Marion sat inside the rattling carriage, her eyes locked with the spy, who glared at her as if he were watching her every move. The spy twisted his face into the scariest expression he could muster, staring her down.

“Don’t even think about escaping, miss,” he snarled.

Marion didn’t respond. Her mind was busy trying to figure out who could be behind this abduction. Her heart raced with anxiety. Who would have enough reason to kidnap her? What value did she hold?

“I can hear the gears turning in that head of yours, miss. If it weren’t for my boss’s orders, I might have taken a special interest in you.”

Even with his insulting words, Marion didn’t flinch.

For a long time now, Marion had developed an ability to sense the truth and lies behind people's words. Was it when she saw the disdain in her father’s eyes when he cast her aside, or when she noticed the fake smiles and deceitful expressions of the servants who served her? Perhaps it was because she had spent over a decade in such a detached world.

Or maybe, it was when she first saw Maxim’s eyes—those eyes that connected with her through his clumsy yet genuine care and empathy.

That might explain why the adventurer’s hollow words, meant to intimidate her, didn’t even register. Despite his tough talk, the adventurer was clearly anxious. His eyes avoided hers, often glancing outside, and when he spoke to her in a threatening tone, his gaze flicked toward the coachman’s seat. Marion noticed it all.

She could not allow herself to break.

Maxim had shattered the massive wall that had enclosed her world, extending a hand to rescue her from an endless fall into darkness. She couldn’t let herself be trapped by that wall again. Marion reminded herself, determined not to let despair and fear consume her heart once more.

She couldn’t let the small opening for the darkness to return grow any wider.

What’s with this woman’s eyes?

The spy continued hurling threats and insults, thinking he could break the fragile-looking young woman. But, contrary to her delicate appearance, her spirit seemed remarkably strong. Her cold, sharp eyes pierced through him, as if peering into a deep abyss.

“They said you were some sheltered, fragile thing locked up in your family’s mansion. Guess they were wrong.”

Fragile? Anyone who saw those eyes would think differently. There was no fear, no emotion that he could easily read in her gaze. The spy’s face twisted in frustration.

“Where are we going?” Marion asked.

This bitch…

The spy narrowed his eyes, his lips curling with irritation. Her first question wasn’t about what they planned to do with her, but rather where they were headed, as if she already knew. As if she could see through his shallow mind.

“I don’t like this,” he growled through gritted teeth. Those eyes reminded him too much of the Bening Count’s commanding gaze.

“If you’ve been captured, you should be trembling in fear like any other ordinary woman.”

Smack!

A rough hand struck Marion’s forehead, slamming her head against the wall of the carriage. The force of the impact made her mask wobble, nearly falling off. Marion’s eyes flickered in response.

Seeing her reaction, the spy let out a twisted smile.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Is it this mask that’s giving you those arrogant eyes?”

Crack.

The mask began to cave in under the pressure of his hand. Marion’s eyes shook even more violently, and beneath the mask, a scar she had hidden her entire life slowly came into view. The spy’s expression, initially filled with disgust, shifted into one of sadistic pleasure.

“Hiding such an ugly face, huh? And you had the nerve to glare at me with those half-assed eyes. And look at you, still wearing that engagement ring. You think your fiancé won’t puke when he sees that scar?”

Marion’s mouth quivered, her teeth clenched tightly as she endured the pain. Thud. The spy slammed her head against the wall of the carriage again.

“You really think someone’s going to come save you? Do you think your fiancé, who probably doesn’t even know you’re still alive, will show up like some miracle?”

Thud.

“You’re just a discarded thing. Your engagement only lasted out of pity, and now that there’s an excuse to break it off, they’ll be glad to.”

Thud.

“To be honest, I was thinking of giving you a proper lesson. Show you who’s really in charge in this situation.”

Bam.

Marion was thrown into the corner of the carriage as the spy laughed like a madman.

“It wouldn’t be hard to pass off some injuries as a part of the kidnapping. A few bruises, maybe a couple of broken bones should be enough.”

Marion closed her eyes, bracing herself for the beating to come when suddenly—

Screech!

The sound of a whistle pierced the air.

The spy, his fist raised, paused. The partition connecting the driver’s seat to the carriage opened, and a new voice spoke.

“Something’s wrong. Get up on top and check the situation.”

“Tsk.”

The partition closed again, and the spy gave Marion one last cold look. The sadism in his gaze made Marion’s face contort.

“I’ll be back to finish our little lesson,” he sneered before disappearing.

Clatter.

The carriage continued its journey. Marion slowly rose, searching for the mask that had fallen to the floor. The mask, the barrier that had protected her from the world, lay there, distorted and ruined. Despite her resolve to remain strong, she felt her long-hidden self exposed. She reached for the mask, but its shape was so broken it couldn’t be worn anymore.

Holding the useless mask in her hands, Marion’s shoulders trembled. The voice telling her she was worthless echoed in her mind. The wall she had worked so hard to tear down was building itself up again, brick by brick.

