Time of the Blind Beast - Chapter 100

Without delay, he left the estate and headed for the crypt.

Sure enough, the slightly ajar door to the crypt confirmed someone’s presence. Ezekiel quickly descended the stairs leading underground. His heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls in a long, dragging rhythm.

“Lisanne.”

Just as he had expected. The girl with her long brown hair cascading down her back was there. She was crouched on the cold floor, placing a single winter flower atop Madam Serva’s coffin. She must have plucked it from the garden before coming to the crypt.

“Uh, well…”

Having already guessed who had arrived upon hearing the footsteps, Anna opened her mouth hesitantly, her voice tense.

“We helped her down here. Rose—no, I mean, Lisanne—was surprised when she heard the news about Madam Serva… But since she’s unwell, we didn’t think she had the strength to attend the funeral. Today seemed like the only chance to say goodbye… We weren’t planning to stay long, really…”

As Anna rambled on with something close to an excuse, Ezekiel looked down at Lisanne. Already thin, she looked even smaller and frailer as she curled in on herself.

If she was going to come out, she should’ve at least brought a blanket. Even though he had dressed her in warm clothes, they were still just indoor garments—not enough for a cold underground crypt enclosed in stone walls. And the shoes she had slipped on in haste didn’t fit; her pale, bare feet showed red with cold.

He swallowed a sigh.

“…Are you cold?”

The doctor had said it was likely her years at Milena Girls’ School that had helped Lisanne survive the bleeding from her miscarriage and the pain of poisoning during her time in the camp.

Cielsa, where the school was located, sat near the northern border, one of the coldest regions in Astrie.

He knew it firsthand from his time in Derosa—the northern winters arrived not just a step but several steps ahead of other regions. While the west and south were still enjoying harvest season, the north was often already battling snowstorms and severe cold. Lisanne had spent several years living in such a wintry land. Perhaps, without realizing it, she had learned to endure the cold as a way to survive.

Even so, in Ezekiel’s eyes, the pale and bloodless Lisanne looked colder than anyone else present. He took off his outer coat and gently wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I’ll take Lisanne back upstairs.”

He issued a quiet dismissal. Anna took a hesitant step back. Paulina looked like she had something to say, but sensing the atmosphere, she followed Anna out.

Even after the others left, Lisanne only continued to brush her fingers over the tightly sealed lid of the coffin. As he watched her lingering movements, Ezekiel gently intervened.

“You mustn’t open it.”

Was she hoping to open it and say her final farewell face to face?

That was typical of most funerals. People often laid flowers inside the coffin to honor the dead and remember them for a long time.

But Madam Serva had died from a gunshot. The pain of that moment had left a contorted expression on her face. And it had been days since her death. Her body wouldn’t resemble the peaceful stillness of someone freshly passed.

“Just coming to see her and say goodbye is enough. She would’ve been grateful. She always wanted to see you.”

Come to think of it, Madam Serva had liked Lisanne from the very beginning. One reason Ezekiel had never doubted Lisanne was because Madam Serva had found her so endearing.

She must have sensed her goodness at a glance.

His subordinates had called her actions deceitful, but that word alone could not encapsulate the devastating price Lisanne had paid.

Haunted by guilt, she had tried everything to atone. In the end, she had thrown herself into his revenge. And he—he had locked her away in a detention center, silently watching her die, stripping away every precious part of her.

She had nothing left. Everything had been broken.

The fingers quietly sweeping the coffin came to a stop. Gazing blankly at Lisanne’s somber profile, Ezekiel suddenly felt a chill settle in his chest.

Was her heart filled only with longing for Madam Serva? Or was she seeing her own family—dragged to the detention center, their fate unknown—reflected in this coffin and this death?

Right after rescuing Lisanne, he had sent someone to search the northern camp for her parents’ whereabouts. The problem was, they had no way of knowing whether her parents were still alive, or what condition they might be in if they were.

Among all the detention centers across the country, the northern camp was infamous for its harsh and grueling conditions. It was especially known as a place where people frequently froze to death during the bitter cold of winter.

