The Cursed Beast Caught My Leash - Chapter 97

“Help? Who?”

A soft voice flowed from her lips. It was not her own.

“A group of Northerners residing here in Calis. We happened to run into them, and their leader has offered us food and shelter! He is speaking with High Priest Simon at this moment.”

“With Father… I see. This could have been a perilous journey, but we truly encountered a kind soul.”

‘Theia’ clenched her frostbitten hands. The wool gloves she wore barely allowed her to feel anything.

Simon, the high priest, was the man who had taken in Theia, an orphan, and raised her with care. He was more precious to her than a biological father, more revered than even the god she worshipped. Theia had been taught such beliefs since childhood in the temple.

She suddenly noticed a young acolyte shivering violently, his lips tinged blue. Seeing him nearly swept away by the frigid wind, she unwrapped her scarf and offered it to him.

“Ah, I am fine! I cannot possibly take your scarf… We will soon be moved to a place with walls and a roof, so please keep it.”

“We don’t know how long that will take. Father tends to be quite…”

Trailing off, Theia exchanged a small laugh with the acolyte before firmly placing the scarf in his hands. Reluctantly, he accepted it and wrapped it around himself, looking visibly relieved.

Their missionary journey to Calis, a land of perpetual winter, had been High Priest Simon’s grand vision.

Even if they all perished in the face of the freezing winds, it was meant to serve a greater purpose, an immutable will of the gods. Simon had spoken as much before they set out from the southern continent.

Mulling over her adoptive father’s words, Theia lowered her gaze. Among their group, several had already succumbed to frostbite and could no longer move. Was this truly the will of the gods?

Following Simon meant unquestioning obedience, and yet, she could not shake the bitter doubt gnawing at her heart.

…But, at the very least, they had found kind locals willing to help.

Theia’s eyes brightened as she looked up at the acolyte. Her gaze, cold as starlight, made the boy’s lips part in awe.

“By the way, what is his name?”

“Ah, do you mean the leader of the Northerners?”

Snapping out of his trance, the acolyte smiled brightly.

“He is called ‘Peruno,’ Lady Theia.”

Peruno. Theia quietly mouthed his name. The wind tossed her hair, gleaming like moonlight.

***

Blink. As soon as she moved her eyelids, the scene before her shifted.

Stella adjusted her blurry focus and flexed her stiff fingers.

The biting cold that had seeped through her garments was gone. The sound of wheels turning echoed in her ears. Judging by the gentle rocking of her body, she was inside a moving carriage.

‘…So it was a dream.’

Theia. A familiar name. Searching her memory, Stella recalled a legend she had once heard.

Was she not the high priest’s daughter whom Peruno had cherished a thousand years ago? A woman said to have possessed the same Mind’s Eye as Stella.

Why had she dreamed of her now? As confusion clouded her thoughts, an image surfaced—one she could not distinguish as real or imagined. The golden-haired man she had encountered outside the Ice Castle.

His face had been achingly familiar. His blonde hair, his kind green eyes—he resembled the long-lost brother she had buried deep in memory.

But he did not exist in this world, so had that, too, been a dream…?

Suddenly, a sharp headache struck her. Pain spread through her shoulders, upper arms, chest, and thighs, like vines wrapping around her body.

It was incomparable to the pain she had felt upon leaving the castle. The anguish of parting from Islay stabbed through her heart like the tip of a blade.

Her eyelids, heavy as soaked cotton, fluttered as she trembled. Realizing she was in transit, she attempted to sit up, but her limbs were too weak. All she managed was a feeble twitch of her shoulders.

She wanted to go back. How could Islay send her away? She could not believe she was leaving the Ice Castle behind. Had she truly been wrong to seek out the priests before speaking to him?

But she had only done it for him. It had been love. Islay would never accept it, so she had made the decision alone, just as he had planned to send her away without a word.

What had Father Padro said when interpreting the oracle? That no specific tool was needed for the sacrifice of the Mind’s Eye. The ritual did not have to be performed by the priests.

Then, even now—far away from Islay—could she not offer herself for him? Could she not make the sacrifice herself?

Her mind, as if broken, spiraled toward an extreme conclusion. Just then, a smooth voice, almost like a song, fell from above.

“Stella.”

A man’s voice, one she had never heard before. And yet, it did not feel entirely unfamiliar.

After all, she had never heard her only elder brother’s voice after he had come of age.

