Chapter 6
Chapter 6
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The Stolen Key
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“What are you doing—”
Beth's soft hand touched Dever's shirt collar. In that instant, Dever's breath caught. Perhaps it was because the unfamiliar scent he'd sensed from afar was now right under his nose.
The faint warmth brushing his nape was far milder than the woman's breath he'd felt on the forest path.
Beth carefully drew out the necklace hidden inside his shirt.
Found it.
The corners of Beth's mouth curved slightly. After confirming it was the key, she yanked the necklace hard. The man's throat bobbed, but Beth didn't notice.
She slipped the necklace into her pocket, quickly locked the door, and ran back to the hospital. Glancing over her shoulder once—just in case he might chase her—she saw the man still standing in the same spot.
“Cheeky little...”
Dever pulled a cigar from his pocket. His bare neck felt strangely empty, urging him to do something, anything.
In the quiet darkness, where fireflies danced, the flame from Dever's lighter flickered incongruously. He paused before lighting the cigar and glanced down the path where the woman had fled, but only the empty road greeted him.
Quick on her feet. She was shaking like a leaf back in the woods.
The acrid scent of the unlit cigar wafted into the air. Like the smoke he might exhale, Dever's thoughts began to darken and thicken.
“What the hell? I'm the one who got shot, so why does your face look worse?”
Those were Arthur's first words upon seeing Dever, as he lay there with bandages wrapped around his stomach.
“Heh heh. Good day, Your Grace.”
Count Allen, who had rushed from Wayne—heaven knew how he'd heard the news so fast—greeted him with a sly grin. The man had a nose for gossip like no other.
Dever gave a curt nod and pulled up an empty chair to sit.
Arthur scrutinized his friend's face. The guy already looked grim and brooding, but now his eyes seemed even more deeply sunken, as if he hadn't slept a wink.
Dever pressed hard on the protruding bones of his brow as he spoke.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“No kidding—”
Arthur started to say something but glanced at Allen.
“Ran out?”
Only Dever understood the omitted subject. He was asking if he'd run out of his meds.
“How? Didn't Madam Molly give you a key?”
“Things happened.”
Dever had returned to the barracks at dawn and hadn't slept a wink. Whether from fear of sleep itself or irritation at some nagging annoyance, he'd chain-smoked cigars and headed to the hospital early that morning.
Dever's gaze shifted to Beth in the corner of the room, changing dressings.
This morning under the moonlight: her eyes wide with surprise, her frightened expression, the tension easing from her shoulders, the slight upturn of her lips upon spotting the key on the necklace.
Quite the range of expressions. But this morning's Beth wore the same demure face as she had in the ward the evening before.
“Pretty, even to Your Grace's eyes, right?”
Allen, catching Dever's stare, prodded slyly.
As if he'd found some common ground with the duke in their shared appreciation for women. Maybe this was his chance to finally strut a bit for his father, who was always telling him to stay on the duke's good side.
Plenty to gossip about. Allen licked his lips.
“When Beth first came to the Wayne Nursing School, all the noble boys were peeking in just to get a look at her.”
Seeing Dever seemed to be listening, Allen grew more animated and kept chattering.
“But she's kinda weird.”
“Weird?”
That was Arthur speaking.
Interest from the imperial prince and a duke? Thrilled, Allen gestured wildly as he spoke.
Dever's eyes remained on Beth. Having finished the dressing, she was now charting. Her hand, as white as her sleeve, scribbled diligently.
“She doesn't look or act like some commoner's daughter. But she never debuted as a debutante at that age, so she's no noble either?”
“What about not talking?”
“No one knows if she just doesn't talk, can't because of some incident, or was born that way.”
“Doesn't seem like she uses sign language.”
Arthur tried to act knowledgeable after just one night in the hospital.
“Rumor has it she came from some back alley. Though that's nonsense. Madam Molly wouldn't sponsor a girl from there.”
“Hey, you. Black-haired girl.”
A sleazy voice filled the ward. It belonged to Lieutenant Herbert, the son of a wealthy businessman, notorious for his debauchery and poor judgment.
“That bastard.”
Even Arthur spat out a curse.
Beth looked up at the mention of "black hair" and stared at Herbert.
Herbert dramatically clutched his right arm and flailed his hand.
“Ow, I think this is torn. It hurts so bad. Ah, ah!”
A guy with a broken leg whining about his arm? Arthur clicked his tongue at the obvious ploy.
His right arm bore only a small gauze for a scrape, freshly changed that morning by Madam Molly—spotless.
Beth approached Herbert's bedside, the object of Dever's gaze. Dever's expression darkened as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek.
Beth examined the lieutenant's wound. Seeing it was already clean and needed no further care, she turned to leave.
