Time of the Blind Beast - Chapter 24

The pesky slumber had folded its wings and disappeared, leaving him to wake from a hazy light sleep.

It was an eerily quiet dawn. The infamous rains that frequently drizzled in the humid northern climate and the wind rattling the windows had all ceased, leaving the surroundings in utter stillness.

Such profound silence was paradoxically loud. For someone who had lost their vision, silence could be as stimulating to the ears as any sound. Ezekiel was abruptly pulled back into the pitch-black reality.

Dawn had its own unique scent. Though it varied slightly with the seasons, the spring dawn was particularly fresh, crisp, and green.

Sensing the time by the smell and temperature, he shifted his body, feeling the thighs that cradled his head and the hand that rested on his forehead.

It was Rose. She had fallen asleep with his head resting on her lap.

Even while briefly closing her eyes, she was trying to cool his fever. And so she could immediately notice and wake up if anything unusual happened to him.

“Did you know? Rose seems to care for you deeply. She’s a young woman who genuinely connects with people. Such people are rare.”

Even after assigning Rose to him, Madam Serva frequently dropped hints of praise about her—sometimes in secrecy, other times with genuine sentiment, and occasionally with subtle probing.

Indeed, Rose possessed a selflessness that touched others. It was because of her presence that he had survived multiple crises, and now, he was enduring the aftereffects of withdrawal from alcohol and drugs.

Most likely, she would continue to seamlessly integrate into his daily life.

How could such a woman appear like a gift?

Not long ago, Rose was a complete stranger to Ezekiel. If not for the incident during the victory parade, he wouldn’t have fled to an isolated region like Derosa in the north, and their paths would never have crossed.

Life often takes entirely unpredictable turns. It was simply astonishing.

“It’s alright. Everything will truly be alright soon. All of this will become a distant memory someday.”

Rose’s reassurance was accurate.

The excruciating pain that had tormented him seemed to have subsided quite a bit. Although he had only managed a couple of hours of sleep, the rest had worked wonders. It was much more bearable than before.

Following fragments of his dream, he reached out and felt Rose.

Her hair brushed against his cheek, likely because she had bowed her head while sleeping. The scene was almost identical to the one in his dream.

Yes, it was you.

Ezekiel repeated to himself:

I saw you.

Her quiet, steady breathing reached him, her exhalation brushing against his fingers. It was warm and ticklish.

Following the shallow breaths, Ezekiel trailed his hand to Rose’s lips—a feature he had regrettably missed in the dream.

Her lips, rough and severely chapped, were evidence of her exhaustion. He traced their outline, brushing over them with his hand before cupping her lips and cheek together.

Her small face fit so easily in his palm. Recalling past sensations, he slid his thumb down from her rounded forehead. Beneath the curved forehead, the straight bridge of her nose extended evenly.

Had she possessed prominent cheekbones or a hooked nose, he would have discerned those traits while touching her. But Rose’s facial contours had no striking features. Her cheeks didn’t fill his palm entirely, nor did her skin bear any noticeable scars.

Madam Serva had once called Rose an extraordinarily rare beauty with harmonious features.

Perhaps harmonious features meant that having no distinct characteristics was itself a feature.

Even upon closer inspection, his impression was simply that her bone structure was delicate.

As his fingers slowly moved up and down her smooth contours, they paused momentarily.

At the boundary of her hairline on her forehead, tiny beads of sweat had formed.

It wasn’t from sickness, as she showed no signs of being unwell. It was likely due to his body heat. Holding a man as hot as a furnace and comforting him continuously must have made her entire body not just warm but scorching.

Yet, Rose never showed it. She hadn’t once let slip even a single word of complaint.

This was the woman who had been caught in a school entangled in the warfront, narrowly rescued by his unit just as the enemy forces were on the verge of entering.

The woman who, upon hearing of his blindness, abandoned her studies to come help him.

Always calm, considerate, and devoted…

“……”

It seemed his touch had woken her up. Rose’s once steady breaths stilled momentarily.

Ezekiel suddenly realized how close their faces were. While he could only vaguely estimate the distance by the height of his outstretched arm, Rose, who faced him the moment she opened her eyes, would undoubtedly perceive it more vividly.

He could feel her calm gaze on him.

Whether startled by the unexpected contact or still too groggy from exhaustion to react, she remained still, resting her cheek against his hand.

The dawn was still tranquil.

In the extreme silence that seemed to deafen, he recalled an old memory.

Dawn carried a dreamlike magic.

He had once glanced up at a deep, blue dawn after finishing a battle.

His body had ached everywhere, exhaustion had made even blinking difficult, and the ground, soaked with the blood and sweat of countless soldiers, reeked of filth. Yet the dawn he saw lying on the dirty ground was calm, peaceful, and blue, as if indifferent to the chaos below.

When he noticed the extraordinary quiet, he realized his subordinates of the 37th Regiment were also gazing silently at the serene morning sky, lost in their thoughts.

Their faces bore the realization that this brief respite was the only chance to catch their breath.

The dawn didn’t linger long. With the sprawling rays of sunrise came the repetition of another day. He would draft strategies, lead his men into missions, defend fortresses on some days, and conquer enemy bases on others. And amidst the breaks in the chaos, he would occasionally look up at the bluish stillness overhead—a mystical tranquility that detached him from reality.

That day felt much like today. Forgetting the aches plaguing his body and the chaotic dreams that had scattered his mind, he found himself savoring a fleeting peace.

If possible, he wished to prolong this moment.

Just like this.

Ezekiel pulled Rose closer, cupping her cheek in his hand. She followed without resistance.

He kissed his dawn.

Tender and gentle, she was his dawn—offering him mystical solace.

***

“What kind of woman will marry a man like him? He’s still single, isn’t he? Right?”

After the Milena Girls’ School was narrowly rescued from the battle, the students’ primary topic of interest for a while was Major Ezekiel Valdemaira of the 37th Regiment, who had played a pivotal role in the skirmish at the school gates.

His age, hobbies, personality, and anecdotes—anything about Ezekiel was eagerly discussed. The students scavenged for every scrap of information, spreading rumors of dubious origins as fervently as mother birds bringing food to their chicks. Most of the rumors were unverified, even by the students themselves, but accuracy wasn’t their concern.

His captivating appearance, distinguished background, dramatic entrance, and gentlemanly exit were more than enough to stir the girls’ romantic imaginations.

Confined to a girls’ school in the mountains, far removed from civilian life, the students gathered in their dormitories nightly to fantasize about the man who had saved them—a knight straight out of a fairytale.

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s from the Valdemaira family. He’ll marry some beautiful, intelligent woman from a prestigious family in an arranged match. One thing’s for sure—it won’t be any of us.”

“Exactly. We live in completely different worlds. If not for the war, we never would’ve crossed paths in the first place.”

“Right, marriage? That’s a pipe dream. Don’t even think about it.”

Still, even while acknowledging reality, the girls couldn’t help but indulge in bold fantasies.

“Oh, I know it’s absurd. But nobody really knows, right? What if he’s some kind of playboy who cycles through women like crazy?”

“What? A playboy? No way. Ezekiel would never do that. It doesn’t suit him. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I heard his older brother is like that, though. Supposedly, he can’t resist a pretty face. Oh, and speaking of which—there’s a story going around about a woman who managed to stay as his mistress for a while. She said something peculiar about him.”

“What was it?”

“Well… they say he uses lemons.”