When the Villains Unite - Chapter 16: Trace (5)

Besides, we’d been living together for so long that formalizing it with a marriage wouldn’t change much. It would just give our bond an official name.

But judging by the way Belhark’s expression had shifted, he didn’t see it as something casual. His face lit up as though he’d just heard a proposal, and before I could say anything further, he suddenly grabbed my hand tightly.

“You really mean it? You’ll marry me?” he asked, his voice serious yet almost trembling with hope.

“If that’s what it takes to make you feel secure,” I replied calmly. “But obviously, this will be a conversation for after I’ve resolved things with Damian.”

“Understood.”

Belhark’s tone shifted, his determination clear. “Then I’ll go settle things with him right now.”

“Huh? Wait. Didn’t you just say you’d already talked to Damian?”

As Belhark suddenly rose from the bed, an uneasy feeling gripped me. I instinctively grabbed his wrist to stop him, but the slight movement caused a sharp twinge in my lower back—a reminder of how recklessly Damian had acted earlier.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“The palace, obviously…”

“Duke!”

At that moment, Sebastian’s voice echoed urgently from the hallway.

His tone carried an uncharacteristic sense of panic, far removed from his usual composed demeanor. The sound of hurried, pounding footsteps reverberated through the corridor, and I could hear him banging on Belhark’s door.

Sebastian must not have known I had already returned to the mansion, though it seemed Belhark had entered through the front door. It was clear he’d gone straight to find Belhark.

What could have happened for Sebastian to be so frantic?

I quickly changed into a light indoor dress from the wardrobe and headed toward the door, curiosity and worry building within me.

As I adjusted my clothing, Belhark stood waiting near the door, frowning at Sebastian’s loud shouting. Finally, he opened the door to reveal Sebastian, who froze upon seeing us emerge from my room together.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but he quickly snapped back to his senses and rushed toward us.

“The young master is in critical condition, Your Grace, my lady!”

Sebastian’s words turned my blood cold. Without waiting for further explanation, I twisted around and ran down the stairs. For a brief second, I caught a glimpse of Belhark’s expression—it was surprisingly calm. Too calm for someone who had just been told his brother was in grave danger.

It struck me as strange, almost as if he had expected this, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

As I hurried down the stairs, Sebastian followed closely behind, explaining that Damian had been brought back to the mansion by a royal carriage. He was gravely injured, though it wasn’t clear whether he had been in a fight with someone or mauled by a monster. A physician had just been called to tend to him.

Damian had been moved to his room and was barely breathing. In less than an hour, someone—or something—had managed to leave a Sword Master in such a pitiful state.

“Damian!”

I burst into his room and froze at the sight before me. Just as Sebastian had said, Damian was lying there, dressed in a blood-soaked uniform, his eyes closed.

His face had lost all its color, pale as snow, and his once-golden hair, radiant like the sun, was streaked with crimson.

The moment I saw him, it felt as though time had stopped. My feet wouldn’t move from where I stood, as if I were rooted to the ground.

“…Is he dead?”

The words spilled out in a trembling voice, barely audible. I couldn’t summon the courage to approach him, fearing the worst. My vision blurred as a wave of terror washed over me, perhaps the most profound fear I’d felt since arriving in this world.

“He’s alive, but it seems his internal injuries are severe,” a voice said from the side, breaking the suffocating silence.

Startled, I turned toward the door, recognizing the voice immediately—even without the need for introductions. It was a voice I knew well from the novel.

There, leaning against the wall with a hardened expression, was none other than the crown prince, Cain.

Why on earth was the male lead here?

Cain had apparently arranged for Damian to be brought back to the mansion and had summoned royal physicians to treat him.

While the physicians worked on Damian, I stood anxiously by, watching the process with bated breath.

Belhark, standing nearby, quietly watched me as tears streamed down my face. His expression was unreadable, but after a while, he told me to leave the room and rest elsewhere.

But how could I possibly leave? Just hours ago, Damian had been his usual self, save for his attitude. Now he was lying here, barely clinging to life. There was no way I could sit idly by while this was happening.

I shook my head firmly at Belhark’s suggestion and turned toward Cain instead. The crown prince, meeting my gaze, seemed uneasy, his expression clouded with hesitation.

“What on earth happened?” I demanded, my voice sharp and trembling with frustration.

What could have possibly occurred to leave the empire’s sole Sword Master in such a battered, near-dead state?

No matter how much I tried to keep my tone calm, harsh words escaped my lips. Cain let out a deep sigh as he observed my agitation.

“Well, you see, that’s exactly what I’d like to ask the Duke of Orca,” he replied, clearly unimpressed.

