KFBRV Ch 14

I had spent a lifetime wading through a metaphorical sea of hornets.

[Zion] "Since you claim these dreams occur frequently, report back the next time it happens. It doesn't have to be a written account."

They arrived at the estate just as he finished speaking. Zion vaulted over the high perimeter wall with effortless grace, his body coiling to leap toward the windows of the manor's upper floors.

[Odette] "Wait, Your Excellency. Stop."

[Zion] "The room with the north-facing window on the third floor—that is yours, is it not?"

It seemed the spies had been quite diligent in reporting information that required no deception.

[Odette] "Forgive me, but you must take me to the dungeon. If you leave me there, I can find my own way back to—"

[Zion] "The dungeon?"

[Odette] "Yes. I was being held there before I slipped away."

A deep scowl carved itself into his features. His violet eyes smoldered with a sudden, sharp irritation.

Odette couldn't fathom the source of his displeasure. She wondered if she was once again exuding that rose scent he found so loathsome.

Fearing this mercurial man might discard her like unwanted cargo, she instinctively clutched her sleeves to mask any lingering fragrance as Zion descended into the garden.

[Zion] "Enough. Just stay still."

He tightened his grip on her, pulling her flush against his chest as he approached the main entrance.

With a flick of his wrist, he silently unhinged the heavy door. It was a terrifying display of finesse.

Had he chosen a life of crime instead of nobility, he would have undoubtedly become the realm's most prolific thief.

He intends to replace the door just as silently when he leaves, then?

The sheer capability of a Transcendent was a constant, jarring realization.

Upon reaching the underground level, he scrutinized the cell with a look of profound disgust.

[Zion] "You expect to sleep in a place like this?"

The air was thick with the scent of stagnant dust and decay. Cobwebs draped across the corners like tattered lace, and the floor was marred by the dark, crusty stains of ancient blood. A tattered hood, once used for executions, hung morbidly from a rack, and rusted iron bars jutted out like jagged teeth.

For a man who prided himself on clinical cleanliness—even while crushing skulls—this environment was likely an insult to his very soul.

Odette eased herself out of his arms.

Without a word, Zion gripped the iron bars of the cell and pulled. The metal groaned and parted, creating a gap wide enough for a person to pass through.

She had planned to use her hidden key once he departed, but his raw, casual display of strength rendered such trivialities unnecessary. His movements remained elegant, even as he exhibited such monstrous power.

[Zion] "Get in. I will restore the bars to their original state. No one will suspect you ever left."

[Odette] "Thank you for the escort, Your Excellency."

[Zion] "As we agreed, I will ensure your purification of the Crown Prince remains a secret. I shall instruct the palace staff to maintain a facade of crisis, as if his collapse is still imminent. You need not worry about the details. In exchange for my diligence, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. Disappear."

[Odette] "Have no fear on that account. I shall endeavor to remain out of your sight, even if it requires my death."

She spoke with chilling sincerity, offering him no hyperbole, only the cold truth.

His jaw tightened, and he remained silent for a long moment before spitting out a low, guttural curse.

[Zion] "...Dammit."

She tilted her head. Had her answer provoked him? Perhaps he doubted her resolve.

[Odette] "You may leave now."

Dawn was approaching. Soon, Ferdinand would arrive to resume his cruel sport.

No matter how much Zion knew of her circumstances, she had no desire to let him witness the visceral reality of her abuse. She would rather remain a decadent villainess in his eyes than a wretched creature beaten like a stray cur by her own family.

[Odette] "Quickly, now."

Despite her urging, he hesitated, his usual decisiveness flickering. Then, he pressed an object into her hand.

[Zion] "Take this."

It was a silver locket, cold and heavy. Though it appeared to be a simple trinket, she recognized it instantly from her knowledge of the game.

It was a summoning charm, crafted by the Empire's first Transcendent to condense his power into a single point. In times of mortal peril, it would forcibly summon Zion to the wearer's side.

Why is he giving this to me?

According to the original plot, this heirloom was meant for Charlotte. It was a sacred relic of the Kleist family.

[Odette] "Why... why would you give me this?"

[Zion] "The documents you sent today—they were originally kept in the secret safe in the study, were they not?"

[Odette] "What? Yes, that's correct."

[Zion] "I shall replace them with the forgeries and copies I've prepared before I depart."

[Odette] "Wait, just a moment. That doesn't explain—"

Before she could finish, he vanished. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, having repaired the iron bars in the same breath. His haste was almost comical, a testament to his restless nature.

When did he find the time to forge those copies? He really is a monster.

She stared at the locket in her palm, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Does he wish to witness the moment of my death? Is he so eager for the spectacle that he refuses to miss it?

No other explanation seemed logical.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoing through the stone corridor snapped her back to reality. She quickly tucked the locket beneath her chemise.

It was a relief that Zion had departed; she wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of him seeing her treated like vermin by the footmen.

Odette forced a thin, sharp smile.

---

The mere existence of those receipts instead of official disownment papers told a harrowing story.

First: even after being discarded thirty-eight times, Odette had still yearned for re-adoption. It meant the atrocities committed at the orphanage were even more barbaric than those of the Albrecht household.

Second: her parents and brother were using the mines granted to her by the Empire to fund their criminal enterprises.

Third: the Count was the culprit behind the cold case of the Stiller Orphanage Director's murder.

Fourth: the Count recorded every abandonment via recording stones because he derived a sense of superiority from the act; he possessed a profound inferiority complex regarding his own masculinity.

Fifth: the frequency of the abandonments proved they were a tool used to break her, to ensure she spent her life begging for crumbs of parental affection.

It was undeniable that the woman had lived a wretched existence. Yet, Zion felt no pity for her. If he were the type to be swayed by such soft emotions, he wouldn't have been fit to serve as the demon of the interrogation rooms.

Loathing is the only thing I feel for her.

Knowing she wasn't the architect of those crimes didn't erase his visceral, physiological disgust. It shouldn't have. And yet...

He stood in the shadows, staring back at the manor. Every trace of his intrusion had been erased.

I have no reason to remain here. So why can't I move? What is this nagging sensation in my chest?

Nothing he had done lately was characteristic of him. Giving her the locket, carrying her back simply because she was feverish—it was all madness.

It's all because of this idiotic Power.

Just because she had smelled pleasant for a fleeting second, the "Hell-hound" within him was wagging its tail like a common stray.

In the moment she had collapsed, a faint, ethereal fragrance had drifted from her.

Typical of a beast's nature. It catches a whiff of something enticing and loses its senses.

To think I'm being swayed by a mere scent.

Zion placed a cigar between his lips, mentally dismissing the Hell-hound of the Abyss as nothing more than a mongrel.

Regardless of what his Power demanded, he despised that woman. He loathed that suffocating rose scent and her very existence.

When he looked at Odette, he felt a localized distortion in his reality—as if he had been born specifically to hate her. As if his world would cease to function correctly if he stopped reviling her.

With a sharp click of his teeth against the cigar, he vanished into the night, his movements a blur of lethal elegance.

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