Chapter 9

“The weather is fucking awful.”

It was only after noon had passed that they finally dared their desperate outing. Arriving at the capital’s main square in a deliberately cheap street carriage, Count Owin’s assessment of the blinding sunlight was brutally brief. Fucking awful. Literally speaking, the Northern Kingdom of Tuska was suffering from unprecedented weather anomalies. A sudden, violent downpour would strike out of nowhere, only to be immediately replaced by heat so dry it left the skin feeling rough and chafed. It was so bizarre that a new catchphrase had even begun circulating among the populace: ‘Looks like the country’s going to ruin.’ The reasoning behind it was simple: ‘Looks like the Black Dragon is pissed we’re partying without him.’

It was a joke only permissible because the festival equipment hadn’t needed dismantling, nor had the crops suffered catastrophic damage yet. However, the royal ministries had already convened their meteorologists, with full-scale climate research and analysis scheduled to begin the moment the festival concluded.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Well, I saw a coin on the ground.”

“You didn’t just trip pathetically while getting out of the carriage?”

“Of course not.”

Rochshan had glanced back, noticing Kyle Blackburn was missing, only to find the servant’s broad back crouching low to the ground. Just as the man claiming to have found a coin dusted off his hands and tried to stand, he stumbled and fell right back down.

“……”

“……”

Watching the pathetic display, Rochshan peeled a stray piece of decorative confetti from the corner of his mouth, his face twisting into a scowl. Ultimately, he turned his back, pretending not to know the idiot. The servant, staggering to his feet, moved his hands with a clumsy, disjointed stiffness, as if he had suddenly been forced into shoes three sizes too small. Yet, he quickly adapted to the human shell he had nearly shed. Regaining his unnatural agility, the fake slave swiftly caught up to his master.

“Wow, you’re cruel. Pretending you don’t know me.”

“Who are you?”

“Your same-age fucking toy—”

His brutally honest reply was cut short as he bit his own tongue.

Without a second of hesitation, Rochshan drove his elbow sharply backward, striking Kyle Blackburn ruthlessly in the abdomen.

“I’m going to have to call a physician to get a proper diagnosis,” Rochshan snapped, his nerves fraying.

“For your tits?”

“For you, you bastard!”

Abnormal wound healing, fluctuating body temperatures, and now—stumbling, something the man had never done in his entire life. Rochshan, a firm believer in the rule that minor anomalies always preceded massive disasters or devastating economic panics, had absolutely no intention of overlooking the suspicious warning signs regarding Kyle’s health.

“Don’t even dream of defying me. I’ll drag you before a doctor even if I have to strap you into a straitjacket. Just recently, an academic journal published a paper on the correlation between rapid physical deterioration and dementia. They say early-onset dementia is a trend these days. A moron like you becoming even more—”

I need to take action before he becomes a complete vegetable. Even so, his thoughts hadn’t quite reached the terrifying conclusion that Kyle might have contracted a terminal illness. It was simply a maddening, grating anxiety—like metal scraping against a chalkboard—that refused to subside.

The unsettling atmosphere wasn’t limited to his servant.

The capital’s plaza, lined end-to-end with temporary stalls, had transformed into a colossal market. It was packed so tightly with bodies there was barely room to breathe, the air vibrating with a chaotic cacophony of music and roaring crowds. Rochshan and Kyle had disguised themselves modestly as commoners to avoid any bothersome situations, but their sheer physical superiority made blending in impossible. Curious gazes constantly darted toward the two towering men who stood a full head and shoulders above the average crowd.

I knew we shouldn’t have come out. Surrounded by a sea of crowns, Rochshan was just beginning to regret the excursion.

Pbbbt.

The obnoxious sound of a cheap toy flute pierced his ear from right beside him.

“What is that?”

“You’re worrying about my memory far too early, Master.”

How about you recover your own memories first?

Instead of voicing the thought, Kyle—wearing a half-mask featuring the bulbous red nose of a drunkard—blew into the plastic party horn again. The coiled tube shot out and rolled back up like a snail. Pbbbt. Pbbbt.

“Childish.”

Ah, what the hell. Despite his scolding tone, the corners of the blonde Count’s mouth twitched upward. It seemed the sight reminded him of Kyle as a chubby-cheeked brat, and he couldn’t entirely hate it.

“Since when did you know how to play with toys?”

In reality, Kyle had only ever done the most absurd, unchildlike things when they were young. Beyond the incident where he offered to slice his own throat just because Rochshan said he wanted it, there were other memories. Kyle had once suggested a fun game for when they were bored, teaching him how to rip out fingernails starting from the pinky and throwing them as far as possible. Of course, Rochshan—then a refined young master in shorts and a bowtie—had fainted dead away before Kyle could even rip out his middle fingernail. Rochshan remembered it vividly. He remembered the bloody nails flying across the marble floors of the royal palace…

The royal palace?

Did we ever play like that in the palace?

The crack in the Dragon’s Words that had brainwashed the Nest deepened. Stopping dead in the middle of the street, Rochshan realized that a deeply submerged question had drifted up from the abyss of his subconscious, breaking the water’s surface.

I first met Kyle Blackburn at the royal palace. And the following year, the Owin estate received him as a gift from the King. Out of nowhere? Why? An antiquated concept like a slave… isn’t that an incredibly bizarre royal gift? Did I perhaps beg for him before the throne? Did I ask for him? He couldn’t remember.