No one’s coming to save you. Who would save someone like you? You’re useless.

You can’t do anything. Just sit there and grovel like you did for your father.

The hateful words from her siblings played in her head, and Marion clung to the broken mask as if it were her only refuge.

Clatter.

The carriage shook. It seemed to be speeding up. The movement felt different. And then—

Bang!

The horses neighed loudly, and the carriage jolted violently. Marion barely managed to steady herself before curling up on the seat.

The carriage had stopped moving. A breeze brushed past Marion’s face. She hung her head low, and then, she heard the voice she had longed for.

“Wait for me.”

==

Maxim walked toward the carriage. The knight of the Bening family, his hand resting on his sword hilt, was ready to fight, but when Maxim simply walked past him, the knight froze in disbelief.

“You bastard…”

The knight growled, but his voice didn’t reach Maxim. His focus was solely on the carriage, and his ears were tuned to catch any sign of her voice.

Marion.

The name echoed in his mind, and his chest felt cold with dread. His heart raced under the hood, beating so fast it was almost painful. Each step felt too far. In his mind, he had already opened the carriage door, but his feet had yet to reach it.

Maxim reached the carriage and opened the door without hesitation.

Marion.

She was there, curled up in the corner. Her ebony hair was a tangled mess as if someone had deliberately yanked on it. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty, and in her hands was a crumpled mask, explaining everything.

For a moment, his heart seemed to stop.

The first emotion he felt was relief. But as that fleeting relief passed, it left a gaping hole in his chest, filling with an overwhelming mix of negative emotions.

His heart roiled with guilt, sorrow, and tenderness.

I’m sorry I’m late. I missed you. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?

He wanted to rush to her side. He wanted to tell her it was all right now. But he couldn’t. Not yet. So all Maxim could do was speak a few brief words, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of everything he felt.

“Wait for me.”

It wasn’t the voice of Arsen Bern, the black-haired knight, but the voice of Maxim Apart. It felt strange to hear his own natural voice again after so long. Maxim closed the carriage door gently, knowing that for now, the inside of the carriage was the safest place.

Waiting for him outside was the knight of Bening, glaring at him, sword drawn. The knight’s aura was unmistakably powerful, a far cry from the henchmen Maxim had cut down earlier. Mana swirled around the knight, exuding a fierce energy.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

The knight spat the words, his hand gripping his sword tightly. His stance was flawless, but Maxim’s was more relaxed. His sword hung loosely in one hand, the blood-soaked blade emitting a nauseating stench.

“You’ve ruined my plan, the mission I was given, the grand scheme…!”

The knight’s furious voice swirled like a storm, whipping the air around them. Maxim’s hood fluttered as their eyes met—his cold, dark gaze locking onto the knight’s enraged one. The knight raised his sword. The ceremonial stance of the Bening family’s swordsmanship was unmistakable in his posture. His sword pointed directly at his enemy, his stance rooted like a mountain and his form straight as bamboo.

Maxim’s eyes gleamed with recognition.

“So, that’s who’s behind this.”

Pathetic. Of course, they thought kidnapping Marion was the easiest and most effective way to lure me out. They think they can take one person and bend me to their will. But they’ve underestimated me.

Maxim inwardly sneered at the supposed greatness of the count the knight spoke of. This was his enemy now—one who could never be allowed to live under the same sky. The count had sealed his fate by making Maxim his foe.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll slaughter this city, take your head, and present it along with the hostage to the count. Once I cut you into pieces, everyone will know who you are.”

The knight’s muttering turned into a killing intent so fierce that it seemed to cling to Maxim’s skin. But Maxim shook off the suffocating malice as if it were nothing. His anger ran far deeper than the knight’s, and his sword echoed with that fury.

The tension grew as both warriors' killing intent clashed. With that, the fight had already begun.

Boom!

The clash of their swords echoed loudly, though the number of strikes exchanged in that brief moment was threefold. Their blades clashed, creating scars on the ground from the sheer force of their strikes.

Damn him. Damn him!

The knight’s mind was lost in a haze of rage. He moved instinctively, guided by the flow of his sword. The moment he saw Maxim falter after the first clash, the knight launched into an all-out offensive, attacking relentlessly from every angle. His strikes were straightforward but devastatingly powerful, aiming to crush his opponent.

Maxim, however, calmly blocked and deflected each attack with minimal movement. A heavy overhead strike? He didn’t meet it with force. Instead, he redirected it smoothly, letting the knight’s powerful blow slide away.

Though the knight’s breathing was strained from the failed attacks, his swordsmanship remained flawless. Each strike flowed naturally into the next, as though every movement was intended.

Fool. He thinks he can withstand the Bening blade by simply defending.

The knight sneered inwardly at Maxim, thinking he had the upper hand. The Bening sword was not easily overcome. Each strike was a lethal blow, every swing capable of severing limbs.

The sword strikes continued. Eventually, one of the knight’s upward strikes cut through Maxim’s hood, leaving a long gash. Even though his cold, black eyes showed no emotion, the knight was confident he would soon pluck those insolent eyes from his opponent’s skull.

