Andrew's hand shot through the iron bars and seized Sernia by the collar.
"What have you investigated? How far have you gone?! Do you want to die? How dare you speak such nonsense to me—I could snap your neck right now!"
Sernia smiled coldly, even as her throat was constricted.
The more agitated Andrew became, the more clearly she could feel him wavering.
He threatens with words... but he doesn't actually silence me. He doesn't ignore what I'm saying.
Sernia pressed forward, her voice forceful despite the pressure on her windpipe.
"Your father said the same thing at first. That no matter how desperately he wanted to save his wife, he couldn't do something like that."
"Don't lie. Who would believe anything a Kavala spy says?"
"Your mother suffered from an illness that even the power of the Saint couldn't cure."
"...!"
Andrew's gaze trembled violently.
His mother had been in poor health.
Saint Ilya had prayed for her healing several times. And each time, Andrew's mother would improve temporarily—only to relapse soon after.
Ilya had explained it with compassion and sadness.
"Illnesses rooted in the mind have a powerful force that eventually afflicts the body. I can cure physical ailments, but mental illness depends on the patient herself. Please understand your mother, Andrew. She is fighting so hard—for you."
Ilya had said that curing mental illness was far more difficult than healing physical wounds or breaking curses.
The patient had to believe she could get better.
But Andrew's mother had spoken with a dry, hopeless look in her eyes—as though despair had become a habit she couldn't shake.
"I won't get better. This pain will never end, Andrew."
Her voice, shadowed by the weight of depression, had sounded unbearably lonely.
The family didn't understand her suffering—not fully. But they had all tried their best to help.
In the end, though, Andrew's mother had allowed the mental illness to consume her body.
And she had passed away.
Sernia's voice cut through the painful memory like a blade.
"I heard your father regretted refusing Empress Kavala's offer. He sought her out again later. The Empress possesses a talent for achieving what even a Saint cannot: moving people's hearts."
Andrew's grip on Sernia's collar loosened.
The ability to move hearts...
If what Sernia said was true, then Kavala could have cured his mother.
Because his mother's suffering had been rooted in her mind.
"But it was already too late. If your father had changed his mind just a little sooner, your mother might still be alive and well today."
What if Mother were alive?
Andrew imagined it—a home where his mother was healthy, vibrant, present.
If she had lived, perhaps his father wouldn't have collapsed so completely.
And perhaps... Hillen wouldn't be sick either.
Hillen's symptoms mirrored their mother's. The same illness of the mind. After their mother died, Hillen had begun suffering from the same unknown pain.
Watching their father drown himself in alcohol and neglect the family had only made things worse for Hillen.
It was unbearable to watch Hillen dying the same way their mother had.
Could Kavala cure Hillen?
A terrible conflict churned in his heart.
If I could save Hillen... I'd do anything.
But—
"Shut up."
Andrew turned away, releasing Sernia's collar.
I will never join hands with that witch.
He couldn't do it.
Andrew loved Ronheim. He loved his fellow citizens, his neighbors, his comrades.
And he loved Callius—the King of Ronheim, who had given him purpose and hope.
To abandon them and stand with Kavala would be to betray everyone he loved.
There was no way he could live happily after doing something like that.
Sernia continued trying to tempt him, her voice growing more desperate.
But Andrew turned his back on her and did not speak another word.
Why is this so hard?
I shivered beneath the blanket.
Callius had promised I'd soon grow accustomed to Ronheim's cold. But his words felt meaningless now. I was having more and more difficulty adjusting—growing weaker and more exhausted with each passing day.
It feels like cold air is radiating from inside me.
Was it simply because the temperature was so low?
When I wrapped myself in the blanket, it should have warmed with my body heat. Instead, the inside of the blanket felt as cold as ice.
My body felt like a corpse that had lost all warmth.
My skin was pale—almost bluish. My fingernails had turned purple.
I'm worried all the blood inside me has frozen.
My body had deteriorated to the point where it could no longer digest food. No matter how many delicacies Chef Latina brought me, I would vomit them back up.
How much time has passed?
No one told me, but I was probably losing my mind.
I'd experienced it often lately—moments where I felt like I'd only been lying down for a short while, yet the sun had already set. Or times when I felt like I'd slept for ages, only to discover no time had passed at all.
How long have I been bedridden?
My mind was more tangled than usual.
Thoughts swirled chaotically—revenge against Kavala and Andrea, the need to investigate Andrew's sister Hillen, the problem of what to do with Sernia...
But even thinking required energy.
I'd been realizing that lately.
Everything felt disjointed and jumbled. I couldn't even begin to untangle my thoughts.
Does Karl know I'm like this?
I hadn't seen Karl in quite some time. There were always people around me—attendants, servants, guards.
I wondered how he was doing. I missed him terribly.
But I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do right now.
I'm going to die. I didn't come to Ronheim to die in vain.
I tried to grit my teeth and summon some strength.
But even sitting up wasn't easy.
I lay there, caught in the space between waking and sleeping.
And then—
In my dim vision, I saw a red bird circling above my head.
I jolted to alertness.
It's a message from Kavala.
Since Sernia hadn't been able to contact her, was Kavala trying to communicate with me directly?
I sat up nervously and leaned against the headboard, my heart pounding.
The red bird dissolved into a halo of light, and then words and images began to etch themselves onto my knee.
What...?
While the drawing was still forming, I read the completed text first.
"What are you plotting? Why contact me directly?"
I tried desperately to calm my racing thoughts.
But the words that appeared next shattered my fragile composure entirely.
A brilliant idea...?
More text continued to appear on my knee.
Only then did the image finish forming.
It was a map of Ronheim.
One location on the map glowed brightly.
The exact location where I had intended to place the magic circle—the gold mine that Callius had gifted to me.
Kavala had thought of the same thing I had.
I felt dizzy.
What should I do?
My mind raced chaotically—I had to stop Kavala's plan. I had to stop my own plan. I had to—
I can't breathe.
Hyperventilation made my vision blur and spin.
Lamia, who had been by my side constantly, had gone out to fetch firewood. There was no one nearby to help me.
I need to stay conscious... I need to...
Everything before my eyes went black.
"This is Viscount Crippe. I've come to convey an urgent message from the Marquis. Pardon my intrusion."
The magical message from Kavala still glowed faintly on my blanket.
But I had no time to think about it.
The moment I saw Brentian stepping into the room—
I lost consciousness completely.
The curse had reached its breaking point.
Kavala's trap had sprung.
And time had finally run out.
---