A more fundamental question arose.

How did Kyle Blackburn become the King’s slave in the first place? What kind of high treason must a ten-year-old’s ancestors have committed? Come to think of it, I’ve never heard a single word about his family. Even an orphan knows who their parents were. If he didn’t know his parents, he wouldn’t have been made a slave to begin with…

Just as one question threatened to spawn dozens more, surging forward like a boiling tide, a voice cut through.

“Well, it’s the effect of acquired learning. In an overheated atmosphere like a festival, you have to play along and be a little childish. They say this is the only time innocence is permitted.”

“…My, you’ve learned something quite profound.”

Now is not the time.

Kyle’s voice, cutting in like a deliberate warning, caused all the bubbling questions to scatter like seafoam. Even the tingling premonition of a headache gripping his forehead vanished. Confirming that focus had returned to Rochshan’s jewel-like eyes, Kyle retracted the arm he had extended toward a nearby stall.

“I learned something else, too. The fact that humans intensely ostracize any being that is even slightly different from themselves.”

“That’s just a natural survival instinct as animals forming a collective system.”

“Aha. Establishing a powerful, unified cluster through exclusion and rejection?”

Along with his summarizing murmur, a brilliantly colored peacock mask was slipped over Rochshan’s face.

“I bought it with the coin I picked up earlier. It suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?”

Hmm. The servant let out a low hum of admiration, appraising his purchase like an art critic. Thus, with his broad shoulders, straight limbs, and an elegantly tilted neckline, Rochshan Owin transformed into a radiant peacock adorned in golden plumage. The sight was so flawlessly breathtaking that, in an instant, the other peacock masks worn by festival-goers in their vicinity were discreetly slipped off and hidden away. One couldn’t help but pity the poor souls who were suddenly subjected to such a stark, demoralizing comparison.

“Unbelievable. You told me to come out for a change of pace, but you’re the only one enjoying yourself.”

“True. This is more fun than I expected, looking around like this together. I think I finally understand why people specifically ask each other out on dates for these outings.”

A date. Good god. This bastard’s mind was definitely broken somewhere. Horrified by the pairing of such a nauseatingly romantic word with Kyle Blackburn—the two concepts being completely incompatible—Rochshan’s heart lurched. His gaze unwittingly snagged on a dark corner of the plaza.

Even in the blinding daylight, shadows existed.

In a narrow alley squeezed between two stalls sat a beggar, hastily pulling his bare toes back into the shade. He was a man born with a hunched back and crippled limbs. Rochshan watched as countless passersby spat in the beggar’s direction, hurling curses as they walked.

“That old man and I are in the exact same boat, ultimately.”

Kyle Blackburn wasn’t condemning the scene based on some moral standard, declaring it wrong or unjust. He was simply stating a factual observation regarding the plight of a heretic who, by birth, could never mix with ordinary humans—like oil and water. Therefore, the one truly wounded by the heavy loneliness blanketing that definition was someone else entirely.

“Because… you’re a slave?”

Because I haven’t set you free?

“Well. Even if that’s the case, this status is actually a blessing for me. It’s the reason I can stick to you like gum.”

Rochshan weighed the true meaning behind those words. The gaudy ornaments dangling from his peacock mask shivered slightly. Beneath the mask, his shadowed jewel-eyes anxiously scanned the face hidden beneath his slave’s mask, terrified he might catch a glimpse of resentment toward the master who desperately kept his status bound in servitude.

Pbbbt.

In that instant, the ridiculous plastic toy stretched out and slapped Rochshan right across his mask.

Pbbbt, pbbt, pbbbt.

Ha, this absolute piece of shit. He really can’t stand it when a person gets serious for even a second. Irritation flared hotly, but it was incredibly effective at shattering the heavy atmosphere. Exhaling a long breath, Rochshan Owin instantly recovered his innate, irrepressible aristocratic arrogance.

“So what if others ostracize you? As long as you associate with me, it doesn’t matter.”

Hmph. Snorting audibly, Count Owin tossed a coin to another vendor. Plucking a garishly dyed ostrich feather from the display, he forcefully jammed it behind Kyle’s ear.

“Do you have any idea how rare it is to walk side-by-side with an Count? There aren’t even five of us in the entire country.”

The servant, suddenly transformed into a long-nosed drunkard with a feather sticking out of his head, looked absolutely ridiculous. Yet, in a twisted way, his absurdity somewhat matched the flamboyant flair of the peacock Count. One could almost insist he was a ‘Drunkard Peacock.’

“Consider it an immense honor.”

Somehow, it sounded a lot like a promise to love him far more than the rest of the world hated him, causing a strange tickle in Kyle’s chest. Naturally, the corners of the Drunkard Peacock’s mouth split into a wide grin as he spouted his habitual blasphemy.

“I suppose. Walking side-by-side is nothing. I do far worse things to the Count, after all.”

Cough! A violent hacking fit burst from Rochshan immediately. Needless to say, the moment the words left Kyle’s mouth, he bit his tongue again.

“And here I was wondering why you were spouting such intellectual nonsense. You absolute bastard with zero capacity for learning.”

“It hurts.”

“Your tongue? What a shame. It would’ve been better if it had been severed completely.”

“Not there. My cock.”

“…You motherfucker, I swear…”

“Specifically, my cock hole is throbbing. I suppose it’s because you shoved your fingers into it so roughly.”

