now planted firmly on the ground, pulled off the hood that had blocked her view, the first thing that caught her eyes was the upright back of Tristan, standing tall with a sword in hand. After seeing him hunched over and limping around all this time, it felt like she had been thoroughly deceived.
Next, she spotted the man who had just moments ago carried her slung over his shoulder—now collapsed on the floor.
There had been a strange sound, and then the strength drained from the hand that had been holding her. Blood was now pooling beneath his body.
Thanks to that, Angela had practically tumbled to the floor, but it allowed her to untie the loosely knotted ropes and remove her hood. Yet the sight that greeted her once her vision returned was nothing short of absurd.
“You—!”
And it seemed that she wasn’t the only one baffled by the scene. The men she had, until a moment ago, referred to as “your companions” when addressing Tristan were equally dumbfounded.
“You—your leg! No, your swordplay! No—what the hell are you?!”
The man who had first lured Tristan out of the inn shouted incoherently.
Angela felt much the same. She had no idea what was going on. But she knew one thing for sure—this wasn’t the time to be unraveling the situation piece by piece. Then Tristan, still facing away from her, jerked his head toward the back and spoke.
“Run straight to the door right now. Since they’re all here, that means there’s no one outside. I’ll catch up soon, so don’t look back—just keep going. The path’s rough, so be careful.”
At his words, Angela glanced behind her. The kidnappers were all on the opposite side. It must have been because the one who had been carrying her was taken down mid-escape. Or… had Tristan planned this positioning?
Swallowing dryly, Angela asked, “You’re sure you can catch up?”
“You’re worried about me? You really are as lovely as you look.”
Angela scowled at Tristan, who was grinning without a shred of concern, and snapped as if issuing a command:
“You’d better come. I have a lot to say to you.”
“Of course. Won’t be long.”
Trusting his reply, Angela turned and sprinted toward the door. As she pushed open the crooked frame, its creak echoed like thunder.
“Don’t move!”
A harsh voice barked from behind her—harsher than any curse. But then—clang!—the clash of swords rang out, quickly swallowing the shout.
She had believed in Tristan’s skill after seeing how cleanly he had pierced the one trying to carry her off, but despite his warning to keep her eyes forward, Angela kept glancing back.
When would he catch up? Had he gotten into more danger because of her?
Lost in thought, Angela suddenly slipped and landed hard on her backside. That was the price of daydreaming while descending a rocky slope.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he said the path was rough. Every step crumbled loose gravel underfoot, and wet rocks threatened to trip her. Her cumbersome dress was nothing but dead weight in all of this.
When she fell for the third time, Angela let out a deep sigh and glanced around. Spotting a sharp rock, she dusted off her scraped hands and picked it up. Then, without hesitation, she began slicing her dress in half. Soon, her bare calves were fully exposed.
“Kalian’s probably going to try to kill me the moment we reunite.”
Just then, Tristan arrived, whistling as he came. Normally, she might’ve considered pushing the bastard off this rocky trail—but right now, she was just relieved he had made it out safely.
“You’re late.”
Angela muttered, resuming her pace, brows still furrowed.
“You’ve got some skills. Couldn’t take care of all of them, though. More will be chasing soon—we need to move fast.”
At his urging, Angela nodded and widened her stride. With the excess fabric gone, her movement felt noticeably freer. Not quite graceful yet—but better.
Still, she slipped a few more times. Each time, Tristan caught her swiftly. But he couldn’t catch her every time, and eventually, she scraped her leg on a jagged rock. Blood oozed from a long gash on her calf.
The pain wasn’t the real issue. The real problem was that if the blood kept trailing behind her, it would serve as a beacon for their pursuers.
Even in this situation, Tristan still had that carefree grin. It was as if worry was a foreign concept to him. Sword in hand, he said,
“Let’s tear a little more.”
Angela wanted to snap, Why don’t you tear your own clothes for once? But there was no time to argue, and besides, the fabric of Tristan’s clothes wasn’t suitable for bandaging. In the end, all she could do was silently watch as he ripped more of her dress, exposing her thigh this time.
“There.”
With the torn cloth wrapped tightly around her wound, Tristan—finally looking somewhat concerned—asked if she could walk.
“Just go,” Angela snapped curtly.
“If it gets too much, tell me. I’ll carry you.”
Utter nonsense. If he tried to carry her down this rocky slope, they’d both end up tumbling into disaster. Her scraped leg would seem like nothing by comparison.
“Stop talking nonsense and move.”
Angela barked the command, and Tristan, with exaggerated politeness, replied, “Yes, my lady,” before continuing down the path.
“……”
For a moment, Angela thought his gesture was surprisingly knightly. Simple though it was, it was clean, upright, and controlled.
To the average person, that may not have seemed like much. But it was. Knights were drilled to rehearse that gesture thousands, tens of thousands of times before their knighthood ceremony. They believed a sloppy bow was a sign of flawed courtesy. So while others might mimic it, executing it with perfection was no easy feat.
—
At a glance, Tristan’s bow had seemed flawless. But perhaps it only seemed so because it was just a glance. Angela found herself growing increasingly suspicious of who—or what—Tristan really was.
Still, suspicion was a luxury she could only afford when there was time. After nearly slipping again on an uneven rock, any thoughts of his knight-like greeting vanished from her mind.
There was no point in dying from a misstep while fleeing kidnappers. Right now, her sole focus needed to be on surviving this damn mountain.
—
BANG!
The door to the room Angela had been locked in was kicked open with force. A man known as Hunter stepped out, spitting phlegm to the floor. His face was twisted in rage—practically snarling.