“Your pathetic swordsmanship was nothing to brag about,” the knight taunted. But Maxim’s eyes looked at him with quiet contempt.

“How worthless must your grand scheme be if it’s falling apart to such pathetic swordsmanship.”

The knight’s grip tightened on his sword. His heart pumped mana through his veins, and he knew he hadn’t yet unleashed his full power. There were still thousands of ways he could end this opponent.

“I’ll cut that mouth of yours first,” the knight growled.

His sword struck with deadly precision. Maxim blocked again. This time, the knight pressed his attack, pushing with all his strength. The offensive position gave him an advantage. He channeled mana into his arms, making his muscles bulge with power. The sword clash screeched under the strain.

Clang.

Maxim’s body was pushed back. The knight didn’t waste the opportunity and continued his assault.

Another strike.

Blocked again. The knight’s blade, like the head of a snake, suddenly shifted direction, aiming for Maxim’s side. To the knight’s surprise, Maxim anticipated the feint and blocked it with ease. For a moment, the knight’s hand trembled in disbelief.

Twice was a coincidence. There wouldn’t be a third.

The knight thrust his sword again.

It was blocked. Again.

Despite the continuous barrage, Maxim’s defensive posture didn’t waver. The knight’s frustration boiled over, but he couldn’t stop now.

Blocked. Parried.

The knight’s face twisted in rage. His arms blurred with speed, each strike becoming faster and sharper. His skill only grew as he fought, his movements more refined. He was no longer aiming to injure—his attacks were purely lethal.

Each strike was honed by a lifetime of training. His sword carried with it the moments when he first learned the Bening style, when he received his sword from Leon Bening, when the count personally taught him the way of the sword.

But still, blocked. Parried. Deflected.

His attacks, which should have been unstoppable, now found nothing but empty air.

“A...”

The knight exhaled in disbelief, the metallic scent of blood and steel heavy in his nostrils. This couldn’t be happening.

“I’ll kill you...!!”

Mana surged through his heart, the force manifesting physically. With a roar, the knight’s aura turned red. The sheer power of it shattered the ground beneath him. His expression twisted with rage as the red aura-covered blade targeted Maxim.

There was no blocking that blade. If Maxim tried, his sword would be cut in two.

So instead—

He deflected it.

The knight’s aura-laden blade swung through the air, a force capable of turning the street to rubble, but it didn’t hit anything. Maxim, his hood now fully removed, met the knight’s eyes. His gaze seemed to say, How futile.

The knight’s confidence crumbled.

His aura faltered. He was experiencing every knight’s worst nightmare—his sword, his years of training, were being denied. Maxim was delivering him the most terrible death a knight could face. The knight had walked straight into the abyss of despair.

As he realized his final attack would fail, the knight poured everything he had left into his aura. With one final, desperate strike, he threw everything at Maxim.

“Willow,” Maxim muttered softly, reciting the name of the sword technique his master had first taught him. The flow of mana followed the path of the sword, but aura wasn’t needed—after all, elves couldn’t produce aura in the first place.

The sword of the forest danced like the gentle wind. The ferocious red aura was swallowed by the graceful movement. It felt as if the scent of the forest breeze itself was being carried through the air.

Cling.

A short metallic sound echoed, the result of the first exchange. Maxim sheathed his sword after slicing through the knight’s aura and shattering his blade.

“Who... are you...?”

The knight’s final words trailed off as his body was covered in countless thin red lines.

A fountain of blood sprayed into the air like the delicate branches of a willow tree swaying in the wind.

==

It was dark.

Marion closed her eyes, covered her ears, and let herself be consumed by the darkness. The world outside was filled with chaotic noise, but the shadows creeping back into her soul were far deeper.

The world was shaking, and the walls she had once torn down were being rebuilt, thicker than before.

No...

A faint voice within her screamed, but Marion couldn’t hear it. The desperate cry never reached her. Instead, it was swallowed by the darkness, lost without even an echo.

She was weak. Right now, she was too weak.

All she wanted was to see that one person she missed so much.

“Maxim...”

“Yeah.”

A voice responded. Was it an illusion? Was the encroaching darkness offering her one last act of mercy? Marion, her voice trembling, called out his name again and again. She feared that if she stopped, the voice would disappear.

“Maxim...!”

“Marion.”

The voice was closer now. Marion’s trembling hand reached out.

She touched him.

He was there. His tattered hood still clung to his head, and his golden eyes—those warm, sunset-hued eyes—gazed at her with gentle concern.

Marion’s eyes widened.

The focus she had lost to the shadows returned. Her tear-filled blue eyes confirmed the reality in front of her. Her sight and the sensation of his touch both told her the truth.

“Maxim. Is it really you? Am I seeing this right?”

“Yes, Marion. It’s me.”

I’m sorry I’m late.

At those final words, Marion’s tears, which had been welling up in her eyes, finally spilled over.