Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: The Gray-Haired Boy
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A tension unlike any before hung over the Protection Zone. The alleyways, usually bustling with noise, were as silent as a graveyard.
Men who had appeared out of nowhere dragged out the customers slumped over in a drunken stupor, waiting for their antidote shots.
Soon, only the old woman and the girl remained in the room.
"Greetings, Your Grace."
A voice laced with formality echoed from afar.
As the girl craned her neck to look, the old woman gripped her arm.
"Don't pay it any mind."
At the warning tone, the girl nodded obediently and pressed herself back against the wall.
Scraaaape. The sound of something being dragged across the floor grew closer.
"This the place?"
A low voice rumbled right beside them.
"That's right."
The voice's owner nodded curtly upon confirming the old woman's face.
With a gesture from the duke, one of the burly men shoved a soldier whose arms were pinned forward. He collapsed in a heap on the floor.
The girl quickly rose onto her tiptoes as the soldier's hair brushed her feet. It was a Nexus uniform—even she knew that much in the Protection Zone.
"They say she's got skills."
"Skills? Even in my old age, when it comes to this sort of thing—"
"No."
The duke jerked his chin toward the girl.
"For a kid, she's got some fine technique."
The duke's eyes were wolf-like. Even in the dim room, the glint in his ash-gray irises flashed like a beast's. They darted keenly and swiftly, ready to tear into prey at any moment, serpentine in their sharpness.
"You've got to teach them young. Once their heads get too big, they fill up with their own ideas and become useless."
The duke nudged the fallen soldier with his boot.
The soldier didn't so much as twitch.
"Give it a try."
The girl's brow furrowed.
She didn't want to. The duke was handsome, but his presence stirred more fear than fondness.
"Hey, hey! His Grace is speaking to you!"
She hated the metallic tang of blood wafting from his blades. She hated the condescending gaze looming from far above the doorframe.
"Child."
The old woman called softly. Their eyes met, and she nodded. It meant she had no choice—she had to do it.
As the girl grew, she listened only to the old woman. Here, the old woman was her mother, her father, her only family.
Reluctantly, the girl crouched down and brushed back the bangs from the soldier's face, which was visible only in profile. She had to check his breathing first, after all.
In that instant, her hand froze.
It's him.
Her pulse, which had seemed to stop, began to quicken slowly.
It's him.
The burly men flipped the prone soldier's body upright. Though his frame was much larger now than the boy in her memories, tossed about helplessly in others' hands, it was undoubtedly him.
Dever.
The girl scurried over and knelt by his face. The face of the sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy was just starting to shed its youthful softness for a young man's edge. His defined jaw and the tendons bulging on his arms were different from before.
But she couldn't mistake him. She had never once forgotten that ash-gray hair.
The girl looked up at the duke, who reeked of blood. Yes, this smell was blood—the metallic stench clung to him, just like it did to the boy.
"Hey! Hit him with the shot already! How dare you stare at His Grace!"
The door guard, reeking of the boy, kept glancing nervously at the duke while urging her on.
'No, I'll go fight later.'
That boyish voice echoed in her mind.
Had that "later" finally become now?
The girl dashed to the drawer and opened it, stuffing every antidote she could grab into a basket.
"Looked like he ingested something from the Kovah lot."
At the duke's offhand clue, her mind raced.
Kovah. Even in the Protection Zone, people sometimes sought out the toxic plants from there. Grinding them into powder for incense or consuming them caused hallucinations, and the poisoning was far more severe than most.
Holding one vial of antidote, she soon grabbed a few more and began carefully mixing them in a beaker. The room fell silent as she measured each drop with precision. After swirling the mixture several times with a trickle, she drew it into a syringe.
A fresh wound, not yet fully healed, peeked from the collar of his shirt. She gently took the boy's hand.
Back in the hut, his fingers had been only a knuckle longer than hers. Now, his hand was large enough to easily cover one of hers.
Only now did she truly feel how much time had passed.
So much had changed.
The sharp needle pierced the boy's vein cleanly.
"Time is the medicine now."
The old woman spoke up.
The duke crossed his arms, glaring down at his sprawled son, then spat a curse.
"Weak little shit. Whining after just a few battles."
The duke turned away as if there was nothing more to see.
"Guard him. Bring him there once he comes to."
"Yes, sir!"
The men standing like shadows bowed deeply.
The door guards fawned over the departing duke, clinging to him. His subordinates stood watch at the door but didn't peer inside.
"Looks like you've got another fierce one just like you."
The old woman muttered bluntly before heading out.
The girl crouched by the boy's head. Since coming to the Protection Zone, she had lost track of time. She only vaguely sensed the seasons changing when her worn skirt hem grew shorter, or the year turning.
She still looked much the same as when she was little, but the boy had shot up.
Even after quite some time since the injection, the boy didn't wake. The girl fidgeted with her sleeve hem, anxiously waiting.