The third elbow strike, delivered with maximum force, was swiftly blocked.

The raven slave, finally demonstrating that he did indeed possess learning capabilities, went a step further and applied practical combat application. He twisted the Count’s elbow behind his back, subduing him. Sliding his free hand beneath the hold, Kyle traced a line down Rochshan’s straight spine with his fingertips before pressing firmly against his lower back.

It was the exact location of his colon.

Mask rattled against mask.

Pressing his lips against Rochshan’s ear as if delivering vital news, Kyle poured out obscenities just as he did in their bed.

“Or maybe it’s chafed from moving in and out of your tight little second hole. Did you know? That hole barely produces any slickness, so it’s incredibly stiff. That’s why I try so desperately to cum deep inside you. I have to smear it thoroughly with my semen just to make it easier to thrust.”

“……!”

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying I hate it. In fact, it drives me crazy with how good it feels.”

Press, press. Every time Kyle stimulated his spine while keeping him restrained, a suppressed gasp—hic—tore through Rochshan’s gritted teeth. It was the exact spot that Kyle’s bastardly cock would vigorously pierce and pound against. Like a dog conditioned to react reflexively after endless repetitive training, Rochshan’s gait faltered. Walking beside him, Kyle effortlessly parted the crowd, putting on a perfect act of respectfully supporting a master who was feeling unwell, while simultaneously shouting.

“I want to be sucked.”

This time, he yelled it loud enough for anyone to hear. Springing away like a coiled wire, Rochshan snapped his head around, the nape of his neck beneath the mask flushing violently crimson. Through the eyeholes of the mask, his pupils were perfectly round, wide with sheer panic like a startled rabbit.

“My fingers. Like that.”

“Y-You…!”

“Doesn’t it look incredibly ticklish? Looks fun.”

The place Kyle casually pointed at with his chin was surrounded by a group of shrieking children. It was a peddler’s tent showcasing exotic animals. Inside, a marine mollusk exhibition—something incredibly rare in the northernmost inland borders of Tuska—was taking place. A child, whose finger was wrapped in the suction cups of a slippery, grey creature, shuddered violently before bursting into tears. The sensation was clearly too bizarre for the kid to handle.

So, wanting his fingers sucked had naturally been a twisted play on words.

“You deranged lunatic, spouting shit without checking your surroundings…!”

Anger boiled up to his throat at the bastard’s malicious teasing, but terrified that their filthy relationship might be exposed, Rochshan couldn’t even raise his voice. He could only grind his teeth in silent fury.

Haha, I am going a bit deranged, aren’t I. Kyle sneered inwardly, feigning ignorance. He felt absolutely zero need to walk on eggshells. Everyone around them was going to die in a few days anyway. In their final moments, would they really be thinking about two male animals sodomizing each other? Even if they stripped naked and rolled around right here, no one would remember it.

“If you make such a fuss, people will think it’s even more suspicious.”

Kyle effortlessly whispered a barrage of filthy remarks, turning his master—who was deeply ashamed of his own sexual preferences—into a frozen statue.

“Do you see the size of that guy over there? Judging by his clothes, he must be a hunter. Look at him, wearing impossibly tight leather pants on purpose. Seems he’s trying to show off that he’s packing some serious meat.”

True to his word, a massive man was leaning against the railing of the sidewalk not far away, laughing boisterously. Naturally, Rochshan’s eyes were drawn to the front of the man’s clinging pants, inadvertently witnessing the prominent bulge.

“If that’s what it looks like flaccid, even at full attention it wouldn’t even reach half of mine.”

“……”

“Ah, the woman next to him must be his wife. Isn’t it a pity? That poor madam will die never knowing what it feels like to take a truly massive cock. What do you say? Should we go over and brag about what it feels like to fuck a real monster—”

It’s so disgusting I can’t listen to this anymore.

He felt like his ears were going to rot off. Shuddering violently, Rochshan twisted his captured elbow and violently shook off the servant. It was time to grab this bastard by the collar—a bastard whose tongue was filthier than a back-alley thug’s.

“I heard there are creatures that carry their semen sacs in their heads. Is that you? Huh? Is your brain just filled with cum? Want me to split your skull open right here and squeeze it out for you?!”

“I was wrong. I’ll stop.”

Ah, stepped a little too close to the edge. Kyle Blackburn immediately threw up both hands, obediently declaring surrender.

“Know your place, you punk! Did you think I wouldn’t lose my shit just because there are eyes watching?”

“No.”

I think you are more than capable of losing your shit. It was as if droopy ears and a tucked tail had suddenly materialized on the man. Kyle instantly became docile, whining in quick submission. The sheer audacity of his calculated, sly retreat made Rochshan feel like his chest was going to explode from frustration.

“Why the hell are you acting like this?!”

“Because I’m emotionally unstable.”

“What!?”

“They say your sex drive explodes when you’re about to die.”

“What kind of… mmph.”

“No, wait. They say some guys are too busy fucking even at the moment of death. Simple creatures, aren’t they?”

“Stop changing the sub— mmph!”

“Shh. Look.”

It’s rude to interrupt the audience. With his master held by the collar, Kyle casually muffled Rochshan’s nagging with the palm of his hand, using manners as an excuse. The Drunkard’s long nose pointed toward a bug-fighting arena. Next to a board where horned beetles were clashing, two insects were dueling with scythe-like forelegs. It was a mantis with an inverted-triangle head.

