Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Traitor's Fate
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“Dare you.”
The word was spat out like chewed gristle, and at the same moment, the scissors snatched from Beth’s hand rose high into the air.
“Dever!!”
Arthur, who had hurried after him, grabbed Dever’s arm just as it seemed ready to come slashing down. Dever ignored Arthur clutching his arm, his gaze fixed solely on the lieutenant choking in his grip.
He had been a wounded soldier Beth was tending to just moments ago.
Dever’s head tilted at an angle. He had burst into the ward like a beast, but now he resembled a viper pondering how to sever its prey’s windpipe.
No one dared approach him amid that ferocious killing intent—except for Arthur.
Before Arthur could say another word, Dever hurled the lieutenant to the floor. A prolonged groan of agony echoed as the man slammed into the ground in an instant.
“I was debating whether to gouge out your last remaining eye.”
Dever shook off the arm Arthur had grabbed. Beth quickly scooped up the scissors that had fallen with it.
“Why... why are you doing this?”
Instead of answering, Dever drew a dagger from his back pocket. Without hesitation, he plunged it into the man’s right shoulder.
“Aaaargh!!”
The man clutched his shoulder and rolled across the floor.
Sticky, dark red blood spread across the white hospital floor like spilled ink. Dever, kneeling on one knee to meet the man’s eye level as he lay sprawled, saw his uniform stained with the man’s blood as well.
Dever rose, his face now devoid of murderous intent and returned to its usual impassive expression. Everyone watching held their breath. Even Madam Molly, the only one in the hospital who could stand up to Dever, stood there with her lips pressed tight.
“Duke Arthur. If you want to raise a cuckoo’s chick, at least protect your own fledgling first.”
The wounded soldiers in the ward, the troops who had followed him, and even those who had limped over from the commotion gathering in front of the central ward—all grasped Dever’s meaning immediately.
So that guy was...
“A spy?”
Arthur asked in a sunken voice.
Dever grabbed the soldier’s chin—still writhing on the floor—and turned it. The man, lost in pain and drooling uncontrollably, was far from coherent.
“Who’s behind this?”
“Ugh... uuurgh.”
“I need answers.”
Dever picked up the dagger again from the pool of blood. The man mumbled something in horror, but Dever mercilessly sliced the tendon in his calf—a precise strike that maximized agony while artfully avoiding vital points.
“Aaah!!!”
“Can we trust a traitor’s word?”
The ward had become a frozen hell. The dagger rose into the air once more. Dever’s gaze locked onto the man’s remaining eye.
Thud.
A much weaker grip than Arthur’s seized Dever’s wrist.
Dever’s head turned slowly.
Again. Beth Jens.
Unlike her trembling hands, her pitch-black eyes held steady. They seemed to reproach him.
“What are you doing?”
For a mere nurse to stop Duke Dever, whom even Arthur couldn’t hold back. Madam Molly, who had only watched until now, stepped forward.
Beth’s hand, which hadn’t fully gripped his wrist, was sliced by the blade, blood dripping steadily. Dever nodded toward the doctor.
“Treat her.”
The doctor, suddenly under Dever’s gaze, nodded frantically with a dazed expression.
The man crumpled at Dever’s feet now seemed barely conscious. When Dever lightly nudged his head with his military boot, the limp skull lolled powerlessly.
“You need to stay alive. To tell us the fate of Nexus traitors.”
Dever walked out just like that. As he did, whispers began to rise like heat haze.
The blood had already spread to Arthur’s feet. He could only stare vacantly at the unwanted sea of red.
Beth sat dazed in a chair, letting Aines tend to her hand. The antiseptic should have stung, but she barely felt it. Aines opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
Aines, who had joined the frontline hospital early on, knew from experience that this sort of thing happened all too often.
How the name Dever Cliff had become legendary. Why everyone feared him so. She had only learned after arriving at the battlefield herself. As head nurse, she had seen things the other nurses hadn’t.
War was a battle of tactics and information. Armies and empires were made of people, so no matter how much you weeded them out, spies emerged, and turncoats appeared.
Dever was exceptionally skilled at instilling fear proportional to his abilities. His method of commanding the army was to execute traitors with such brutality that no one dared look away.
Just before Beth arrived, he had stabbed a soldier who leaked supply routes, healed him, and repeated it for ten days until shock finally killed him. That man today would likely meet the same end.
But Aines didn’t want to tell Beth that. Not right now, at least.
“Beth. War is like that. For Nexus to survive, there can’t be any traitors.”
Beth knew it too. War meant killing more of the enemy than they killed you to survive. That scum like traitors couldn’t be spared.
But did it have to be so cruel?
From behind the curtain next to Beth’s chair came the sounds of surgery on the battered man. Even if he survived, with his tendons severed, he’d never live a full life again.
