SOTBW - 198

“Excuse me, Sir Elgort.”

Just as they were about to leave the party hall, a man dressed in a tailcoat stepped in front of Maximón. Instead of telling him to move, Maximón furrowed his brow.

The man bowed deeply and gestured toward someone behind him.

“The gentleman over there wishes to have a brief conversation with you, Sir Elgort. Might you spare a moment?”

Where the man pointed stood an elderly noble. The old man smiled faintly at Maximón and raised his wine glass slightly in greeting.

Najane looked at Maximón with questioning eyes, silently asking who the man was. Reluctantly, Maximón muttered:

“It’s Duke Schneitz.”

If one were to name the most powerful person at this party, it would undoubtedly be that elder. Though Maximón wasn’t particularly concerned with rank or title, he knew that being rude to the Schneitz family could bring harm to Edwin. 

The Duchess of Schneitz was the king’s aunt. As long as ties to the royal family remained, Maximón had no choice but to tread carefully around the duke for Edwin’s sake.

While protecting the nation was the duty of the common people, nobles sponsoring knights was not an obligation—it was a privilege. This party carried an unspoken message: “Knights should be grateful for noble patronage.” For someone like Maximón, burdened with responsibilities, ignoring Duke Schneitz was simply not an option.

“I can’t avoid greeting someone connected to the royal family. It can’t be helped… I’ll just show my face briefly, so wait here and don’t go anywhere.”

“Do I need to greet him too?”

Najane tugged at Maximón’s sleeve.

Maximón gently patted the back of her hand as if to say, “Absolutely not.”

“What do you think he’d say to you?”

“Is he a frightening person?”

“Not at all. Just an old-fashioned man. Whenever he sees a young woman, whether he knows her or not, he lectures her about getting married quickly.”

At Maximón’s words, Najane let out a small sigh. He lightly kissed the back of her hand before releasing it.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Reluctantly, Najane watched Maximón walk toward Duke Schneitz. Since they were near the entrance of the party hall, fewer eyes were on her now.

She was already sick of such glances. In the past, she might have felt a bit anxious, but knowing her time was limited made her indifferent to such trivialities.

Leaning against a lavishly decorated pillar, Najane waited calmly for Maximón’s return. She expected someone to approach her, but everyone seemed too preoccupied with gauging Maximón’s absence to dare approach her.

Thanks to this, Najane was able to leisurely observe the party hall. It was still bustling with people, all dressed similarly, making it impossible to distinguish one from another.

She recalled the name Kieron Vieto from the guest list. She had assumed that if Kieron were present, he would naturally approach or at least glance her way while she was with Maximón.

Kieron would undoubtedly recognize her. After all, he had treated her like an object and even cursed her body—how could he not?

Though she didn’t want to dwell on it, from Kieron’s perspective, it must have felt like losing a valuable possession.

When something precious is lost, one doesn’t forget it easily; anger often keeps it fresh in memory.

Najane had thought that once she became a knight of Romsoa, the person responsible for turning her and Luna into this state would surely approach her. But contrary to her fears, nothing of the sort had happened.

It was as if her becoming a knight meant nothing to him—as if he merely wanted her to suffer under the curse, regardless of her occupation or how others perceived her.

By now, everyone in the party hall knew who Najane was. Whether Maximón liked it or not, he drew attention wherever he went, and by extension, Najane had been naturally noticed too. Yet, she hadn’t felt any suspicious gazes so far, which likely meant that either Kieron Vieto wasn’t present or he had nothing to do with the kidnapping.

If Maximón hadn’t told her that he would soon reunite with Luna, she might have ignored all subtleties and immediately searched for Kieron Vieto. Since hearing about Luna, Najane’s mind had been relatively peaceful. While she wanted to see Kieron’s face, she also felt that this might be her final task as a knight—and she didn’t want to cause a major disturbance.

Glancing briefly at Maximón, still deep in conversation with Duke Schneitz, Najane slowly began to move. A man presumed to be the mansion’s butler fiddled with a pocket watch while constantly scanning the guests.

Upon noticing Najane, the butler bowed respectfully.

“Is there anything you need, milady knight?”

“Could I see the list of attendees?”

“Are you looking for someone specific?”

“A man named Kieron Vieto.”

“Please wait a moment. Some who received invitations did not attend.”

The butler shuffled through the guest list near the entrance, searching for the name Kieron. With so many attendees, it would take some time to find him.

Not wanting to rush the butler, Najane turned her gaze toward the dance hall. Cheerful music played as the sun set beyond the hall. She watched the elegant dancers with a faint smile, which gradually faded as she felt a gaze from somewhere nearby.

Though hundreds of eyes in the party hall were watching Najane, none felt as sharp or cold as the gaze she sensed now. It was a strangely familiar sensation—a low, concealed malice… Where had she experienced this before?

Najane wanted to boldly turn her head and confront the source of the stare, but she lacked the courage to meet such a hostile gaze directly. The piercing, knife-like glare continued to bore into her, so intense it felt as though someone hidden among the crowd was silently judging her sins.