“They say the male mantis can’t stop fucking even as his head gets chewed off by the mating female.”

Yes, because I made you my Nest and loved you, if I must die, then I shall die.

Perhaps it was the ultimate, ideal death he had always yearned for. What would it feel like to build a mountain of corpses and fuck you in an isolated corridor, perched on the edge of a split earth while tsunamis overflowed and fireballs rained down?

“Must be amazing, right?”

“I don’t know about any of that, but I’m exhausted, seriously… Can we please just go back to the estate now?”

It was the first time Rochshan had ever seen Kyle Blackburn act like he was gripped by a manic episode. Just dealing with him was draining every ounce of his energy. The bastard even had the gall to claim he was ’emotionally unstable’ with his own mouth… Rochshan was seriously contemplating whether he needed to summon a psychiatric specialist.

“No. You have to eat this before we go. Thunder-duck skewers.”

Kyle Blackburn, clearly unwilling to end what might be their final outing, materialized with duck skewers from somewhere and practically shoved them into Rochshan’s mouth.

“Is it good?”

“…It’s edible.”

Beneath their masks, the cheeks of both men bulged with food.

It was a menu item Kyle had shouted out as a random excuse, but true to street food, it was spicy, salty, sweet, and surprisingly appetizing. Only then did Rochshan realize he was absolutely starving. Was I this on edge just because I had an empty stomach? The two men of the Owin household began devouring almost every variety of street food sold at the stalls, sweeping through them like martial artists conquering rival dojos.

“Over here. A seat just opened up.”

It was as if their intense bickering had been a complete lie; they bonded perfectly and filled their stomachs to the brim.

Kyle, who casually wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of Rochshan’s lips with his thumb and licked it off, pulled him forcefully through the gaps in the crowd. His situational awareness was unmatched. Before he knew it, Rochshan had been dragged into a prime terrace seat at a tavern.

Foaming mugs of Butter Stout slammed onto the table faster than they could order bar snacks. Rochshan, who had grimaced at the greasy handle of the mug, widened his eyes the second he took a sip. All sense of dignity instantly vanished. The taste was so exquisite he found himself catching the overflowing beer foam in the palm of his hand to lick it up.

As he was emptying his mug, Rochshan suddenly noticed the Drunkard mask sitting across from him, staring at him intently.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Isn’t this how you’re supposed to drink this?”

“Because I like it.”

(Because I like you).

For a split second, Kyle thought the world had been erased.

Even though he had deliberately omitted the subject of his sentence, the resulting agony was astronomically intense. He had uttered a statement that dangerously scraped the very limits of the restriction. Kyle Blackburn was genuinely surprised that he was still maintaining his human form. The pain—as if his limbs were being torn into thousands of pieces and his skull split open—was so severe he thought he had momentarily roared and manifested as a monster.

But worse than the sensation of his entire body being pulverized was the phantom pain of someone suddenly gripping his brain in their fist, intending to crush it.

Give up. It’s all ruined anyway. Just let go of your sanity. It’ll be easier. The surging temptation was so overwhelming he nearly surrendered.

To think it was this excruciating just from vaguely saying ‘I like it.’ It was said that if the restriction of the Nest Contract was broken, it wasn’t the Dragon who died, but the Nest. Now he understood. It meant that the Dragon, driven utterly insane by the horrific agony of a broken contract condition, would slaughter the Nest himself in a blind frenzy.

“…Well, I don’t dislike it either.”

It was then. Ambushed by what vaguely resembled an unexpected confession, Rochshan—who also felt as if his world had stopped—rode the momentum of the moment. For the first time in an eternity, he spoke the truth instead of the lies he usually spat out like breathing. Similarly omitting the subject, his voice trailed off. A brief, heavy silence fell over them right in the middle of the roaring festival. This, too, was the absolute limit of what Rochshan could handle.

“I can’t do this.”

Cold sweat erupted on the palm gripping the frost-covered glass.

His erratic pulse pounded in his ears, making it impossible to stay calm. Unable to endure it a second longer, Rochshan bolted up, downed the rest of his beer in a single gulp, and sprinted out of the tavern.

“Why the sudden rush? Did I offend you?”

Kyle Blackburn, who chased after him immediately, was as desperate and agitated as a child whose candy had been snatched away right before it was handed over. But Rochshan, hovering on the absolute brink of a panic attack, couldn’t even register his childhood slave’s distress.

“No. I think I’ve seen enough crowds to last a lifetime. It’s too chaotic and dizzying. I need to get out of here right now. Kyle, call a carriage immediately.”

In truth, his abnormal anxiety had peaked. He was terrified that a literal bolt of lightning might suddenly strike the top of Kyle’s head at any moment. He couldn’t stand still.

Rochshan squeezed his eyes shut. The image of his bleeding mother flashed before his eyes like a strobe light.

Her quiet, mocking voice echoed in his ears.

Rochshan, you must constantly love someone. Consume their lives. I taught you how.

The auditory hallucinations, audible only to him, made his breath hitch even faster. Worse than that was the crushing weight of guilt, a beast far more massive than the panic, pressing down on all his internal organs.