It was understandable. Tristan, that bastard, had locked them all inside and made his escape. They had only now managed to break free.
Grinding his teeth in fury, Hunter turned on one of his men—the fool who had brought Tristan along from the tavern. He kicked him hard in the leg, then slapped him across the face.
The blow was powerful. Though it was only a single hit, the man went flying, blood spilling from his lips as though he’d been beaten half to death.
“Find them. They couldn’t have gone far. Bring back my ticket to gold.”
The others, shaken by the beating, snapped to attention and scrambled out the door, boots pounding the ground.
“Tristan’s fair game—kill him if you want.”
Hunter shouted after his fleeing subordinates as they bolted out of the hideout like rats.
Still seething, Hunter kicked over a wooden chair with a loud crash, then stormed outside himself. Judging by the venom in his eyes, he wouldn’t rest until he was the one to personally put an end to that Tristan bastard.
—
“Just a little further.”
Tristan’s voice was gentle as he glanced at Angela’s trembling, blood-soaked leg. She could only manage a faint nod in response—she didn’t have the energy to speak. But still, she forced her body to move, one painful step at a time.
With each step, she could feel the blood draining from her. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she feared that if she collapsed now, she wouldn’t get back up again.
She didn’t want to be a burden to Tristan, who had helped her so much already. So Angela clenched her teeth and endured.
“Where are you, you rat bastards?!”
It had been a while since they first heard the curses echoing from behind. Angela had assumed they’d bought more time, but her injury had slowed them down. Their pursuers were dangerously close.
Grabbing Tristan’s outstretched hand, Angela jumped down over a slippery rock ledge. The moment her feet hit the ground, a searing pain shot up her leg—it felt like it had been severed.
“You okay?”
Tristan’s whisper brushed past her ear. Angela gave a slight nod, then moved ahead of him. If she stalled, so would he. She was already slowing him down enough…
With that in mind, Angela suddenly blurted out,
“Go ahead. No, you go on.”
“What?”
Tristan looked at her like she’d lost her mind. She limped forward, ignoring his confusion.
“I can afford to be caught. They won’t kill me. But you—go. Find a place to hide.”
“You’re only saying this because you’re exhausted.”
For the first time, Tristan’s voice lost its teasing edge. It was serious—without a hint of laughter.
Angela nearly slipped again. Her steps wobbled, her body struggling to hold itself upright. Her legs were nearly useless now.
Then she saw it—the blood dripping freely down her leg. The torn scrap of dress wrapped around the wound had long since reached its limit. It was soaked through, unable to hold back the flow. With a quiet sigh, Angela dropped to the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“If I keep moving, I’ll only leave a trail.”
“You have to keep going.”
“You keep going! Get help if you can’t handle this alone.”
For the first time, a deep crease formed between Tristan’s brows.
“If I leave, they’ll just move you again. I may never find you after that.”
“And if you stay, you’ll die. You’re risking your life for someone you barely know—doesn’t that seem a little wasteful?”
“Who said you’re just someone? You’re Kalian’s bride.”
With those words, Tristan scooped Angela up and slung her over his shoulder. Her upper body flipped awkwardly, and she struggled instinctively.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
But Tristan’s voice came firm and sharp:
“If you move like that, we’ll roll right off the cliff and both die.”
Angela froze. She had no choice.
Their pace slowed compared to earlier, but it was still faster than if she had walked alone. And still, the shame of being a burden gnawed at her. She wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“If we make it back alive, I’ll give you the money they promised for me.”
Angela offered the only form of repayment she could think of. Only then did Tristan crack a smile, like the one before.
“I’m going to be rich, huh? Guess that means I have to get us out of this alive.”
Joking lightheartedly, he carried her down the rocky path.
Then it happened. An arrow flew through the air, embedding itself into a nearby tree—one they had just passed. The shaft struck so hard that the slender trunk cracked nearly in half.
“There they are! This way! Over here!”
The archer’s voice rang out, calling his companions. They were right behind them.
“Shit.”
The curse slipped from Tristan’s lips—rare and telling. He bolted, faster than before, and placed Angela behind a thicker tree trunk, partially shielded from view. Drawing his sword, he warned:
“Stay here. Don’t move.”
His eyes gleamed like sharpened steel. In that moment, Angela knew she hadn’t been mistaken. That look—focused, fierce—was the gaze of a knight who had something to protect.
“You bastard! Hand over the girl!”
CLANG! CLANG!
The sharp clash of steel against steel echoed through the forest. Startled birds burst from the trees in a flurry.
Was there really nothing she could do but sit here?
Angela’s mind spun. If only she had a weapon—just something she could use.
Then her eyes landed on the stones scattered all around. They were perfect makeshift weapons. But their attackers were furious and unpredictable—one wrong move from her, and Tristan could be in even greater danger.
That was the worst possible outcome. The thought of someone dying just to protect her was unbearable. She, who had always been pushed aside, abandoned—Angela couldn’t stand to see someone fight for her and fall.
“Kalian…”
She whispered the name of the only person she could completely depend on. She pictured him kissing the flower bracelet on her wrist, appearing before her and pulling her into his arms.
Then, the sound changed.
The metallic clangs were replaced by the horrific tearing of flesh. Screams—raw and uneven—mixed with suppressed groans rang out in quick succession. And it wasn’t just one person.
What was happening?
What was going on?
Was one of those cries… Tristan’s?
Gripped by dread, Angela forced herself to her feet. Limping forward, she peered through the trees—and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