Cain began to recount the events that had transpired.

He had been working in his office when one of his administrative officers, sweating profusely despite the early spring chill, burst into the room. The officer was there to provide a report on staffing assignments at the Imperial Academy. Cain had been listening silently when a commotion outside his office interrupted the briefing.

Leaving behind the administrative officer, who was crying and begging for him to stay, Cain stepped out into the corridor. What greeted him there was a scene of utter chaos: the royal knights were desperately trying to restrain their superior, the commander of the Royal Knights, Damian.

Damian was already drenched in blood, staining his once-pristine white knight uniform. His eyes burned with a terrifying intensity as he stormed toward Cain’s office. It was a sight that could strike fear into anyone.

The royal knights, assuming this to be an act of treason, did their best to stop him. But against Damian, who wielded his aura effortlessly, they were hopelessly outmatched. He sent them flying one after another, leaving a trail of incapacitated knights in his wake.

By the time Damian reached Cain, he was dragging several fully armored knights who had latched onto his arms. With the last of his strength, Damian flung four of them aside before finally standing face-to-face with Cain.

In that moment, Cain admitted that he seriously contemplated drawing his sword against Damian—for the first time in his life, he was confronted with what seemed like treason.

However, the worst-case scenario never came to pass.

Instead, Damian, breathing heavily, uttered a single word: “Vacation.”

Cain barely had time to register the absurdity of it before Damian collapsed to the ground. The cause of his collapse was even more ridiculous—apparently, the administrative officer who had followed Cain out of the office had grabbed a file binder and struck Damian over the head in an attempt to subdue the “traitor.”

Damian had been so utterly spent from a prior battle that even the weakest blow had sent him crumpling to the floor.

Cain’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he added, “If I ever find out who that mysterious assailant was, I’ll personally recruit them into the palace staff.”

“…….”

“I apologize. I’m just as baffled by all of this. However, according to the report, both you, Lady Rose, and you, Belhark, were searching for Damian. Are you certain you know nothing about this?” Cain asked, his expression curious but calm.

“When I saw him, he seemed fine… Wait, does this mean Damian stayed in the palace all this time?”

“According to the attendants, yes,” Cain replied.

So, the last person to have been in Damian’s office must have been…

My gaze instinctively shifted to Belhark. His face bore a nonchalant, almost smug expression, as though he found nothing wrong with the situation.

On second thought, identifying the mysterious “assailant” wasn’t exactly a difficult task. Damian wasn’t the type to simply allow himself to be beaten. No ordinary person—or even monster—could harm him so easily. Under the circumstances, there was only one likely culprit: Belhark.

It seemed Cain had a similar suspicion, but to his credit, he pretended not to notice, sparing us from further scrutiny. For that, I was silently grateful.

“I apologize for causing you trouble, Your Highness,” I said, lowering my head in a gesture of apology.

“There’s no need to apologize. In fact, this might be for the best,” Cain replied, a faint, enigmatic smile tugging at his lips.

I found his expression strange—it looked oddly relieved, almost like a weight had been lifted. My instincts were soon proven correct as he continued speaking.

“If we were to punish the person responsible, it would only cause unnecessary chaos. It’s better if this matter stays between us. Besides, with the Commander in such a state, it will be impossible for him to return to duty anytime soon. Therefore, I’ll grant you both a two-month leave. Use that time to resolve things properly.”

A suspension, then…

Well, it wasn’t surprising. The recent unrest caused by the Orca brothers, no doubt a result of my inability to manage their emotions properly, had created a palpable tension throughout the palace. Their stormy moods had made everyone uneasy, and this incident was just the tipping point.

Moreover, with Damian’s injuries now public knowledge, keeping a low profile was undoubtedly the wisest course of action—for his sake and ours.

Later, what surprised me most wasn’t Damian’s condition but how quickly word spread throughout the palace that the incident was a fight between brothers. The reasoning behind the rumors was obvious: Belhark was the only one capable of putting Damian in such a state.

Seriously, is the Empire so lacking in formidable individuals that no one else could be suspected?

Despite the chaotic circumstances, Cain maintained his composure and left the mansion with grace, as expected of the male lead before his descent into darkness. There was something different about someone destined to become emperor—their ability to stay calm in any situation was remarkable.

Given the situation, I hadn’t had the chance to properly apologize to him. My attention quickly shifted to Damian as I approached his bedside to check his condition.

His eyes remained firmly shut, showing no signs of opening anytime soon. According to the physician, while there was little internal damage, his external injuries were severe, and he had suffered significant blood loss. Though the wounds had been stitched, the heavy use of anesthetics meant it would take at least two days before he regained consciousness.