He couldn’t even casually toss out a vague ‘I like you’ without being consumed by this paralyzing fear. Even if he managed to win Kyle’s love, could he ever be truly happy? Could he ever be at peace? Suffocating under the weight of a heart he could never return, he would spend the rest of his life gripping the man’s leash in a state of perpetual terror. It was a checkmate. Failing to win Kyle’s heart now, or miraculously capturing it in the future—both scenarios were equally horrifying.

“Watch out…!”

Having ordered a carriage, Rochshan immediately left the spot, wandering aimlessly against the flow of the crowd. Before Kyle could catch up from behind, a Black Dragon kite with a long, trailing body crashed directly into Rochshan’s chest.

Fortunately, the sharp sting of the impact broke his frozen breath.

His hazy vision abruptly cleared. Standing at his waist level, the children who had been sharing the strings of the kite were staring up at him with terrified expressions.

“That trick is far too obvious, you know.”

Exhaling a shaky breath to compose himself, the blonde Count firmly grabbed the filthy, tiny hands that had stealthily slipped inside his vest. It was a common pickpocketing technique: creating a smokescreen with a massive kite and using the ensuing chaos for one kid to snatch a wallet and run.

However, instead of handing this young pickpocket ring over to the patrol guards, Rochshan chose to simply hand over his wallet in its entirety. But that’s it for today. Nodding frantically at the nobleman’s stern warning, the children scattered. Watching the entire exchange, Kyle roughly grabbed Rochshan’s wrist.

“Let go…!”

“You’re far too sympathetic.”

“Ha, so what? Now I have to get your permission before I give to charity?”

“Will you dote on my child like that, too?”

“What nonsense are you… Didn’t you see them? How dare you speak so lightly about raising a child in this apocalyptic age! Do you have any idea how difficult parenting is? Ah, actually, this is perfect. I’m going to take this opportunity to properly educate your rotten brain. Listen closely, you bastard. An unqualified piece of trash like you should never…!”

The two men were right in the middle of their squabble when it happened.

Another individual appeared to bother the strikingly tall men who already stood out too much.

“Oh my, if it isn’t my compatriot!”

From the window of a carriage stubbornly pushing its way through the narrow, crowded street, a hand shot out and seized Rochshan’s forearm. The stranger’s insolence didn’t stop there; the hand rudely snatched Rochshan’s peacock mask right off his face and tossed it aside.

Enraged by the sheer disrespect, Kyle Blackburn emitted a murderous aura, stepping forward as if ready to rip the carriage door off its hinges. But Rochshan spread his hand across Kyle’s chest to stop him and shook his head. Judging by the opulent family crest emblazoned on the carriage, this ruffian was likely a foreign noble on a sightseeing tour, or part of their entourage. Causing a diplomatic incident over petty friction was the last thing he wanted.

“I had heard rumors that one of our kind was living in Tuska. It was true, after all.”

The man who leaned his face out the carriage window was a man in his early middle age, sporting a smile that crinkled only one side of his cheek. You have the wrong person. Just as Rochshan was about to excuse himself, his gaze locked onto the man’s face and froze.

“Though I had heard it was a woman…”

The foreign tourist muttered in confusion, his eyes scanning the fully grown adult Rochshan up and down. The man’s irises looked exactly like a mosaic of dazzling colors. They were opal. Jewel-eyes.

“Regardless, it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone of the clan this young.”

“Excuse me. Do you know me, sir?”

“Of course I do! We of the Desert Clan recognize each other by these very eyes. Isn’t it convenient? We don’t need any special pedigree papers to confirm we’re distant relatives! Let’s see… Oh, you have green jewel-eyes. Green is quite rare.”

In that moment, the chatty man let out an exclamation, as if he had just realized something.

“Ah, the female compatriot must be your mother. We are a matrilineal clan, after all. Yes, where is your mother? She must be around my age. She’s lived quite a long life. I’d love to meet her!”

As the man who claimed to be of the same clan babbled on about his mother, Rochshan felt the blood in his entire body run ice cold.

“I’m sorry, but you have the wrong person.”

“What? Wrong person, my foot!”

“I have never heard any stories of the desert from my mother. Sir, please let go of me.”

He felt as though the ghosts were going to burst out and cackle at any second.

Did you really think you could hide your filthy secret of consuming lives from your precious little slave forever? Serves you right.

Terrified that the man in the carriage might blurt out something unnecessary, Rochshan hurriedly tried to pry the hand off and distance himself. But the man with the opal eyes was persistent. Gripping the young clansman once more, a knowing smirk stretched across his face.

“She’s dead, isn’t she.”

“……”

In the end, the truth he never wanted to reveal was exposed. A strange tension flowed inside and outside the carriage. Leaning his face closer to the blonde young man who refused to meet his eyes, the opal-eyed man sneered.

“So, how did she kick the bucket?”

“Watch your mouth. I will not tolerate any further disrespect. My mother died in an accident…”

What son would stand by while his mother’s honor was trampled? Infuriated by the middle-aged man’s flippant words, Rochshan glared at him.

“An accident? Impossible!”

What does that mean?

The man ruthlessly denied the tragic death of Rochshan’s mother, looking genuinely surprised by the trembling gaze of his young compatriot.

“Why so defensive? It’s not like she lived a clean life either… Don’t tell me, you really don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“We, you see, can never die peacefully in a simple accident like that… Oh, well look at this.”

Trailing off mid-sentence, the opal-eyed man shifted his gaze to the raven standing next to the blonde youth, a man radiating an overwhelming presence. The bastard dressed entirely in black, who had also discarded his mask, was exuding an aura so bloodthirsty it defied description. I might actually get my wrist sliced off. Instinctively withdrawing his hand from Rochshan, the man whistled in admiration.