Upon closer look, bloodstains speckled the boy's eyelids. It nagged at her, so she tried to wipe them with her hand, but they had dried. She dampened a cloth with water and rubbed gently.
"Get away."
A parched, rasping voice sounded, and his closed eyes fluttered several times.
The girl quickly hid her hands behind her back and blinked, hardly breathing.
The boy's bloodshot eyes stared at the ceiling before closing again. A groan escaped through his gritted teeth—he must have a headache.
"Young master, you're awake?"
The guards caught the sound and approached.
"Damn it."
"We'll escort you."
They seized his arms just as they had when they arrived, hauling him up. His body, still weak, swayed several times.
The girl huddled in the dim corner went unnoticed.
As the boy stepped out and rounded the corner, he suddenly turned his head. His hazy gaze landed on the small figure, but that was all.
The girl's trembling hand stilled.
From that day on, she waited for the boy every day. She didn't know when, but maybe he'd come back—that hope woke her each morning.
At night, even as she administered antidote shots, glancing at the door became habit.
But the boy never came.
Was the war over? Or did he stop taking that stuff? Had he gone to Wayne? Was he still in Brent?
None of the questions swirling in her mind had answers, but it didn't matter.
Seasons turned again and again. By the time she realized he wasn't coming back, a medical relief team arrived from Wayne.
"Line up!"
"Oh, sir! You can't just grab it like that!"
"If you think your bones are broken, go to the duchess. If it's your insides acting up, see the duke!"
The back alleys connected to the Protection Zone were a haven for the impoverished. An unusual liveliness stirred in the dingy lanes.
Those illuminating the gloomy alleys wore pristine white uniforms. Some donned sky blue.
The girl watched it all from a shadowed corner of the alley.
They carried syringes just like her. Their faces brimmed with joy as they smiled brightly at the patients.
"Ha ha! Old folks beating up the doctor because it hurts?"
A middle-aged man with wildly tousled hair boomed with hearty laughter, holding his stethoscope like a microphone. His booming voice naturally drew eyes.
The man, bantering casually as he examined patients, seemed utterly at ease.
If Dad were still alive, he'd be about that age.
The memory she thought forgotten surged up—probably because the man looked so kindly. The girl rubbed her eyes fiercely and kept watching the relief team.
The old woman said the medical corps would stay about a week before heading back to Wayne.
Every day, the girl stood at the alley's edge until sunset, observing them. On the seventh day, as she watched them pack amid the fading sunset glow, a voice suddenly called from behind.
"Little one, are you hurt?"
Turning, she saw the eccentric middle-aged man. He fiddled with his broken glasses arm and asked again.
"Or is it your mother or some other family member who's ill?"
She hadn't planned to get this close. The girl backed away several steps before bolting into the winding alleys.
"Ha ha, well now."
The man stroked his rough beard with a sigh. He'd noticed her watching like a stray cat all week. She must live in these alleys.
"Duke Collins! We need to depart!"
At the urgent call, Collins forced his reluctant feet to move. Those round eyes lingered in his mind, but there was nothing for it.
"Dear, why are you so late?"
"Oh, just looking for someone."
Under Madam Molly's scolding, Collins made excuses as he boarded the carriage. The farther they got from Brent, the more the child's face troubled him. He should have chased after her. Regret came too late.
"I dreamed last night that a child jumped into my arms."
"A late-life pregnancy dream? Ha ha."
"At my age? It was just a dream."
It was old gossip in high society that Duke and Duchess Molly had no children.
By the time their swiftly traveling carriage reached Wayne, night had deepened. As they hurried to unload, one of the laborers suddenly shouted.
"Hey! Kid! Who are you?!"
At the sudden commotion, the ducal couple headed toward the noise.
The laborer stared wide-eyed at the corner of the wagon.
"You..."
Collins's words caught in his throat, his eyes widening.
There, in the farthest corner of the wagon, huddled a trembling girl. The very child he'd missed.
"Oh my!"
Madam Molly was flustered by the unexpected arrival.
Collins extended his hand carefully, as if approaching a frightened young animal.
"Come to uncle. It's okay. Will you come here?"
At his gentle call, the hesitant child crawled out of the wagon. Barefoot and caked in dirt without even shoes, she wore a thin dress that exposed her ankles even in the early winter chill.
"Your dream really was a pregnancy omen! Ha ha ha!"
His wife shook her head at his deadpan joke and quickly draped a shawl over the child's shoulders.
"Child, I'm Collins Molly. What's your name?"
The child looked up at the man introducing himself as Collins Molly. His eyes were warm—so warm that even the biting wind felt distant.
The child squatted at the couple's feet. Collins knelt down with her.
A small finger scratched in the dirt.
Beth
"Beth? Beth. What a pretty name."
Collins beamed.
It was the first time her name had ever been called.