“Hey, take a proper look!”
Herbert grabbed Beth's arm as she turned, yanking her suddenly into his embrace.
“Lieutenant Herbert!”
Arthur's shout coincided with Dever rising to his feet.
Bang!
A crashing sound echoed, and silence fell over the ward. Gauze, forceps, ointment tubes scattered messily across the lieutenant's bed.
Beth, breathing raggedly, held an empty tray. Herbert, slowly lifting his bowed head, had blood streaming from his nose—explaining everything.
The nurses about to call for "Beth," the wounded getting injections, even the doctors wheeling in a surgical bed—all gaped in disbelief.
Herbert wiped the warm flow from his face, and someone gasped sharply.
“What... blood? Blood?!”
Finally grasping the situation, Herbert scowled fiercely and raised his right arm—the very one he'd been whining about moments ago.
“You little bitch!”
“Herbert Ramsey.”
Dever approached with a chilling expression.
“C-Commander Dever, sir.”
Caught off guard by the army commander's sudden appearance, Herbert straightened up. From a lecher about to strike a woman, he instantly turned into a cornered rat—pathetic.
“What do you think you're doing.”
Herbert couldn't even look up at Dever, his lips trembling.
“What. Do you think. You're doing.”
Dever repeated, his voice dropping lower.
“I-I asked the nurse to check my wound... but she didn't and just left.”
Arthur shrugged at Allen, his gesture screaming, That guy's done for.
“First rat pups in the unit.”
Not long ago, a communications officer had burned to death beyond recognition—no one in the unit was unaware. Herbert had seen the body too. His lips dried out.
“Now a horny mutt.”
Pfft.
Arthur couldn't hold back a laugh.
“Looks like a gentleman but talks filthy.”
Arthur whispered to Allen.
“Horny's right. Heard he came to the front lines to dodge the husband of some married woman he scandalized.”
Allen shot back without missing a beat.
“These men came all the way to the front for Nexus. Show them respect.”
“Sir, yes sir!”
Herbert saluted sharply, full of false vigor.
“I'll consider your punishment.”
Herbert remained rigid, blood streaming unchecked down his face.
“You can handle that much without medical staff.”
“Yes, sir!”
Dever glanced at Beth's hand, still gripping the tray tightly, then turned away. He knew her eyes were on him but pretended not to notice. Looking at her face again would only make his pounding head hurt worse.
As Dever climbed the stairs to the director's office, he let out a dry chuckle.
Right. As if we'd ever been on eye-contact terms.
Knock knock.
“Come in.”
Madam Molly, sorting documents, smiled upon seeing Dever.
“Duke Dever—or should I say, Commander—what brings you here?”
“Do you have a spare key, by any chance?”
Her expression hardened at "key."
“Why, did you lose it?”
“......It got stolen.”
Stolen? Her face grew more puzzled. Then, hearing "Beth" from Dever's lips, it all clicked.
Beth had been on night shift last night. She'd likely gone to the warehouse and run into Dever.
Madam Molly had drilled the "importance of the medicine storeroom" into her nursing students until their ears bled. On the battlefield, medicine wasn't just life-saving—it was currency, and could even decide wars.
And Beth had witnessed the hospital air raid not long ago. No matter if the man was army commander or emperor, she'd snatch the key from his own child.
“As you know, with the locksmith in on backroom deals, we can't make spares now. My last one has to stay with the hospital.”
She pulled a pharmaceutical verification form from her drawer.
“No choice but to coax it out of Beth nicely.”
After her final signature, she offered the form. But just before Dever took it, she pulled back.
She gazed at Dever, now a young man. No longer the crying child on her doorstep.
He'd become a boy, a soldier, and now army commander. Just like his father.
“His Majesty called it a calf's sacrifice for the herd.”
Her voice trembled.
“I don't believe it. How could you, Dever, be just a small sacrifice? Use and abuse are a fine line. Addiction beyond escalation brings new illnesses.”
Her resolute expression poured out words held back for years.
“You know you're on the edge, right? Why His Majesty makes exceptions just for you, strict as his standards are.”
Dever knew. The emperor, aware of his fragility, could turn on him anytime by standing by.
Perhaps even hoping he'd die before becoming a greater threat.
Dever said nothing.
Descending the stairs, Dever paused, steadying himself against the wall. Dizziness was setting in hard. Since "that day," he'd never gone three days without the meds.
Where the hell had that woman holed up?
The ward with the commotion held only useless fools; no sign of her. Dever's military boots echoed faster down the hall as he left.
A chill morning breeze whistled through cracks in the old windows.
“Beth, you okay?”
And with it came that name, now so familiar it clung to him like a shadow.