“Wow, you’ve caught yourself a terrifying one. Looks strong. Very reassuring. Yeah, I hear it’s the trend these days to stick with guys who have solid limbs rather than politicians with fat bellies. When push comes to shove, violence speaks louder than money or royal decrees. What do you say, care to let me join the fun?”

“Whatever it is, I absolutely decline. We’ll be on our way. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour and have a safe trip home, sir.”

“Guess you’re not into orgies.”

It’s a shame to part like this, let’s catch up soon!

The man’s laughter clung to the back of Rochshan’s head until the very end. Thoroughly ignoring him, Rochshan distanced himself significantly from the carriage before finally releasing the breath he had been holding. His knees, trembling from excessive tension, threatened to give out.

“Are you alright?”

“D-Dizzy.”

What exactly is it that I don’t know?

Rochshan’s parents had perished in a tragic accident. Yet, the nuance the flippant opal-eyed bastard had spoken with heavily implied that his mother, Isabelle, had met a sudden, inevitable, violent end—as retribution for the lives she had taken while she lived. To outright declare an accidental death ‘impossible’… What kind of death was the only one possible for her, then?

“……”

“Rochshan.”

“If by any chance…”

A sheer cliff. A teetering carriage. The dying screams of startled horses. The faces of his parents.

As the scenes flashed by one by one, the blood vessels in Rochshan’s wide eyes ruptured, painting the whites red. He chewed and spat out every single syllable.

“If my mother was murdered.”

If my father was swept up in that conspiracy and plot. “I will track down the son of a bitch who did it, and I will not let it go.”

“And then?”

“I will tear their wretched body into a thousand pieces and feed them to the lowliest, cruelest beast alive.”

The moment he sealed that vow—a vow as sharp as a guillotine blade—he dry heaved violently.

The panic that had momentarily receded crashed over Rochshan with devastating force. Staggering, the Count leaned heavily against his slave, whispering his name as if it were a literal lifeline.

“Kyle…”

That alone was enough. Kyle Blackburn immediately understood what his Nest, currently drowning in anxiety and belated fury, desired. Rochshan was unconsciously clutching his lower abdomen. A Nest bearing a seed could only draw energy, find stability, and fall into a deep sleep by consuming the Dragon’s essence.

Rochshan instinctively craved Kyle’s flesh and his semen. Like a strong liquor, he just wanted to get drunk on the man’s body heat and fall asleep. And the Dragon was more than willing to grant his Nest’s wish.

“Uh, oh.”

It was an incredibly narrow, secluded alleyway not far from the plaza.

Just as the blonde nobleman in the peacock mask had declared, business for the day was officially over. A pickpocket boy, chasing a shabby ball made of tied-up old shoes that had rolled into the alley, widened his eyes in shock.

Kyle Blackburn pressed his index finger to his lips, looking directly at the boy. Shh. Master is in a hurry and taking care of his business. Ah, so that’s what it was. Recognizing the man entirely in black as the one who had worn the long-nosed mask earlier, the clever boy nodded silently and quickly backed out of the alley.

“Hey, listen to this,” the boy said casually as he ran back to his waiting friend. “Did you know there’s white pee, too?”

The color of the liquid streaming down the ankles of the nobleman—whom the black-clad man was shielding from view deep inside the alley—had left quite the impression.

A long while later, Count Owin emerged from the alley he had walked into, his cheeks flushed crimson, cradled securely in his servant’s arms.

“Investigating my mother’s death…”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to do that.”

You swore revenge and granted me the right to behead them. You said you’d have them torn apart and fed to the cruelest beast.

“The time has finally come to grant Isabelle’s request.”

With this, all the preparations for the stage were complete.

The only step left was distributing the pamphlets to gather the audience.

Confirming that the breathing of Rochshan—who had passed out as if fainting—was steady, Kyle hailed a carriage at the corner of the busy street. He handed the driver, who had been about to overcharge them, a sum large enough to shut him up instantly. Right away, milord. Just as the driver scrambled onto the box and grabbed the reins, a heavy raindrop thwacked against his beard.

“Fucking awful weather. It’s a sign the country’s going straight to hell.”

Chewing on a spent cigarette butt, the driver twisted his shoulder to discreetly pull back the curtain dividing the box from the passenger cabin.

“The thing is, milord, the roads are muddy, so it’ll be hard on the horses. I’m going to need a bit more coin…”

It was a perfectly adequate excuse to extort more money, but the driver instantly regretted his decision to lift the curtain. He had just locked eyes with the terrifying scene of a black demon devouring a beautiful blonde.

“You may turn the carriage around, but be careful not to wake my master.”

“Y-Yes, sir…! Of course, whatever you command!”

Bowing profusely, the driver hurriedly straightened up and planted himself back in his seat. The very next second, his scream tore through the heavens.

He genuinely believed the world was ending.

Lightning struck violently from all directions. In the distance, a landslide draped in thick, ochre dust was tearing down a trembling mountain peak. Right beside them, a shallow creek that would barely cover the soles of one’s feet swelled into a raging torrent in the blink of an eye, threatening to burst its banks. The driver barely managed to control the terrified horses, which reared up on their hind legs and shrieked.

