Chapter 135

The people who had surged forward with torches and weapons, intent on striking at the knights, were shoved back helplessly. Kennard urged his horse into a faster pace and drove straight through the middle of them. Even in their half-mad state, the sight of Kennard bearing down on them like a gale struck them with fear.

“Ah—!”

Cries burst out as people flailed and stumbled. Some tried to dodge left and right only to trip over one another’s feet, and even amid the chaos a few still attempted to lunge in and attack. Those who did were immediately forced back by the knights holding the main gate, their swords and spears sweeping the weapons aside. Rather than stabbing and wounding them, the knights focused on clearing a path for Kennard.

As he rode, Kennard turned only his head to glance behind him.

The instant he passed safely through the main gate, Serin and the carriage surrounded by the knights slipped out of the area just as quickly. Behind them, the crowd that would normally have been separated by rank and distance now churned together in a single tangled mass. Nobles and commoners were mixed together, and among them were even ladies still dressed in formal gowns.

“There’s a witch in that carriage!”

“They’re trying to smuggle the witch out!”

“After them!”

At someone’s shout, the mob began to steady themselves and give chase one by one.

Kennard raised his right hand and deliberately slowed his horse. Serin and the knights following behind immediately reined in as well. The people who had gathered in front of the mansion were pursuing them on foot, without a single horse or carriage to their name. If he went too far ahead, they might lose sight of him and the carriage. No matter what, he had to lure them all the way to the Bellad River without ever leaving their field of vision.

Adjusting the horse’s speed so they would not suspect the plan, Kennard continued toward the imperial castle.

***

“Your Grace, we are almost there,” Serin reported, bringing his horse up beside him.

Kennard nodded once and looked back. In the darkness, a massive cluster of torchlight was rushing after them. Somehow the pursuers had even managed to find horses, because the distance between them had shortened compared to before.

“Serin, go to Elena now,” Kennard ordered.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Serin.”

As Serin began to turn his mount, Kennard called him back.

“Even if this plan fails, do not forget that your first priority is Elena’s safety.”

“Yes, I will remember.”

Serin bowed his head toward Kennard, then quickly wheeled his horse around and rode off. Kennard watched his retreating figure fade into the darkness before turning forward again.

Beyond the dense forest, a castle rose as though it were piercing the night sky. Torches burned along every section of the walls where soldiers stood guard. If they followed the road as it was, they would soon reach the Bellad River, the very place where Duke Blade had once tried to execute Elena and the other women under the pretense of a witch trial.

But that was not Kennard’s destination.

He intended to pass the riverbank and move onto the stone bridge that led toward the castle.

His chest felt as if it were being crushed beneath a boulder, and he exhaled a long, heavy breath. He tried several times to draw in and release deeper breaths, but the tightness would not ease. There had been no other way to take Elena’s blood without opening another wound on her body, something he could never have allowed.

In the end, after sending everyone out of the bedchamber, Kennard had pressed a strip of cloth between Elena’s teeth. He had gathered her into his arms, and Elena had reopened the wound that had once pierced her own body. Her frame had trembled, writhing in pain until her muscles spasmed, yet he had not even been able to hold her tightly. He knew that any additional pressure would only worsen her suffering.

The thick smell of blood and the slick, exposed texture of torn flesh were sensations far too familiar to him. But the moment they became Elena’s, his stomach had churned as if his own blood were flowing backward.

Remembering how he had once pitied the old, deep scars covering her body made his past self feel despicable. Kennard ground his teeth in bitter self-reproach. He clenched so hard it felt as though his teeth might shatter, the muscles from his jaw to his temples pulling as if they would tear.

What he had begun in order to protect Elena had only forced her to endure more pain, and the realization left him in despair. Rage surged until his eyes stung and the tip of his nose burned. He wanted to scream until his throat burst, yet he could not. The situation allowed no room for him to lose control, and he did not believe he even had the right.

Because Elena had sacrificed so much, this plan had to succeed.

