‘Oppa! Oppa!’

Emily?

Ciel jerked his head up at the faint, far-off sound of his little sister’s voice, scanning his surroundings. But there was nothing—only tall grass swaying like waves, reaching past his waist. Emily was nowhere to be seen.

“Emily!”

His shout echoed across the wide field.

Ciel knew very well that Emily was dead. But the instant he heard his sister’s trembling voice calling for him, reason was swept away. All he could think was that he had to find her.

‘Oppa! Oppa!’

“Emily, where are you?”

He raised his voice as much as he could, but her cries sounded even further away. Just as Ciel tried to take a step toward the direction of the sound, something seized his leg. He looked down—and there was Emily, covered in blood, eyes wide open as she asked:

‘Why did you abandon us?’

“—Hhhhk!”

Like a man who had just struggled up from deep water, Ciel curled up tightly where he lay, gasping for air with ragged breaths.

Haa… haa…

It had been so long since Emily had appeared in his dreams.

Sometimes she was blood-soaked. Sometimes she was nothing but bones, lying wasted in the street. Sometimes he clawed at the earth like a madman, trying to dig her out from her grave, only to wake up before he reached her.

Back again in that day, bound in place, Ciel drew uneven breaths until his dazed mind returned to him. Tears streamed from his wide-open eyes.

“……Ugh!”

Telior’s teleportation had dropped him into the underground prison of the Imperial Palace.

The floor beneath him was hard and damp. Blood and filth of unknown origin slicked his skin. The stench that clung to the air no longer even registered.

When he closed his eyes, Estella’s face came to him—bright and smiling toward him.

He had never once feared death. But now, more than ever, he was afraid. Afraid he would never see Estella again. Afraid that because of him, she—and the comrades who had trusted him and stayed with him so long—would be put in danger.

He shouldn’t have stayed in Wintfall.
He wasn’t supposed to live selfishly.
He wasn’t supposed to long for a human life.

Regret pressed in without end, in no order he could even untangle. And still, Ciel missed Estella with everything he had. He longed for her to come and find him, even as he wished she would never turn her head toward the palace.

The moment he had arrived, his fingernails and toenails had been torn out, his right wrist shattered. His back was shredded raw by the lash until he blacked out.

His throat burned with thirst. His mouth split and stuck together, lips parched and sticky. Blood, saliva—whatever it was—wet his face. Every breath he took was thick with the stench of blood, cloying like the perfume of death.

“This is the worst.”

He had known Aslan wanted him dead, but he had not expected the emperor to torture him personally.

Aslan came punctually, like a diligent student to class. And it was about that time again now.

Step, step.

Aslan descended the narrow, damp stone staircase, shivering with a thrill that was hard to put into words. The deeper he went, the stronger the stink of mold and rusted iron—fragrance to him.

Drop… drop.

Moisture fell from the ceiling, striking his brow and shoulders, but he hardly noticed.

His long wolf-fur cloak brushed through the dark, slick corridor, smeared with mud and blood. A cloak a commoner could never hope to buy even with a lifetime’s wealth—by the end of tonight it would be burned. It didn’t matter.

He was savoring every moment.

Here, where no light reached, where even the rare torch sputtered and hissed out from damp—there Ciel was.

Squeak, squeak, squeak!

Rats and the groans of prisoners filled the underground passage like a sinister symphony.

Aslan arrived at the deepest, narrowest cell—so cramped one couldn’t lie down straight or even stand properly. He was certain no space could suit the wretch better.

“Did you sleep well?”

His voice, peering into the cell, was almost gentle.

Inside, Ciel, clad only in underclothes, lay discarded like a broken doll, his body in tatters.

Hearing him, Ciel slowly sat up straight-backed, locking eyes with him. His face was too calm for a man about to be tortured. It made Aslan’s gut twist.

If he had begged—spared me, end it, kill me—he could have pretended to show mercy. But stupid, stubborn Ciel clung to his pride, acting dignified until the end. Disgusting, like filthy blood.

“We’re not exactly on greeting terms.”

Though he seemed barely able to sit, his voice still carried sharpness.

Should I rip that mouth open, gouge those eyes out?

Aslan studied his face, saving it for last.

“Cold of you.”

“Why don’t you kill me?”

Ciel’s voice was cutting, his gaze fixed on Aslan’s mocking smile.

“Well, you should’ve just died on your own. Then I wouldn’t have had to waste my time hunting you down.”

“I have no interest in the throne.”

“Kehehehehahahahaha!”

Aslan erupted, shoulders shaking, laughing like a madman.

