Time of the Blind Beast - Chapter 75

She hadn’t even known when the child had taken root in her womb. Her stomach had remained sunken, with no sign of a new life growing within. Yet now, in this very moment as the child—whose presence she’d never felt—disappeared in a stream of blood, the pain was disturbingly vivid.

“What’s going on? Is she giving birth right here?”

“No, didn’t you hear? The baby died inside her.”

“Unbelievable. Like it’s not enough that she’s already got one foot in the grave, now she’s having a miscarriage too? Right now?”

“This place is cramped enough as it is.”

Complaints burst out among the inmates who had retreated to the back, not wanting to soil their clothes in the blood Lisanne had spilled. The room was already too small for the number of people, and now they were forced to give up space for her, half-awake and pressed tightly together. It was hardly a situation that would inspire kind words.

Her already-shrunken body curled up even tighter.

Still, since living in the detention center, Lisanne had come to understand well. This place allowed no room for emotional generosity. Stripped of any expectations for tomorrow, a slice of bread or one more hour of sleep became one’s deepest desires—this place was like an isolated island of solitude.

And for people driven to such extremes of deprivation, their own discomfort always outweighed another’s circumstances.

Lisanne swallowed the sob rising in her throat.

It was the reaction she’d expected, and yet—it still hurt. The loneliness cut deep. The pain in her chest was as raw as the agony tearing through her stomach. She had thought she was becoming a mature adult, but clearly, she wasn’t. There were still too many shadows in this world she hadn’t yet experienced.

“That’s enough! Just because you have a mouth doesn’t mean you should speak like that.”

The middle-aged woman who had been feeling Lisanne’s thin belly suddenly shouted.

“Can’t you see she’s barely hanging on in front of your eyes? If a clueless girl got her life ruined after falling for some man, shouldn’t you at least feel sorry for her?”

When the woman openly defended Lisanne, others who had secretly pitied her began to show themselves.

Someone approached and touched Lisanne’s sweat-drenched forehead.

“She’s got a fever. Shouldn’t we at least call the guards?”

“And what would they do even if they came?”

“Well… true.”

Murmurs from the women brushed past her ears.

Still, for the middle-aged women who had given birth themselves, there seemed to be a shred of compassion for Lisanne, who, without even a family by her side, had been dragged into the detention center, fallen ill, and ultimately miscarried.

In a place without doctors to examine her or painkillers to ease her suffering, the women who had experienced childbirth gave the most practical advice.

“Take deep breaths and let them out slowly. It hurts less if you breathe properly.”

She was in such agony that she didn’t even have the strength to keep her eyes open. Lisanne, her gaze unfocused and half-closed, focused solely on keeping her breath steady.

Hoo, hoo, hoo. Following the rhythm counted softly beside her, she exhaled deeply.

Pregnancy, miscarriage… a child.

The words she repeated still didn’t feel real. She couldn’t believe it. It was like she was dreaming in a daze—but whenever she remembered that the warm blood soaking her thighs was the remains of her child, she wished with all her heart this moment were just a dream.

Even a nightmare would be fine, as long as she could wake up from it someday and breathe a sigh of relief.

But it was nothing more than a vain hope.

“This girl’s luck is really rotten. Of all times, she gets pregnant now…”

“Honestly, maybe it’s for the best that she miscarried. She can’t even take care of herself—how could she raise a child?”

“Even the baby must’ve had a sense for things.”

Lisanne understood what they meant.

To be pregnant and face a death sentence or hard labor—that would’ve been even worse. Maybe it was better to believe that the child, knowing her body wasn’t fit to be a mother, had chosen to leave on its own.

But still…

She had once heard that she was a child born under difficult circumstances, and she’d also heard the saying that daughters often inherit their mothers’ constitutions. At times, she would let her thoughts wander.

If someday she were to marry someone in a normal life, she wouldn’t be disappointed if a child didn’t come right away. Since she wouldn’t be able to have many, she’d raise one or two with love and care.

Still, having gone to school herself, she could at least teach the basics without paying tuition—that was a great advantage.

But if no matter how hard she tried, the child didn’t come… then she would accept it as heaven’s will and live a life filled with other joys alongside her husband. It couldn’t be helped.

She had built so many stories in her head about things that had never even happened. Yet in all those imaginings, there had never been one where she was miscarrying a fatherless child in a detention center.

Sometimes reality is crueler than imagination.

“But is it really normal to bleed this much?”

“It’s better to bleed a lot. My daughter lost a baby once too, and they said the more you bleed, the cleaner the miscarriage. If anything’s left inside, it rots and puts the mother’s life in danger.”

Lying on the stone floor, limbs twisted, Lisanne endured the long, agonizing labor. Even if it hadn’t taken the form of a fetus, she was still expelling what had once been life. In that sense, it was a kind of labor.

Only, this pain wouldn’t bring a new life. It marked the end of a love filled with lies and deception.

***

Ezekiel sat in a circle with his subordinates. Unlike other commanders, who took the highest seat and listened to reports, Ezekiel never emphasized rank when he was with his men.

His unit, which specialized in surprise raids and infiltration missions, prioritized efficiency over formalities. They had developed the habit of quickly gathering and devising strategies wherever they could find a place to sit. His subordinates, too, spoke freely without waiting for their turn.

“Your hunch was right, Major.”

Montcalm was the first to speak.

“Strange men have approached Akenaus.”

Ezekiel had already suspected something when the men tailing Akenaus didn’t return promptly.

“We’re still on his trail, but the group keeps dispersing and regrouping, which is making it difficult. It started with five, but now their numbers suddenly swell to ten or more. We still haven’t determined the exact scale.”

Montcalm handed him a note. In case it fell into enemy hands, the message had been written in code used exclusively within their unit.

“The ones moving in and out must be couriers. If they’re sending that many, it means there are at least several dozen, maybe over a hundred spies scattered throughout Astrie. How many of ours are on them—three?”

“Yes, three.”

“Too few.”

“If we had sent more, they would’ve sensed something and never approached Akenaus.”

If the enemy learned they were being tailed by such a small number, it could backfire badly. No matter what identity they had assumed, they were still soldiers at their core.

“But Akenaus isn’t even a soldier. He shouldn’t know much. Why are they approaching him?”

Feder frowned in confusion.

“The Valdemaira name holds weight. Plus, our family has the most branch lines spread across Astrie. He’s been to every corner since childhood. He’d be useful for topographical or geographical info.”

Returning to the family was out of the question—Ezekiel’s rifle could take his remaining eye and life at any moment. And leaning on government forces had its limits. The man, so full of pride, wouldn’t want to show himself in a pitiful state.

Blinded in one eye and floundering, he might’ve seen the approach of spies—who viewed Ezekiel as a thorn—as an opportunity. In the end, the man had no other choice if he wanted to survive.

“And what’s in it for him? Why would he cooperate with enemy spies?”

“Money.”

Ezekiel nodded.

“There’s a huge bounty on my head. More than enough to settle down in Davis.”

That bastard planned to throw his woman into a detention center and run off alone to live comfortably.

Compared to that pathetic wretch clinging to life, the woman who attempted suicide by poison at least had honor. Even if that honor had been thoroughly betrayed.

Ezekiel recalled her pale, sickly complexion.

It was time to look into her again.