Kennard and the knights rode onto the stone bridge leading to the imperial castle. Only after reaching roughly the middle did he pull the reins and bring his horse to a halt. As he turned the horse’s head, the knights parted to either side of the bridge, retreating toward the edges and leaving a clear path before him.

Kennard slowly retraced his way back, then cast a brief glance down into the carriage the knights had been escorting. Through the slightly open window he saw a woman sitting inside with her hood pulled low over her face.

“Prepare,” Kennard murmured.

At his low command, the woman gave a small nod.

By the time he reached the very rear of the formation, he could see people climbing onto the bridge carrying torches and weapons. He glanced down beneath the bridge. The river flowed steadily, and fortunately the current was not strong. If they matched the timing properly, just as Elena had planned, not a single person would die and all could be restored safely.

Kennard began counting silently in his head, forcing down the impatience that kept threatening to rise.

It did not matter how Elena had come to use sorcery, nor whether the stories were true that the White Fox Tribe had called those who looked like her witches doomed to misfortune. If saving Elena required it, he would not have cared even if she truly were a witch.

Narrowing his eyes, Kennard fixed his gaze forward.

Moments later, the entire mob had finally crowded onto the bridge.

“Advance!” Kennard shouted into the night without hesitation.

At the same instant he leapt from his horse, his body shifting into the form of a black wolf as he sprinted toward the entrance of the bridge. The knights did the same, each transforming and charging after him.

The people who had been advancing suddenly saw Kennard and the knights halt, transform, and rush at them. Panic exploded through the crowd as they tried to retreat, but soldiers hidden among the riverside brush revealed themselves and surrounded them, leaving no path of escape.

That was the moment.

The carriage door flew open and the hooded woman stepped out. In her hands she held a large bow, an arrow tipped with fire already nocked. The arrow soared into the night sky, trailing a long, thin ribbon of flame in a sweeping arc.

That was the signal. Upstream, water mixed with Elena’s blood would now be released.

Running at full speed, Kennard crashed into the crowd. Trapped on the bridge, unable to move, the people raised swords and spears in a desperate attempt to fight back. Instead of striking them down, Kennard and the knights rammed into them bodily, knocking them over the edge and into the river below.

“Ah—save me!”

“Help—!”

Those who fell into the water screamed and thrashed, carried away by the current. A few managed to swim toward the banks, but most gulped water between frantic cries before sinking beneath the surface.

At that moment, the boats waiting beneath the bridge began to move. Soldiers and attendants rowed hard, hauling the fallen people out of the river one by one.

Returning to his human form, Kennard stood motionless on the bridge, watching the scene for a long while.

He had accepted Elena’s plea despite himself and poured every ounce of focus into preparing all of this within such a short time. During that time, the citizens ensnared by the spell might have done more than merely gather and protest outside the mansion, so he had not been able to lower his guard for even a moment. If anything in the plan went wrong, Elena alone would bear the pain, and the thought had left him feeling as though his blood were drying in his veins.

He did not even know for certain whether this would truly break the spell. He had never witnessed it with his own eyes, and even now the situation felt unreal. The only thing he could believe was that Elena would never lie to him.

Kennard stepped toward the side where the upstream river could be seen. The wind curled around him, and when he closed his eyes and let himself lean into it, Elena’s pheromones drifted toward him in the breeze. He wanted, at that very moment, to run to her and pull her into his arms.

“Your Grace.”

At the call, Kennard slowly opened his eyes and turned his head.

A woman in a splendid gown approached him, a large bow still in her grasp. When she pushed back the hood she had been wearing, a familiar face was revealed.

“Cura.”

The one dressed like Elena had been Cura. He had never imagined that the woman who arrived at his mansion in the capital alongside Duke Benzef’s party would be used for a role like this.

“I made you risk your life,” Kennard said quietly.

Cura lowered her head, her cheeks flushing.

“No, Your Grace,” she replied softly. “I’m only grateful I could help the two of you, even in this small way. Besides, all I did was shoot an arrow into the air.”