If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 215

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Aleini dragged the Count out and threw him into the middle of the servants who watched in horror at his pitiful state. They gasped sharply, shocked by the miserable sight before them.

“Why are you doing this? Do you have any right over me?”

It was a cry filled with tears — a desperate question from someone who truly didn’t understand what was happening to him.

But Cain did not utter a single word in response to the Count’s plea. It was as if he had no intention of easing the Count’s curiosity at all.

After silently staring down at the Count for a long moment, Cain quietly turned his back. The Count, expecting an immediate outburst and for Cain to draw his sword, watched in confusion as Cain calmly stepped away.

Just as it seemed the sudden chaos might be over, Cain took a few steps back and behind him stood an angry crowd wielding spears and swords in both hands.

“Hey, Count Schuck.”

“Who the hell are you? Where do you think you are, how dare you!”

“Count or not, we don’t care anymore. What we do know is that today, you’ll pay dearly for your crimes.”

“What… what is this?”

The Count’s shouts were cut short after only a few cries of pain. Moments later, dozens of people swarmed him all at once, and after that, no sound came from the Count.

The chaos died down and the manor fell silent.

Those who had taken their revenge on the Count hurriedly stuffed everything they could into their pockets and fled the manor. Every valuable item and decoration was taken, including the cloth covering chairs and even the firewood from the fireplace.

The once luxurious estate was left in ruin.

The sight was unrecognizable compared to the opulence just hours before.

Next, the knights silenced the Count’s servants. Whatever they had witnessed here was to be known only as angry townsfolk. Though they worked at the manor out of necessity, their loyalty to the Count was nonexistent, and they all swore strict silence.

Even if one of them spread strange rumors outside, it wouldn’t matter. Officially, there was no evidence or record that Cain Vernat had ever been in the southern lands, so any gossip would fade away as baseless tales.

Cain slowly approached the Count, who lay sprawled on the floor in a pitiful state. Though it seemed he might be dead, shallow gasps showed he was still alive.

Cain crouched beside him, staring at the Count’s bloodied and battered face. It was swollen and unrecognizable.

“Why…?”

The Count barely managed to whisper, gathering his fading breath.

“Why… are you doing this to me…?”

He asked why this was happening to him. With every breath, blood spatters flew. His appearance was so horrific it made one’s face grimace just from looking.

But Cain didn’t flinch.

“Why… why…”

“You die far too easily.”

“Wh-what…”

“You don’t deserve to die so easily.”

The Count panted harshly. Cain’s rage toward him was unusually intense. Confusion crept into the Count’s eyes.

“I could chop you into pieces and toss you in a pigsty…”

Cain’s voice was a low, chilling whisper. Seeing fear seep into the Count’s eyes, Cain smirked.

“Or perhaps burn you alive… just like you did to my mother.”

The Count’s pupils dilated.

“M-mother?”

“You can’t say you don’t remember.”

“What… what are you saying…?”

“All those women crammed in your filthy bedroom—they all looked alike.”

“Th-that’s…”

Cain grabbed the Count’s bloodstained collar and pulled him close. The Count’s trembling face tried to steady itself as Cain’s other hand gripped his head, forcing him to meet his gaze.

They were barely a hand’s breadth apart. The Count had no strength left to move a finger, only rolling his eyes weakly, and even that soon became too difficult. His pupils had long lost their clarity.

“Look closely. My eyes. My face.”

“Why… why…”

Fear crept into his confused eyes.

“Don’t you remember?”

The brown hair and blue eyes he had seen somewhere before. The sharp jawline beneath those cold eyes suddenly triggered a memory in the Count’s mind.

At last, he realized the source of the sense of familiarity that had haunted him since first meeting the Marquis Vernat.

“C-could it be…”

When he first met the Marquis Vernat who came to his manor, the Count had recalled the slave he had kept locked in his bedroom and abused for years but had pushed the thought away after being scolded by the Grand Duke himself.

Damn that foolish Grand Duke. If only he hadn’t lightly dismissed the Count’s word about their uncanny resemblance…

Regret filled his heart, but it was already too late.

“At least your death can be seen as payment for your crimes.”