It was Kalian.
The very Kalian they had hoped would rise like the sun and sweep in like the wind.
Kalian fought like a beast baring its fangs. No—could this even be called a fight? He held a weapon, yes, but what he did was far from combat. It was a massacre. He tore through his enemies with savage precision.
No one could have imagined such a feral side beneath his gentle features.
He twisted the blade that had pierced flesh, yanking it free. A spray of blood splashed across his face, painting him crimson.
Unbothered, Kalian advanced toward the next foe.
The man had already discarded his weapon and fallen backward, scrambling away on all fours. There was no fight left in him.
And yet, Kalian approached him with slow, deliberate steps—intent on finishing it.
The one who stopped him was Angela.
“Kalian…”
A single call.
Just one word.
And Kalian experienced something miraculous—like a man brought back to life. Breath he didn’t know he’d lost surged back into his lungs. The sensation was as fierce as waves crashing back to shore.
Kalian.
Just the sound of his name, spoken in that small voice, made the world pulse with life again.
“Angela.”
He stepped toward the woman who was his very breath and soul, pulling her into his arms. Only when her racing heart beat against his chest did he feel truly alive again.
“Angela… Angela…”
He kept whispering her name. And each time, she answered softly, “Yes, Kalian.”
Her replies filled his chest with an aching warmth. How he had feared never hearing them again.
Kalian tightened his embrace, holding her closer, closer still—as if to erase any distance between them.
And then—
“Angela.”
“Yes, Kalian.”
“…I love you.”
For the first time, he laid his heart bare.
He felt her freeze in his arms—caught off guard by the sudden confession.
“I love you, Angela.”
Yet still, Kalian clung to her and continued, his voice unwavering.
“I’ve pretended otherwise like a coward. But the truth is—I have never once, not for a single moment, stopped loving you.”
He felt her soft breath against his chest, and he held it like a blessing.
“I feared that if I said it aloud, it would become a weakness. And if it did, I’d be powerless against you. So I feigned indifference and kept my distance.”
Forgive me, he murmured, a broken whisper.
But his arms, if anything, held her even more firmly—like iron bars locking her in his embrace. There was no escape.
“I used to wonder—why is Angela like this? Why can’t she be a little kinder to others? I couldn’t understand…”
“…”
“Even so… even then… I have never once imagined a world without you. Every part of me—everything I am—was made by you. So I can’t go anywhere. Not without you.”
He pulled her in as if he might shatter from the longing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Angela said—like a promise.
“I’m not leaving. Not without you.”
Only then did Kalian let her go, just enough to look at her face. It had only been a few days apart, though they’d endured longer before. But it felt like seeing her after an eternity. He was looking at her now, yet already he missed her again.
“If you ever said you were going somewhere—even if it was to hell—I’d follow. So how could I ever leave you? I was just… finding my way back.”
Kalian drank in her words like sweet wine.
And then he drank from her lips too, as if they were the very chalice.
A kiss deep with yearning, fierce with devotion.
He never wanted this moment, this closeness, to end.
He had missed her to the point of pain.
—
“Ah…”
Their reunion ended the moment Angela let out a low moan and collapsed.
Kalian caught her, only then noticing the unspeakable wound on her leg. His teeth clenched hard.
Carefully lowering the unconscious Angela, Kalian lifted her injured leg onto his own and examined it with a tense gaze.
Though her bandage had been decently tied, the bleeding hadn’t stopped. It had likely worsened from the strain of walking down the mountain path in that condition.
“Just hold on a little longer,” he murmured like a plea.
He untied the blood-soaked cloth and firmly bound her upper thigh instead.
If he left it as it was, the wound might become necrotic. She needed medical attention—fast.
“We can greet each other properly later.”
Kalian lifted Angela into his arms and turned away without a backward glance.
He was speaking to Tristan, the companion who had helped open the path to this place.
“Sure,” Tristan replied with a crooked smile.
He was in the middle of tying up the few survivors from the group Kalian had sliced through—those barely clinging to life.
Kalian headed straight down the mountain with Angela in his arms.
Unlike Tristan, he moved with ease, even while carrying someone.
And yet he was painstakingly careful—his concern for the woman he held visible in every step.
It was almost hard to believe he was the same man who had just butchered his enemies like a cold-hearted executioner.
“He turned out well,” Tristan muttered, watching Kalian’s back disappear down the slope.
He turned away and lightly smacked the head of the most conscious prisoner.
“You lot are as good as dead now.”
The man flinched, turning pale.
His expression made it clear that Tristan’s jest wasn’t merely a joke.
This was what happened when you dared to provoke a true monster.
And Tristan barely held back a curse for the reckless hunter who had brought this hell down on them all.
—
Kalian had rushed Angela to the physician in the nearby village, holding her tightly in his arms. Now, he watched in silence as the needle pierced her delicate skin again and again. His expression looked as though he had died and come back a hundred times over.
Angela was the one undergoing treatment, yet Kalian’s face was ashen—like he was the one being stitched. This was a man who wouldn’t flinch even if it were his own flesh being sewn shut.
Jaime, feeling the weight of his guilt, remained silent as he observed Kalian’s anguish. This was all his doing. If only he had been stronger—Angela wouldn’t have been put in such danger, and Kalian wouldn’t be wearing such a broken expression.