“El.”

There had only ever been one person in her life who called her by that affectionate name. Stella lifted her gaze to the one lending her a shoulder. The brother whose face she had seen only faintly before losing consciousness.

“Alexio…”

Her hoarse voice carried no strength. Though only a year older than her, her brother responded not with words but by extending his strong arms and pulling her into an embrace. The warmth seeping into her was undeniably real.

There was so much she wanted to say. So many questions she needed to ask. How many years had passed believing he was dead? Their uncle had even gone so far as to erect a gravestone for Alexio, placing it beside the late king’s monument.

Even if his fate had been uncertain, they had not bothered to search for his body. To set up a gravestone for the rightful heir to the Largo throne—Stella, too young at the time, had failed to grasp the calculated message behind it.

She had merely taken it as confirmation of her brother’s death, locking herself away in her chambers to cry bitterly for days on end.

“Sleep a little longer, Stella. While you were unconscious, we had to give you medicine. It contained a sedative, so you must be exhausted.”

“……”

“Once we leave Calis, we’ll stop at an inn for a while. We can talk then.”

Stella parted her lips as if to speak. She wanted to ask how this had all come to be, whether Islay had known about Alexio’s existence…

But all that escaped her lips was a shallow breath. She let her weight rest against her brother’s warmth and closed her eyes.

Islay, too, had often lent her his shoulder. He would hold her tightly in his broad arms, stroking her hair. Just as she had done so many times before in his embrace, Stella reached out to grasp Alexio’s hand.

Yet, what she felt in her palm was not warmth, but something cold and unyielding—metal. Before she could even register what it was, darkness swallowed her once more. A deep and merciless slumber.

***

“You showed mercy.”

Clang. A gleaming blade slashed through the neck of a black beast. Islay cast a glance at Mikel, his ever-loyal subordinate, whose tone carried an unusual note of dissatisfaction.

Having left the castle with the hunting party, they had ventured to the mid-slopes of the northern Calis mountains to eradicate the monsters. They had just discovered a den teeming with them, and Islay had been cutting through them wordlessly when Mikel finally broke the silence.

“To whom.”

“The priests. You did not execute a single one of them.”

Islay did not even scoff. He merely drew a dagger from the belt strapped across his chest and flung it toward a distant beast.

The blade sliced through the wind with a sharp whistle and embedded itself perfectly in the creature’s forehead. With a heavy thud, the massive body collapsed. Islay flicked the blood off his sword into the air.

Mikel’s statement was true. Islay had spared the priests involved in the covert plot, including Padro. Though he had desired nothing more than to execute them, he had chosen not to.

He had wanted to sever their fingers one by one, gouge out their eyes, force them to crawl in the dirt, and then split their bodies in two. But instead, he had merely imprisoned them before exiling them to Nortelli.

There was only one reason.

“What if Estella blames herself.”

Murmuring as if to himself, Islay wiped a stray drop of blood from his cheek. That alone had stayed his hand. The fear that Stella would blame herself.

He could see how her mind worked as clearly as if reading an open book. She had gone to Padro of her own accord, believing she had entangled the priests in her plan. If he executed them, she would think herself responsible for their deaths.

She was the type to shrink easily under guilt. Islay knew all too well how far self-reproach could drag a person into ruin.

“But you have already sent her away.”

Mikel came to a stop and asked the question. The insolent drag of his words implied he found it absurd that Islay would still concern himself with the woman he had already let go.

“Do you intend to bring the princess back?”

“Not at all.”

Islay spoke without the slightest hesitation. Estella would never set foot in the Ice Castle again, nor would she return to his side.

Had she not regained the sturdy shelter of Alexio? Blood ties ran thick, unbreakable by anything. Of all those who walked this land, there was none more reliable for her than her own brother. Islay had even confirmed firsthand the formidable strength of those ill-mannered Largo warriors.

“Then why did you not strike down the despicable priests? Sending them to the holy land to live out their days as pilgrims hardly seems like a punishment…”

“If you intend to complain about the maid being sent along with them, direct your grievances to the beasts.”

“Or will you go south yourself to meet the princess?”

Islay ran a hand through his sweat-dampened black hair and locked eyes with Mikel.

Now that he thought about it, Mikel was not questioning his leniency toward the priests, but rather pointing out his master’s lingering attachment despite having parted ways with the princess.