Through all the apocalyptic chaos, Kyle Blackburn sat perfectly still inside the carriage, holding Rochshan tightly so his body wouldn’t be jostled. He simply reached up with terrifying nonchalance to wipe away the hot blood pouring from his nose.

“Just once, I wanted to hold you in a bustling street crawling with people.”

I wanted to show you off, to brag to the whole world that you are my mate.

Even if, in his imagination, all those people were nothing more than a mountain of corpses.

Whispering sweetly, he pressed a kiss to the forehead of his sleeping Nest.

***

At that same hour.

A fierce rainstorm was battering a small house on the opposite outskirts of the capital.

“Madam, are you there? Madam!”

It was the house where Margaret Owin currently resided.

Laura Smith, having sought out the elderly woman who had essentially been exiled from the family for the crime of recklessly wielding usurped power, rattled the front door handle violently, terrified her voice would be drowned out by the heavy rain. The door, whose hinges had warped from a lack of maintenance, swung inward easily. It had never been locked to begin with.

“Madam, excuse me…”

Illuminated by a mere two candlesticks, the parlor was incredibly dim.

Taking off her soaked raincoat-cloak as she stepped inside, the maid of the Owin household gasped softly. Her gaze was immediately captivated by the ornate display cabinet in the center of the room, shining like sunken treasure on the ocean floor.

The tastes acquired during the days she had acted as the proxy Count and spent the family’s assets like water hadn’t gone anywhere. Margaret Owin had purchased countless expensive pieces of furniture and jewelry—luxuries she absolutely could not afford on her living stipend from the main house and her income as an etiquette tutor. The result was this cramped parlor, overflowing with an absurd assortment of items as if it had overeaten.

The red-haired maid ran her fingertips over the silhouettes of the objects, careful not to leave any trace that she had touched them. An uncontrollable possessiveness boiled inside her. Margaret Owin’s furniture represented the exact slice of life Laura Smith had always dreamed of. It was a dream completely unattainable with her current status as a maid—a vain delusion she had once harbored, only to have to abandon it abruptly.

Standing arrogantly before merchants who brought new wares every day, leisurely picking out jewelry. Throwing heavy pouches of gold coins as if she could mint them endlessly… Just as Laura’s dark brown eyes grew hazy envisioning the lost landscape of her dreams, horrific curses and shouting erupted from the room deeper inside the house.

“I told you to pay up by today, you crazy bitch!”

The sound of several pieces of furniture crashing to the floor immediately followed. Judging by the heavy, echoing thud, it was undoubtedly the vanity with the ornate decorative mirror that Laura had been lusting after.

“What, the Count is going to pay it back for you?”

She could clearly hear the owner of the curses grinding his teeth.

“That was complete bullshit! We sent people several times with your promissory notes, and they just treated us like con artists and kicked us out, saying they doubted it was even their aunt’s real handwriting!”

Promissory notes.

The identity of the thug destroying the room was revealed. He was a loan shark who had come to collect the astronomical debts Margaret Owin had racked up through gambling and extravagance. Only then did Laura understand why Margaret’s house felt so bizarrely desolate for a finishing school for young ladies. If debt collectors like this stormed in every day, every last student would have fled long ago.

“A bitch full of hot air who can’t even borrow the family seal goes around selling the Count’s name. I’m sick of hearing about how many tens of thousands of acres the family owns, or how many tenant farmers you command.”

More furniture crashed to the floor.

“If you really have a nephew who cares so much about his aunt, let’s put it to the test. I wonder how he’ll react if I show up dragging his precious aunt by the hair? Huh?!”

The only place brightly lit was the Madam’s quarters. Soon, one of the shadows stretching out from the room violently grabbed the hair of another shadow lying collapsed on the floor. At that wretched sight, Laura Smith flinched, feeling as if her own hair were being ripped out.

She couldn’t help but picture the future that awaited Madam Margaret Owin.

The middle-aged woman would be dragged on her knees from the very front steps of the main estate like a captured prisoner, subjected to every form of humiliation and mockery imaginable. Seeing that pathetic display, the Count—her nephew—might reluctantly clear her debts, but what good would that do? By then, Margaret Owin would have essentially been socially assassinated.

She was of the exact same breed as Laura Smith.

She was a person who could only breathe while submerged in vanity and luxury. In other words, to avoid such a devastating humiliation, Margaret was a woman who would commit any atrocity necessary.

“Fine… You have seven days. Understand that this is your absolute final chance to repay us.”

It seemed she had barely managed to survive today’s crisis by pleading with a voice that sounded like the snapped strings of a starched instrument.

The loan sharks, whistling vulgarly at Laura who stood frozen in the corner of the parlor, filed out of the house. The last one forcefully kicked the front door open wider as he left, Bang! “Laura.”

“……!”

The rain and wind whipped inside fiercely, soaking the floor. Shivering from the sudden, eerie chill, Laura was just hurriedly locking the door when a hoarse, completely shredded voice called out from behind her. Startled, she turned around to find Margaret standing there like a ghost, her hair a tangled mess, glaring with eyes that were beginning to cloud over with cataracts.

“No one saw you come here, did they?”

“O-Of course not, Madam. The Count happened to go out today and granted the entire staff a special holiday. It’s the festival, after all. I only slipped out after confirming everyone had left to watch the sights…”

“He brought such disgrace upon his only aunt, and then went out to play? What an impudent brat. To think a bastard with zero etiquette who doesn’t even comprehend basic filial duty is the head of our family. This is wrong. It’s horribly wrong!”