Clenching his fists at his sides, Jaime gritted his teeth.
“What about the others?”
Kalian asked, his eyes never leaving Angela’s pale face.
Jaime, determined to at least handle the aftermath properly, responded at once.
“There were three survivors. I had them all taken to the manor’s prison. According to your friend Tristan, the group had a leader—a hunter. He escaped, but I’ve dispatched knights to comb the entire mountain where we found the young lady. We’ll catch him soon.”
Kalian gave no verbal reply, only nodded slightly. A moment later, he gave another quiet order.
“Prepare the carriage. We should move her to the estate before she regains consciousness.”
Jaime understood he was speaking of Angela, and immediately responded, “Yes, sir,” before hurrying out to carry out the command.
Still, Kalian remained beside her bed, staring down at Angela’s deathly pale face. He had never realized a person could be this white. She had always been fair-skinned, but now she looked almost like a corpse. The sight unsettled him deeply.
She could shout, lash out—he wouldn’t mind. She could slap him and demand why he came so late. She could accuse him, ask who would take responsibility for her wounds. He’d accept anything—anything at all—if only she would wake up whole and healthy.
“Just sleep a little longer,”
he whispered near her face.
“If you wake now, the trip might be hard on you. So sleep, Angela… Just a little longer. When we’re home… then you can wake up.”
She hadn’t had proper rest in days.
Kalian, like singing a lullaby, repeated his words gently.
As if she heard him, Angela stirred faintly with a small, soft murmur—then fell still again, her eyes remaining closed.
Knock knock.
“Come in.”
Kalian assumed the carriage was ready. But when the door opened, it wasn’t a servant—it was Tristan.
He entered quietly and approached the bed, arms crossed, gazing down at Angela.
“She’s beautiful even in her sleep.”
At that, Kalian’s eyes finally left Angela for a moment to land on Tristan. They were sharp, almost threatening.
Tristan, perhaps aware of her presence, gave a sheepish smile and chuckled under his breath.
“You’ve still got that glare—but it suits you. It’s been a while, Kalian.”
With arms spread wide, Tristan made a gesture as if asking for a hug.
But Kalian simply said, “Yes, it has,” without moving.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t glad to see Tristan. His entire focus was simply consumed by Angela. His piercing gaze returned to her immediately.
Tristan knew as much. With a playful smile, he wrapped his own arms around himself, as though embracing air.
“I wanted to wait until you came yourself, but you were too slow—and the client was ready to move. So I stepped in. Not perfect, but it did the job, right?”
This time, Kalian looked at him properly.
His appearance at Angela’s side wasn’t a coincidence.
It was Tristan who had sent the letter telling Kalian where to find her.
> This is Tristan. I know where your bride is. It’s the rocky mountain at the edge of northern Phaelon. I’ve marked the path to the hideout. Come for her, handsome brother of mine.
The letter was abrupt and unprompted, but the signature—“handsome brother”—was a phrase Tristan used often, and that was enough to convince Kalian.
Until that moment, he had been tearing through the empire without a single clue. Then he came here—and found Angela again.
“Thank you. I’ll repay you,”
Kalian said simply. But the sincerity in his voice and expression was unmistakable. It was the same quiet depth he had shown since they were boys, Tristan thought.
“She said she’d repay me herself.”
“How did you know where she was?”
“Who in Phaelon doesn’t know that Lady Bilton is the fiancée of Count Florence?”
Tristan gave a lazy grin, suggesting the rumor had likely spread even beyond their borders.
“Why were you with those kinds of people? Are you no longer with the mercenary corps?”
At that, Tristan’s smile grew broader.
“The mercenary corps disbanded long ago. The commander and vice commander had a huge falling out. Everyone took sides, and I… just took odd jobs on my own. Ran into those guys and got tangled up, that’s all.”
His face suggested openness, but his answer was vague.
It felt like there were things he wasn’t saying.
Kalian, watching him closely, glanced back at Angela before speaking again.
“We’ll leave as soon as the carriage is ready. Why don’t you come with us to the estate? When she wakes, I’m sure she’ll want to thank you herself.”
“Gladly!”
Tristan nodded eagerly, as if he’d been waiting for the invitation.
Grinning, he turned and left the room with a light step.
Kalian watched the door close behind him—but only for a moment. His gaze quickly returned to Angela, deep black eyes settling over her ghostly pale face.
The carriage arrived not long after.
Kalian carried Angela into it with care. The space inside was larger than a normal carriage, built for transporting patients—something he appreciated.
He placed her head gently on his lap, adjusting her position to be as comfortable as possible.
Turning to Jaime, who stood outside the door, Kalian gave him firm instructions to drive gently.
Jaime relayed the order to the coachman in an even sharper tone than Kalian’s.
And then, the carriage carrying Kalian and Angela began to roll forward.
There was no clatter of hooves, no rumble of wheels—just a quiet, steady departure.
Still, Kalian remained tense, afraid the smallest jolt might disturb her.
Perhaps thanks to that care, Angela remained in deep sleep until the carriage passed through the gates of the Florence estate.
Kalian, tender as ever, leaned down and brushed a kiss—soft as a whisper—against her cheek.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
