Chapter 88
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 88
Less than a day after Evangeline Rohanson’s imprisonment, the bleak cell had been transformed into a comfortable living space. Someone had clearly taken a bribe from House Rohanson and turned a blind eye to the furniture being moved in. The prime suspect was none other than Antenor.
Yet Antenor had never accepted a bribe, nor had he helped with the furniture. Polus, fuming, looked ready to kick him again, but their superior intervened, stopping the impending violence.
“What are you doing? Hurry up and change shifts!”
Polus walked away, clicking his tongue in annoyance. At the shout, Antenor gritted his teeth and pushed himself up from the dirt floor.
New wounds were layered over the ones from yesterday before they could even heal. Perhaps his leg had been kicked badly; every step sent a throbbing pain through his joints, forcing him to limp. Dragging his battered body down to the basement, he found Argenti waiting to be relieved. Argenti smirked and patted Antenor on the shoulder.
“It must be tough, but hang in there. Oh, and I made a bit of a mess. Antenor, could you clean it up? If it's too much for you, you can always ask the Rohansons for help.”
The other knights snickered as if they had just heard the most hilarious joke. Antenor gritted his teeth, watching Argenti leisurely climb the stairs.
“Looks like Argenti made another mess. Clean it up.”
It seemed Argenti had dumped all of Evangeline Rohanson’s food onto the floor. And cleaning it up was Antenor’s job. Polus acted as if the food staining the floor was some testament to Argenti's integrity.
Antenor had always been an outcast, but the physical violence worsened once Argenti began showing open hostility. Everyone sided with him. Argenti was Dame Musetta’s nephew, the clear favorite of their superior, and he came from a formidable family.
And Antenor? His parents were tenant farmers from the countryside. His stubborn, harsh personality didn’t just make him disliked—it made him an eyesore.
A commoner knight who reeked of poverty. A tactless fool whose only trait was stubbornness. A half-wit who sold his honor for greed. A lackey who did all the order’s dirty work. Those were the labels slapped onto him.
That was why he had respected Sir Gabriel.
Though they belonged to different orders, Sir Gabriel was an orphan who had risen to the rank of Commander entirely on his own merits, with no family background to speak of. He was truly remarkable. Even filthy bastards like Argenti admired him. Antenor had seen a reflection of his own ambitions in Sir Gabriel, imagining a future where enduring this wretched knight order would one day lead to his own reward.
But Sir Gabriel had fallen. Could a man who abandoned God for lust dare call himself a paladin? Could a man who abandoned his convictions be called a knight?
Gabriel, having lost both faith and knighthood, was now nothing more than a fool unworthy of the title “Sir.” And the one who had reduced the great Sir Gabriel to this state was right before his eyes.
Some called her a witch who had bewitched the paladin; others called her a heinous demon who had assassinated the Crown Prince.
She leaned back leisurely on the sofa, turning the pages of a book with an ease that made it seem as if Antenor, scraping food off the floor, was the true prisoner, not her.
“Snort… Zzz…”
Having been up all night at the gambling tables, Polus, despite his boasts about keeping a close eye on Antenor, began to doze off in his chair.
Except for his snoring, the basement was incredibly quiet. It would have remained that way, had Evangeline Rohanson not spoken after a long silence.
“How did you get so badly hurt?”
The whispered question felt like a mockery. How did I get hurt? Whose fault do you think it is? Wasn’t it because she had brought in furniture as she pleased, and he had been blamed for it?
“Because of you.”
Antenor spat the words out, then realized he’d raised his voice. He quickly glanced over at Polus and froze. Polus was wide awake, his nasty face wrinkled in a delighted grin. When did the snoring stop?
“What are you two whispering about? Look at this. I knew you were colluding with her.”
Polus kicked Antenor in the head, then stomped on it, grinding his face into the dirt. He grabbed Antenor by the hair and dragged him in front of the cell. Since he couldn't touch Evangeline, he took his anger out on him instead.
“Lady Rohanson. This guy is getting beaten because of you, so watch closely.”
