What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 97

As Dylan struggled to free himself from Camon’s grip, Lirette used the opportunity to crawl away, inching herself out from under him.

“Ugh… ha…” she gasped, her body moving purely on instinct, not thought. She leaped to her feet and bolted, her only goal being to get as far away from Dylan as possible.

She knew that the path ahead led into the forest, not toward the safety of the mansion, but there was no way she could head toward the house. That would mean passing Dylan, who was still wrestling with Camon. The fear of getting too close to him made retreating into the forest her only choice.

Running into the forest was a terrible decision—her vision would be limited, and the dense trees would slow her down. But panic gripped her, and all reason was lost. The rising tide of fear threatened to drown her, overwhelming her every thought.

“Hah… hah…” Lirette clutched at the flowing fabric of her dress and ran as fast as she could.

Her legs wobbled from the unaccustomed exertion, and her throat burned as though sharp thorns were scraping its inside. Her thighs felt as if they would split apart, the muscles cramping with every step.

The sensations of the forest—the solid earth beneath her feet, the dewy grass brushing her ankles, the tall trees looming around her—were all a blur. It was as if her senses had been dulled, like she was submerged in deep water.

She couldn’t even look back, her vision fixated on the vague blur of greenery ahead. Every nerve in her body felt like it was on edge, her heart pounding, her breath shaky and uneven. The metallic taste of blood crept into her mouth as she struggled to breathe.

Thud!

Just when she thought she had gained some distance, a hand grabbed her shoulder from behind.

“Ah!” she cried out, her body yanked backward, collapsing onto the ground. The force dragged her down, and though she reached forward, desperately clawing at the earth to pull herself away, her efforts were futile. The grip on her ankle tightened as she was dragged back.

Her body was quickly overtaken by a coldness, a bitter chill that felt nothing like the spring day around her. It reminded her of the freezing, hopeless moments she had once experienced—when she felt like a corpse in waiting.

As she lay on the ground, her body flipped onto her back, a glint of light caught her eye. For a moment, she thought it was the sun, but it wasn’t. It was the gleam of the jewel-encrusted scabbard tied to Dylan’s waist.

“I’ll never forget the moment I first saw you, Lirette,” Dylan said, his voice low and unhinged.

Lirette looked up at him, barely recognizing his face. His usual lazy, indifferent expression was gone, replaced with something wild and broken. Sweat dripped from his brow, landing on her cheek like tears.

As if in response, a rough hand tightened around her throat, forcing her head back into the dirt.

“I was bewitched by you. Your face, your expression, your eyes… they were unforgettable. The only thought I had was that I couldn’t let you die then.”

Lirette choked, gasping as his grip tightened further.

“But maybe that was my misfortune,” he murmured, his voice tinged with bitter regret.

His lament turned into a sneer as he tightened his grip even more, squeezing her fragile neck like it was a deer’s, as if it would snap at any moment.

“If I had killed you back then, what would have happened?” he asked, his breath ragged. The sound of the wind through the leaves and the sunlight filtering through the trees seemed distant, as though they belonged to another world.

No, this wasn’t the warmth of the sun.

This was the madness of the man before her, radiating like a black sun, ready to consume her.

“I wanted to keep you alive. I thought that was best,” Dylan whispered, his voice thick with dark intent. “But now… I think this is the only way.”

Lirette’s lungs burned as she struggled for air, the pressure at her throat relentless. His hand held her down, vicious and unyielding. The world spun around her, her vision dimming as her body trembled with the effort to survive.

“One of us has to die. That’s the only way this ends,” he growled.

Her hand, still clutching at the grass beneath her, had turned pale with the effort of holding on. Lirette knew in that moment that Dylan wasn’t capable of love. This cruelty, this violence—this was the only truth he knew.

His eyes were wild, gleaming with a kind of deranged obsession, the same eyes that had haunted her for so long. They were the eyes of the man who had used her, violated her, and taken everything from her. He had crushed the life inside her, the child she had carried, using her body as if she were nothing but an object.

And now he wanted to finish it.

Dylan smiled, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he saw the hatred in her eyes, as if enjoying the sight of her defiance even in what he believed to be her final moments.

But the hatred, the rage within her, was far from extinguished.

Thuck!

Suddenly, his grip loosened.

Surprise and disbelief flashed across Dylan’s face as he looked down at his chest. A dagger, sharp and gleaming, was buried deep near his heart.

Lirette had acted in one swift, silent motion. Her hand, trembling with a mix of fury and desperation, had grasped the hilt and plunged the blade into him.