Even those accustomed to northern winters, like Lisanne, struggled to endure it without protection—let alone her parents, who, as employees of the Valdemaira main household, had likely never developed any tolerance to cold.

The hope of them returning in good health had long since vanished. All that remained was the wish that they were still alive, and if hope could stretch a little further, that their limbs remained intact.

Only then could he utter the words there’s good news. If only he could see Lisanne’s face at ease—it would be more than enough.

“If you stay here any longer, you’ll catch a cold. That’s enough of a farewell. Let’s go back.”

Her fingertips had turned a purplish hue from the chill rising from the coffin. The sight reminded Ezekiel of the time her limbs had been bluish with frostbite throughout her detention. Unable to bear it any longer, he gently pulled Lisanne to her feet.

And immediately regretted it. He shouldn’t have touched her without warning, but his urgency made him act rashly.

It hadn’t been long since he realized that Lisanne flinched every time he touched her. At first, he had thought she was simply a patient sensitive to small stimuli because she hadn’t yet recovered. But as he watched more closely—while helping her eat, or tucking her in—he noticed something was wrong. Each time their bodies brushed, she stiffened excessively, sometimes even seemed to stop breathing.

He had puzzled over why she seemed so afraid, even when he merely placed a spoon in her hand or brushed away a strand of hair. Then he began to reflect on his own actions.

It was appalling. He had struck Lisanne’s stomach after she drank poison. He had slapped away the hands she used to beg and plead for her family’s life. The day he demanded her real name, he kicked stones toward her until she, unable to speak, wrote it out by tracing the letters with trembling hands.

The image of her crouching in pain, gripping a stone with her quivering fingers to draw the strokes of her name, still burned in his memory. Even back at the Derosa estate, he had pushed her away when she accidentally bumped into him while walking blindfolded down the hallway.

Except for the time when she had firmly played the role of ‘Rose,’ he had been harsh and cold to her without fail. She had been struck by a soldier’s strength—of course it must have hurt. She must have felt wretched, frightened, and alone.

In the past, Lisanne might have endured it out of guilt. But now, she didn’t even have the heart left to endure.

His stomach churned with memories rising one after another. That day, Ezekiel had downed laudanum to settle his burning chest.

“Let’s go.”

At his gentle urging, Lisanne began to walk. The moment she took a step, her large shoes slipped and flopped awkwardly. Just watching it made his heart sink. If she was going to wear shoes, she could’ve borrowed a proper pair that fit her feet. But perhaps from guilt, she had chosen the oldest, most worn-out pair she could find. It was a miracle she hadn’t slipped descending the stone stairs with no railing. Anna and Paulina must have struggled to keep her steady.

“Just a moment.”

Before scooping her up, he quickly added a word, “Just for a bit. Until we get up the stairs.”

The shoes on both feet came off easily as they climbed the stairs and tumbled down behind them. Lisanne glanced silently back at her vanished shoes, but he pretended not to notice.

The weight and size in his arms were pitiful. Her blood and flesh had thinned day by day—and he was partly responsible.

He wished she would stay in his arms just a little longer. But once they reached ground level, Lisanne moved her legs. It was a signal to put her down.

He looked around. The area near the crypt was bare, frozen ground with a thin layer of winter frost turned to ice.

Still holding her with one arm, Ezekiel first removed his own shoes and set them neatly on the ground.

“Stand on my feet. Can you manage that?”

Lisanne looked at him curiously, but ignored his request and tried to step onto the bare ground. Ezekiel swiftly slid his feet beneath hers. Finally, her pale feet came to rest awkwardly atop his.

“Put on the shoes. Once you do, I’ll let go. Take your time—no need to rush.”

He held her by the waist, keeping her upright until her feet slipped into the shoes. There was a slight hesitation, but soon her small feet disappeared into them one at a time.

His shoes were bigger than the mystery pair she had worn earlier. That couldn’t be helped—the difference in build was too great. But the soles were firm and thick, so her feet wouldn’t feel the cold.

Ezekiel bent down and tied the laces tightly so the shoes wouldn’t slip off.