Through his blurry vision, Antenor saw Evangeline. Though the basement was incredibly dark, lit only by a dim candle, she seemed exceptionally clear and bright. He met her red eyes—a chilling color to behold. As her faint smile vanished, the raw presence beneath her skin revealed itself. A witch who bewitched Sir Gabriel? Her true nature was not something to be taken so lightly.
Evangeline was a being who existed to be worshiped, not one who could be demeaned by a word like “bewitched.” When a flicker of displeasure crossed her indifferent face, he felt a sudden urge to strangle himself just to apologize.
Antenor became more afraid of Evangeline’s gaze than of Polus, who was currently beating him.
Such an overwhelming and bizarre existence was squeezed into a fragile body, sitting quietly behind iron bars. Did the others really think that mere iron bars could restrain Evangeline Rohanson?
That must be why Argenti could mock her by spilling her food, and why Polus could let his guard down and fall asleep. Foolishly, hadn't Antenor thought the same way just moments ago?
In truth, the iron bars held no power over Evangeline Rohanson.
“Ack… Wh-what is this…!”
Polus’s body slowly began to lift into the air. He clutched his neck and writhed, as if being strangled by an invisible hand. He tried to loosen whatever was choking him, but there was nothing to grab, and he could only claw frantically at his own throat.
Evangeline tilted her head as she watched him suffer, her hair sliding softly to the side with the movement.
“Shouldn’t you be the one to show some manners first, Sir?”
She was taking revenge for his hypocrisy—beating a man while lecturing him on respect. Or perhaps, he was simply paying the price for his insolence toward her.
Tears streamed down Polus’s face. It felt as if his neck bones would break under the force. His airway constricted, causing him to heave and gasp for breath. Antenor watched, not missing a single moment of his torment.
A sharp snap echoed through the basement. Polus’s body went limp and was discarded onto the floor. The breathing stopped. As the violent gasping ceased, the room fell silent.
“Is he… dead?”
He was dead. After a brief moment of satisfaction, Antenor’s face turned pale. With Evangeline inside the cell, wouldn’t he be framed for killing Polus? The other knights, just like Argenti and Polus, saw a woman behind bars as no threat at all.
But Evangeline Rohanson claimed Polus would stand up again. How could a dead man get up?
Yet, just as she said, Polus stood. Because his neck was broken, it couldn't support the weight of his head, which flopped grotesquely to one side. But he still rose to his feet.
“He won’t be able to hurt you ever again.”
No, he certainly wouldn't. The thing that rose was not the Polus he knew. It was not a living person, but merely a doll moving at Evangeline Rohanson’s command.
When she ordered it to leave, Polus grabbed his lolling head with both hands to hold it straight and shuffled out of the basement. When he let go for a moment, it wobbled precariously.
“Shall I help you?” Evangeline asked, her red eyes shining.
A white hand extended slowly through the iron bars. The fair, slender hand enticed Antenor, urging him to take it. The same merciless hand that had choked the life from Polus now felt like a hand of salvation.
“I will make sure those things can’t torment you, Sir.”
Antenor finally understood how the witch had seduced Sir Gabriel. The monster was dizzyingly beautiful, enough to bewitch anyone, and she spoke only the words one most desperately wanted to hear.
Could she really save him from the other knights? Despite being locked in a cell, a suspect in the Crown Prince’s assassination, Evangeline Rohanson spoke as if she could grant any wish.
“Will you really… really make sure the others can’t touch me?”
When Antenor first donned his knight's uniform, he'd dreamed of earning respect and rising above others, just like Sir Gabriel. But wasn't this also a way to rise above them—by subduing them with overwhelming power? With a trembling hand, Antenor took Evangeline's.
“What… what should I do?”
When he asked, she gave her instructions.
“I’m anxious because I can’t get in touch with Sir Gabriel.”
He would be her carrier pigeon, delivering any message she wished.
“I want to know some news from the outside.”
“Yes. I will tell you anything I know.”
As if pleased with his answer, Evangeline smiled brightly. It was a beautiful smile, but knowing the person behind it could ruin someone with a single glance only made the sense of incongruity stronger.
“What is your name?”
“It’s Antenor. Antenor Nain.”
“Good, Sir Ante. It’s time for your shift to end, isn’t it? We’ll meet again.”