Even though Damian had acted roughly toward me in the palace, I never wanted him to end up like this. Tears that I’d been holding back silently spilled down my face.

His already pale complexion was now even more ghastly, drained of blood. Even though the best medical care this world could offer had been provided, his labored breathing sounded painful, and it terrified me to think he might stop breathing at any moment.

“Don’t cry. He’s not going to die,” Belhark said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

“…….”

He was perceptive enough to say something reassuring, though his expression betrayed his displeasure at the situation.

Feeling my gaze on him, Belhark seemed to understand what I wanted from him, but it was clear he had no intention of obliging me easily. Instead, he told me to come down for dinner and left the room without another word.

No matter what Damian had done wrong, wasn’t this too much?

The long, sharp scar visible on his back looked more painful than anything else.

Wait a second—did Belhark actually draw a sword against his brother?

On further thought, it didn’t make sense. The only sword present had been the one strapped to Damian’s own waist.

“…….”

What a madman… Self-harm, of all things!

It was clear Damian’s pride had already been shattered—perhaps beyond repair. While Belhark’s harsh discipline certainly had its effects, the fact that Damian had pushed himself to such extremes, teetering on the brink of death, felt recklessly foolish.

Tears continued to spill silently, soaking the hem of my dress and leaving noticeable stains.

I couldn’t bear to look at Damian’s bloodied and battered body any longer, so I grabbed a towel from the table and carefully began wiping away the blood that had stained his face and uniform.

Even as night fell and the room darkened, I stayed by Damian’s side. Staring at his swollen face and pained expression, I eventually drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up at his bedside, the first thing I saw was him still lying there, his eyes gently closed. His face and body looked even more swollen than before, but fortunately, just as Belhark had said, he was still breathing.

Still, seeing his once-handsome face obscured by injuries made me feel like crying again.

And then it happened.

Damian’s tightly shut eyes began to open slowly, revealing the clear golden irises beneath. For a moment, I froze, unable to move, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

As soon as his eyes met mine, I gasped softly and sprang to my feet in surprise.

In a situation like this, I should probably call the physician…

I turned to leave, intending to inform Belhark first, but Damian’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed my arm.

“Ugh…”

He let out a low groan, his grip weak but determined. Even that small motion seemed to cause him pain, and I could feel him trembling slightly. Panicked, I quickly pressed his shoulders back down, forcing him to lie flat again.

“Stay still. You can’t move yet,” I said firmly.

“…Where… are you going…”

His voice, hoarse and cracked, barely made it past his pale, dry lips.

I sighed and sat back down beside him, assuming the same position as before. This time, however, something was different.

We were looking directly at each other, though the moment was brief. Damian turned his head away, breaking eye contact almost immediately.

Damian raised his hand to cover his face, an action that made me wonder if he couldn’t even stand to look at me anymore. The tears I’d been struggling to hold back spilled out again, flowing uncontrollably down my cheeks.

Soon, a hiccup escaped, followed by another, and my sobbing grew louder. Damian glanced at me, clearly flustered, his expression stiff and awkward.

“Sniff… I thought… I thought you wouldn’t wake up, and I was so… hic…”

“…It doesn’t hurt that much…” he muttered, his voice weak and hoarse.

His words, clearly a poor attempt to downplay his injuries, only made me more frustrated. The visible wounds on his body were severe, and yet he had the audacity to act tough. It was ridiculous.

I tried to glare at him, but my blurred vision from the heavy tears made my eyes quiver instead. Damian just stared at me silently, saying nothing.

“Why did you push yourself so far?”

By the time I’d calmed down enough to speak, a significant amount of time had passed. My throat was sore from crying so much, and my voice came out hoarse.

For some reason, I couldn’t meet his gaze. My red, swollen eyes drifted instead to a far-off corner of the room.

“If you hurt me, fine—just leave it at that!” I snapped, my voice breaking.

“…….”

“But why the sword? Why did you let things get so… so completely out of hand?”

“…If I didn’t…”

At last, Damian’s tightly closed lips parted. His voice, cold and cutting, carried an unsettling edge as he finally spoke. His eyes locked on mine, sharp and piercing.

Hearing his tone, I shrank back slightly, reminded of the same intimidating aura he’d exuded when I’d confronted him in the palace.

I hadn’t realized it at first, but I must have instinctively been afraid of Damian. Not because I genuinely feared him, but because I wasn’t ready to face him just yet—not after everything that had happened.

Damian must have noticed my subtle reaction, because a bitter smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, twisting into something closer to a sneer.

“It seems my choice was the wrong one after all.”