Dylan staggered, his hand slipping from her throat as the blood began to spill, hot and thick, from the wound.

Lirette shoved his arm away, gasping for air, and with one final effort, she wrenched the dagger out of his chest.

Splurt!

A fountain of blood sprayed from the gaping wound, splattering across her pale cheek.

In the next moment, a powerful rumble vibrated through the earth beneath her.

It felt as though an army of men were marching toward her, their feet pounding the ground in unison.

It wasn’t an illusion.

Dylan’s presence here meant he had walked straight into a trap, one that Valderion had likely set. The noise, growing louder by the second, signaled that help was near.

But Dylan had come with one purpose—to take Lirette or die trying. Perhaps, in his madness, he had imagined welcoming Valderion with her lifeless body in his arms.

But that wouldn’t happen now.

Dylan, still gripping his chest, collapsed onto the blood-soaked ground, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

But reality played out differently.

Dylan coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips, the contrast stark against his pale skin. His dark eyes, wide and fixated on Lirette, reflected her clearly. She saw herself alive and breathing within his gaze, not the one whose life was being extinguished.

In that moment, both of them seemed to realize the same truth: the one perishing in this cruel, entangled relationship was not her—it was him.

Dylan’s face contorted, displaying a torrent of emotions—shock, disbelief at being bested, regret for showing even the slightest opening. His hand stretched out, groping desperately toward the ground, searching for the dagger Lirette had flung away moments earlier.

Even in his final moments, his intent to kill her was vicious and relentless. His upper body slumped forward, his face drawing closer to hers, eyes burning with an intensity that refused to die, as though he could still ignite one last spark.

Finally, his fingers brushed the dagger.

But before he could grasp it, a foot kicked the hilt sharply, sending the blade spinning across the ground until it collided with a tree trunk and stilled.

The long leg that delivered the kick belonged to someone who then stepped between Dylan and the weapon. The same foot slammed into Dylan’s side with brutal force.

Thwack!

The sound of the kick echoed through the clearing, followed by the sickening sound of Dylan gasping for air as his body doubled over in agony. He collapsed completely, clutching his chest, coughing uncontrollably as blood spattered from his lips.

Slowly, like a crumbling sandcastle caught by the tide, Dylan’s body weakened and sagged.

And Lirette, of all people, was the one closest to witnessing his collapse.

Moments later, knights rushed in, seizing Dylan’s limbs and binding him. His desperate shouts, once filled with menace, now sounded pitiful and frantic. There was no power left in his voice, only a raw, desperate plea as he was reduced to nothing.

Lirette watched it all unfold, dazed and unmoving.

It wasn’t until she felt warmth on her cheek that she realized Valderion had approached her. His hand, stained with a dark red, gently wiped at her face. His expression was somber, his emotions buried deep beneath his calm exterior, though Lirette could guess what thoughts weighed on him.

“It’s not my blood,” she whispered, placing her hand over his and gently pulling it away.

She glanced at Dylan, now limp on the ground, and quietly spoke, her voice heavy with finality.

“It’s over.”

“……”

“It’s truly over now…”

The wind, once swirling through the clearing, came to a standstill. The long, twisted thread of fate that had bound her to Dylan had been severed at last.

***

Later, Lirette learned a startling truth.

The suggestion that she take a walk had not come from Valderion, but was a fabrication by the maid, Raviena.

It wasn’t entirely Raviena’s fault. Dylan and his men had taken her fellow maid hostage in the Alter Forest and threatened her life, leaving Raviena with no choice but to comply with their demands. She had been forced to lead Lirette to the designated spot, all while knowing the danger that lurked there.

But as soon as she had delivered Lirette to the forest, Raviena’s overwhelming sense of dread had driven her to run straight to Valderion’s office and report everything to him.

Thanks to her warning, Valderion had arrived just in time to save Lirette.

His personal guards, who had been lying in wait nearby, quickly located Dylan’s men and freed the captive maid. Though the incident was partly accidental, it was a matter serious enough to have put their master in harm’s way. After receiving treatment, Raviena and her colleagues were given a modest severance and sent away from the estate.

Dylan, though he barely survived, was imprisoned in the depths of the Imperial Palace’s underground dungeons, where he was left to rot—a fate as good as death.

Valderion would deal with whatever remained of Dylan’s affairs, but Lirette had no interest in the details. To her, the long, bitter feud with Dylan had ended that day in the forest.

Her past with him was finally, completely over.