Yes, sins. Though Najane hadn’t committed many wrongs, ever since escaping Kalonosia, she had felt as though she were being punished unilaterally.

“Still, you must live long and without pain, shouldn’t you? That way, you can see many good things and, if there’s anything you’ve done wrong, pay for it later. As someone from the government, I’m concerned.”

At that moment, an unsettling face flashed in Najane’s mind.

Zelter? No, an imposter pretending to be Zelter.

Instinctively recalling him, Najane turned her head. There, amidst the flow of people moving about, she spotted a man standing still like a statue. While everyone else walked purposefully somewhere, he alone remained motionless, making him stand out even more.

The instant their eyes met, Najane’s heart sank. She knew this man—there was no way she couldn’t. Standing far away, glaring at her with hostility, was…

“…Mikael?”

Najane muttered his name as if caught in a nightmare. Mikael, hearing her faint voice from afar, let out a thin, chilling smile.

After staring at her silently for a moment, Mikael turned his back and walked away without hesitation. His steps were firm, showing no trace of reluctance. Najane, pale as a ghost, watched him disappear into the crowd with trembling eyes, half-convinced she was seeing a spirit.

It was Mikael—undoubtedly Mikael. The same Mikael who had helped her and Luna onto the boat but hadn’t been able to board himself because of overcrowding.

As Mikael’s retreating figure grew smaller, Najane’s body trembled faintly. Her lungs felt frozen, making it hard to breathe. Overwhelmed by the fact that Mikael was alive, yet haunted by the possibility that this might all be a dream, Najane was gripped by a vague, suffocating fear.

She chased after him, weakly pushing through the people blocking her path as she hurried to catch up with Mikael, whose distance only seemed to grow.

“Oh, milady knight! Here, I’ve confirmed that Kieron Vieto attended the party… Milady knight?”

The butler held up the guest list, intending to show her Kieron’s name, but when he realized Najane had vanished, he looked around in confusion.

By then, Najane was already descending the stairs leading to the garden, following Mikael. It was the dead of winter, and not a single guest wandered through the garden.

Mikael disappeared beyond a hedge of boxwood trees blanketed in pristine white snow. The sound of his footsteps crunching softly on the thin layer of snow echoed faintly.

Relying solely on the sound of his footsteps, Najane entered the garden. Her heart raced, and her mind went completely blank. Though she knew she should think carefully before acting, she couldn’t control her body.

Before she realized it, tears were streaming down her face. Like a lost child, she sobbed and stumbled through the labyrinthine garden.

Perhaps she was truly hallucinating. Had she gone mad after denying reality upon receiving her terminal diagnosis from Gwyneth? Or was this all just a dream? Was it like the fleeting memories one sees before death?

Mikael had been the only person who supported her. He had taught her swordsmanship despite Nellis’s objections and guided her in manifesting Qi energy—like a father figure. Recalling his kind, familiar face, which she hadn’t thought of in so long, Najane broke into uncontrollable sobs.

Exhaling puffs of white breath, Najane screamed desperately into the tangled maze of the garden.

“Mikael!”

Crying out his name, she pushed forward blindly, unsure of where she was heading. Eventually, she came upon a frozen fountain. In spring, it would have been surrounded by blooming flowers and fragrant scents, but now it was encased in cold snow and bathed in the frigid hues of dusk.

Standing before the fountain, Najane wiped the frozen tears from her cheeks and scanned her surroundings. There was no sign of anyone nearby. With a dazed look in her eyes, she surveyed the area around the fountain, then covered her face with both hands and wept bitterly.

It felt like madness. Nothing else crossed her mind except the thought that she had gone insane. Though she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, her head spun as if drunk. Yes, it couldn’t have been Mikael. Mikael was dead. The memory of him collapsing after being attacked by Serith as the ship sailed away from the harbor was still vivid in her mind.

Najane collapsed to her knees in the snow and bowed her head. Tears flowed endlessly. Memories of Mikael, who had cared for her since childhood, rushed through her mind.

His gentle smiles stabbed at her heart like shards of broken glass. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Najane’s body grew colder, but she couldn’t bring herself to rise. She didn’t have the strength left.

Then, footsteps approached. The sound of snow being firmly crushed underfoot reached her ears.

Najane assumed it was Maximón. He must have noticed her absence from the party and come rushing out to find her. Thinking she should apologize, she lifted her head—and locked eyes with a face she had longed to see.

Mikael crouched down in front of Najane, resting his chin on his palm as he smiled faintly. His crimson eyes, tinged by the setting sun, wavered. The overwhelming scent of cinnamon assaulted her senses, shaking her very core.

Najane stared at Mikael, who looked as pale as a corpse. This wasn’t a dream. An inexplicable chill crept up her throat and pierced her heart like a sharp blade. The person before her was unmistakably Mikael, yet something about him felt… off.

It was as though he harbored hatred for her.