Beth wished he’d simply stop breathing under anesthesia. Dever would come storming back the moment he woke.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut. Her faintly trembling eyelashes were heartbreaking.
“Beth. War is like that. For Nexus to survive, there can’t be any traitors.”
A voice drifted in through the open window.
Dever’s cigar-stained hand bore dried blood that wasn’t his own.
Beth’s face was pale beyond white, as if stunned. Whether from fear or shock, she paid no mind to her own sliced hand.
He’d thought she had some spirit with that stubbornness, but as expected.
She was exactly the fragile woman he’d imagined.
What was someone like her doing nursing in a warzone? She looked better suited to fussing over tonics for old noblewomen in the Nexus provinces.
As he watched Beth and took a deep drag from his cigar, his sharp-jawed face grew even more gaunt. His face had thinned further in just a few days.
“Dever.”
Arthur appeared from around the corner.
Dever took a few steps forward. He didn’t want her to see him.
He just wanted that frightened look on her face for himself alone. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.
“How did you know?”
“Imperial Guard.”
Unlike Dever’s unit, Arthur’s had many from the Imperial Guard.
They were badges earned through ruthless selections from childhood to protect the imperial family. Thus, Guard alumni were trusted more than most soldiers. Few would suspect someone raised alongside Nexus from youth of being a spy seed.
The Guard answered to the Emperor, making it hard to probe them freely—it could imply doubting him. But Dever had ransacked Arthur’s Guard members the moment Operation Dawn failed.
It was a meticulously prepared operation to end this grueling campaign. Not something easily botched—unless by Dever himself or the culprit.
In the end, it was someone as good as Arthur’s right hand who caused this mess. Maybe it was Arthur’s fault.
“Give me one.”
Dever handed over his remaining cigar and lighter from his pocket. Arthur sighed at the crusted blood on the proffered hand.
“At least wash your hands. Everyone’s shaking in their boots.”
Gray smoke filled the space between them.
“My mistake. I misjudged the man.”
Deep helplessness seeped into Arthur’s voice.
“Dever, I’m tired of all this.”
“Is that so.”
Tired. Am I tired now? Dever couldn’t tell. He’d always lived like this and would continue to. He couldn’t distinguish if this was resignation or acceptance of his fate.
‘I don’t take in useless brats.’
His father’s voice rang in his ears. Dever covered one ear. The hated whip cracks would start buzzing again otherwise.
The hospital was quiet on one hand, chaotic on the other. Everyone was reeling from the revelation of a spy from the Imperial Guard.
“Keep your mouths shut. Our job is treatment. Nothing else.”
Madam Molly gathered the medical staff and warned them.
They nodded, tension etched on their faces. She glanced at Beth, who had her head buried in the corner of the group.
“That one’s headed for isolation. He hasn’t woken yet, so Sophia, Aines, and Beth—check on him in shifts.”
Hearing her name, Beth jerked her head up. She never wanted to face today’s nightmare again.
But Madam Molly thought differently. This was the front lines, with the army commander and top brass. Not the tidier rear.
Even in a field hospital, she’d see limbs flying off right in front of her, heads rolling like balls. She didn’t want to raise her cherished disciple soft.
“The war’s still on. Pull yourself together. Dismissed.”
Dixie slipped an arm around Beth’s shoulders amid the dispersing crowd.
“I’ll cover for now. Take this to the laundry.”
Aines sent Beth to the outdoor laundry area via the back door. A bit of fresh air to clear her head.
The hospital reeked of blood, but outside, a crisp breeze blew as if mocking the tragedy.
Beth readjusted the basket full of bloodstained cloths. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it was far harder than imagined. From the unexpected shock at the start to now.
But she couldn’t go back. This hell might be better than what waited there.
As Beth walked blankly, a now-familiar face appeared before her.
It was that man.
His hands freshly washed in the capital’s stream, water dripped from his fingertips, spotting the sandy ground. A vivid bloodstain lingered on his cheek, and his dark blue uniform sleeve was stained dark red.
Dever, who had paused upon seeing Beth, resumed walking.
“Beth.”
Beth quickly bowed her head. Hearing her name from his lips felt alien.
Last time he’d called her a cheeky savior—what would it be now? Would he rage at her meddling?
“Dever.”
A coquettish woman’s voice came from behind Beth, who was turning to leave.
There stood a golden-haired woman beaming radiantly, as if filled with sunlight. Her blue eyes fixed on Dever.
Dever’s mouth, about to call Beth again, clamped shut.
“Long time no see, Dever.”
A perfume scent ill-suited to this place wafted on the wind. In a season when flowers had all wilted, the fragrance of full-bloom roses.