“Ah, isn’t it wonderful? With you here, even laughter comes to me again.”

Ciel said nothing. He only glared, sharp and unyielding.

“My dear brother. The throne was mine from the start. You—trash like you—could never hope to look upon it. You don’t even have the right to speak its name.”

“What do you want from me.”

“What could I possibly want from the likes of you? Just this… your very birth was a sin. You are the stain and shame of the imperial house. And so, as the only one responsible for you, I must wipe you cleanly from this world.”

“Then just kill me.”

Ciel ground his teeth. Aslan clicked his tongue like in pity, then fixed his gaze.

“Don’t rush. I only mean to take payment for the trouble you’ve caused me. Once you’ve paid, I’ll kill you as you wish.”

His anger had not yet burned out. He still remembered the day Ciel entered the palace, the rage he felt. This upstart, flaunting blood he didn’t deserve, acting lofty when he should have been groveling at his feet, licking his boots.

The arrogance was laughable. His brazen survival still made Aslan’s skin crawl.

Watching Ciel writhe under his whip gave him a rush. Watching him curl like a bug to sleep filled him with vicious satisfaction.

But this was only the beginning. To repay the countless days, he had far to go.

“Move him.”

At those words, Ciel’s steady eyes flickered with unease.

Moments later, guards dragged him into the torture chamber, setting him once more into the same chair as yesterday.

Inside, red-hot branding irons glowed, filling the room with searing heat. There were many kinds.

Though he braced himself, his fingers trembled.

Seeing him, Aslan smiled softly, pleased. He picked up one glowing iron as if plucking a rose in bloom.

“I’ll mark you properly.”

Ciel’s eyes blazed. He spat in his face—blood-red spit splattering. Aslan’s teeth clenched. Without hesitation, he pressed the brand against Ciel’s thigh.

Ssszzzzzzz!

“—Mmph!”

Ciel’s body convulsed, gripping the chair handles in white-knuckled fists. Aslan smiled brilliantly, teeth bared, as he pressed harder into flesh.

“Beg me for mercy!”

The chamber filled with his roar and the stink of burning meat.

“Uaaaaaaagh!”

The iron burned through thigh to skin and muscle, blood dripping from Ciel’s clenched mouth.

Aslan flung the iron aside, seized another, and thrust it against his chest.

Sssssshhhhhh!

“Ghhhhaaaaaah!”

His scream tore louder than before. Aslan’s lips curved with satisfaction.

Even the prison guards turned their faces away from the emperor’s cruelty.

“Estella, I’ll go to the palace. You stay here with Luka.”

The Marquis tried again and again to stop Estella as she prepared to depart. But Estella’s lips curved into a firm smile.

“I’ll return without a scratch. You know Aslan still can’t harm me.”

“But—!”

“This time, Father, please stay by Luka’s side. Show him that you truly love and cherish him. And… Mother as well. If you don’t show it, no one will know.”

Leonora always kept her composure, but Estella remembered her at her most broken.

When Barende burned. When she faced her father’s death with no body to bury. When she clung to Luka’s cold corpse in her arms until she herself was gone.

No one had protected her. She alone had fought to the end within House Cardeine.

Faced with his daughter’s unshakable will, the Marquis sighed deeply. From his breast he drew a box engraved with the family’s seal and handed it to her.

“Take it.”

“…This is—”

“You’ll need it.”

“…Thank you.”

Her voice cracked as she accepted it.

Her eyes drifted to Leonora beside him. Luka was still feigning illness, just in case.

Leonora’s face was as impassive as always, but Estella now understood her heart. Even in the past, even when Estella had been blind to it, Leonora had reached out. But Estella, lost in her self-pity, had only seen the mask of indifference.

“I’ll be back.”

“Yes.”

Leonora’s reply was still dry. But Estella grinned, pulled her into a firm embrace, and said:

“Thank you.”

“…For what.”

“For everything.”

Answering the awkward Leonora, Estella lifted her gaze to Luka’s window.

He wasn’t allowed out, but there he was, peeking from behind the curtain. When their eyes met, he waved his little hand—then ducked back out of sight.

Her eyes returned to Leonora.

“Most of all, for giving birth to Luka.”

At that, Leonora’s long-silent eyes trembled.

Estella, Lily, Haru, and the Black Lily Knights—twenty riders in all—sped toward the capital. Driving her horse at full gallop, Estella prayed only one thing.

‘Ciel, hold on a little longer. Please, don’t die.’

They reached Belia, the imperial capital, on the second day after leaving Wintfall. By changing horses in Britannia midway, they had arrived half a day earlier than expected.

Chapter 164

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