The woman, immediately cutting Laura off, seethed with rage, panting heavily.

“What is the situation at the estate? And what about him? Tell me immediately.”

‘Him’ referred to the estate’s deputy butler, Kyle Blackburn—the man Laura Smith had set her sights on as a husband.

“He is still… perfectly fine…”

At the spy’s utterly disappointing report, Margaret erupted into hysterical fury once again.

“Ah, that damn leech…! He’s always been like this. No matter what I did, I couldn’t tear him away from Rochshan. I knew he’d hold out for a while this time too, but…”

Even so, it was taking far longer than she had anticipated.

Unable to stand the irritation, Margaret began pacing the house erratically, practically tearing her own hair out. Limping over to a clock cabinet in the corner of the parlor, she threw it open and rustled around for a long time, searching for something. Finally, she turned around and approached Laura.

“Oh dear. Every single thought in your head is written clearly on your face!”

“H-Hic.”

Gripping the back of the maid’s hand tightly with wrinkled fingers curled like claws, Margaret formed a wicked, venomous expression. Her thin upper lip, similarly etched with deep lines, trembled.

“Did you think you could just back out now? No, absolutely not, Laura. You and I are in the same boat. A boat you cannot get off. If you jump, you will only drown.”

“M-Madam.”

“We joined hands because we both have something we want. Remember, you were the one who ran to me and begged first. Understand?”

Pressing Laura Smith firmly, Margaret pressed several small, folded paper packets of medicine into the maid’s palm.

“Your poor, chapped hands… You are not a child who deserves to be treated like this. We must correct what is wrong! So do not fail this time. This is the final dose. When the opportunity arises, make him swallow all of it at once. Every last drop.”

The cloudy whites of Margaret’s eyes rolled upward terrifyingly. With her hand still held hostage, Laura nodded reflexively. Satisfied, the Madam’s voice softened slightly.

“Laura, I can only pity your taste in men, but if you like him that much, what can be done? I will make sure you get married this time. But you know that granting permission for a slave to marry requires the seal of the head of the family. Yes, all problems will be solved once I am reinstated in our house.”

And that seal was also absolutely necessary to solve Margaret’s own life-or-death problem. However, one thing was incredibly clear: the target of this blatant, murderous conspiracy was not Kyle Blackburn.

“Rochshan will never give him up. He has the exact same temperament as his mother. Once they set their sights on something, they never let it go. They are truly a mother and son just like venomous spiders!”

For a moment, Margaret Owin’s voice dropped as low as the extinguished lights in the parlor.

“So, we have no choice but to steal it.”

The wording is unpleasant. Let us correct that. I am simply using forceful measures to take back what is rightfully mine.

That position was supposed to be mine from the start. I cannot allow a half-breed with the dirty blood of wandering lowlifes to wield our family’s power. Margaret confidently declared that she, possessing pure blood, would usurp the title of Count of the Owin family from her unqualified nephew, and continued her insidious coaxing. She still hadn’t let go of Laura’s rough hand.

“The Nest Marriage is fast approaching.”

Seven days.

If they missed this window, there would be no ‘next time’ for either Margaret or Laura. Margaret had a bloodthirsty loan shark breathing down her neck, and Laura had a noblewoman furiously hunting for the whore who slept with her husband closing in. Laura desperately needed a husband to legally change her surname and launder her identity, along with powerful backing.

“Get me inside the estate.”

I have no children, so I shall make you my adopted daughter. I will ensure you live a life envied by all. Don’t be upset if you have to get married in everyday clothes for now. When spring comes, I’ll have a new dress tailored for you and throw you a proper, grand ceremony. Margaret whispered promises as sweet as honey into Laura’s ear.

“People love tragedy. And a repeating tragedy is always far more captivating than an accidental one.”

A little bit of sorrow will only make us shine brighter.

Moved by Margaret’s sweet talking, resolve flickered in Laura’s eyes. Confirming this, Margaret smiled with deep satisfaction.

“And an event that everyone is celebrating dilutes suspicion. The timing is perfect. Hurry back and do what you must, Laura.”

It was the same night that Margaret Owin pushed Laura Smith out the door to do her bidding.

Unlike the chaotic outside world, the royal palace of Tuska, shielded by its vast manors, was deathly quiet. Deep inside the palace, in the corridors leading to the inner sanctum where only the King and his consort resided, a secret agent—who had traveled abroad for over a decade under the King’s clandestine orders—returned to the country and bowed deeply before Philip Bright-Ash.

Philip accepted the small box the agent had finally procured, opened it, and smiled, overwhelmed with emotion. The mythical item, something he had feared did not truly exist, lay perfectly nestled on the silk lining inside.

He could finally keep his promise to his miserably deceased friend. With this, he could finally sever the long-standing, cursed fate binding the Dragon and the Nest. The King let out a profound sigh of relief.

That same night, in a guest chamber within the palace where foreign dignitaries slept, a man lay collapsed on the floor. Smothered to death with his face shoved into a pool of his own blood was the very same man who had been so thrilled to call Rochshan Owin his compatriot that afternoon.

Those beautiful opal eyes had lost all their light. Buried to the hilt in the man’s back was a dagger of unknown origin.

In the end, he had indeed met a death befitting a member of the Clan.