Chapter 7
His full brother, four years younger. Unlike himself who was the spitting image of their father, his brother took completely after their mother. His gentle appearance, overly soft personality, and pointlessly overflowing familial affection. His weak brother, so different from himself, was unpleasant like the sticky humidity of a summer day, and above all, annoying.
However, he only realized that he had been particularly soft toward his brother the moment Albert became a cold corpse with his mouth sealed shut forever.
He had never been suited for war in the first place. How could someone who couldn’t kill a single insignificant insect manage to kill a person? He had simply let him tag along because he wanted to become a strong man like his older brother. He had never thought Albert would die. It was the arrogance of someone who had taken countless lives on the battlefield yet never once felt the threat of death himself.
For the first time in his life, he lost his reason. But he believed he was still sane. While it was true that he had been momentarily shocked by his brother’s death, he thought he had erased it from memory just as he had forgotten the death of his beloved horse within half a day.
He simply felt as if a stone had been placed on his chest, making it stuffy. As if hellfire boiling beneath the earth was spewing heat all the way up to his chest. That’s all he thought it was.
But even after killing the King of Roang and his seven princes, the heat didn’t subside. The second prince who had killed Albert was the first to lose his life, yet Kallist felt no satisfaction from revenge. He collected the heads of every prince of Roang—legitimate and bastard alike—scraping them clean. Thanks to this, Roang had no choice but to elevate a bastard son of the king they didn’t even know existed to the throne.
However, Kallist couldn’t kill Princess Sylvia of Roang.
‘Damn it, I should have killed that princess too.’
The last direct descendant of Roang with platinum hair and coral-colored eyes, just like the Roang princes.
It was the law of the Valencha Empire not to kill women even during war. Of course, Kallist was someone who didn’t care about laws, so he had tried to cleanly eliminate Sylvia after the other princesses to complete his revenge.
But the moment he met Sylvia’s gentle, trembling eyes, he lowered his sword.
Even though a single movement of his fingertip would have severed the woman’s neck, he didn’t do it. He grabbed her hair and yanked her pale face close to his. Her head was as light as a feather. Killing her probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. In that instant, he decided it would be better to take her as a hostage instead.
Throughout Sylvia’s transport to the empire, he was consumed by a strange regret. He should have crushed her head to the ground right then and there. Kallist wasn’t normally someone who would be constantly irritated by the presence of someone he had chosen not to kill by his own will.
But Sylvia was irritating. Every time he looked at her, it felt like the hellfire that had been burning around his throat spread all the way to the top of his head. Should he kill her or not? He weighed Sylvia’s life in the balance right up until the moment they arrived at the imperial palace. It was only natural that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
After she was confined to Drémoor Castle, he felt decent for a few days. It made sense—the presence that had been grating on his nerves had disappeared from sight. However—
‘I should definitely kill her after all.’
Right after massacring thirty Roang prisoners, as he washed the blood from his hair, he hardened his resolve. Because he hadn’t killed that woman, even after soaking his entire body in blood for days, his thirst wouldn’t abate.
He took only a small dagger he had never used before and made his way to Drémoor Castle. This time he would finish it properly. The thought of plunging the dagger into the princess’s long, white neck and watching her delicate body convulse made his lower abdomen tighten heavily.
Infiltrating Drémoor Castle wasn’t difficult. The crown prince, a war hero, wielded absolute power with the emperor’s tacit approval. There was no place within the empire forbidden to him. Drémoor Castle was no exception. No one could obstruct his path.
Except for Zeke Leonhart.
“Open it.”
The emperor’s loyal dog obediently tucked his tail and opened the door for him, but Kallist found Zeke’s attitude somehow displeasing.
A born ruler recognizes those who won’t submit through instinct alone. Zeke wasn’t submitting to him. Nor was he cowering in fear like the others.
Would he wear the same expression if I plunged a dagger into those inscrutable eyes? Just as Kallist was about to act on his thoughts—
Creeak— The iron door opened and a dizzying sweet scent hit him like a blow. Kallist lost the will to draw his dagger.
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