Blood
"Debt must always be repaid—even to strangers."
It was the arm that had struck down the hydra threatening to devour Medea.
She'd thought the mercenary had avoided the creature's bite—that he'd merely severed its head and walked away unscathed. But now, staring at the blackened veins spreading from the wound, she realized the truth.
He *had* been bitten.
Hydra venom was notorious. A single drop could kill a grown man in seconds. Contact alone was lethal.
Is this man inhumanly strong, or just inhumanly foolish?
He'd fought off not only the hydra but also the gunmen pursuing them—all while poisoned. There was also the gash on his shoulder where she'd struck him during their confrontation in the rain.
Medea couldn't fathom how he'd moved so effortlessly until now.
"I need to extract the poison."
She tore strips from her clothing, binding the wound tightly, and prepared to draw out the venom.
"Don't trouble yourself, Princess."
He shook his head weakly.
"My body doesn't take poison. I'm merely... tired. The wound will heal. It just looks worse than it is."
The curse of primordial darkness that ran through his veins had already begun consuming the hydra's venom. Though the conflicting energies triggered a sudden seizure, Cesare knew the poison wouldn't kill him.
"Princess, how did you know about that passage?"
Medea didn't answer. Cesare, sensing he wouldn't get a response easily, changed tactics.
"Leave me. Get out on your own. The gunmen are persistent—watch your back."
Even injured and barely conscious, his tone remained imperious. Ordering her around as though he had every right.
"I see you're confident you'll survive here in that condition."
Her voice was cool, measured.
The gunmen were clearly targeting this man specifically.
Cesare laughed—a rough, pained sound.
Ignoring his protests, Medea tied cloth strips around his hydra-bitten arm and the spear wound on his shoulder.
Cesare found it peculiar. A princess who'd never worked a day in her life, treating wounds with the practiced familiarity of a battlefield surgeon.
Beyond that, the sensation of her small hands grazing his skin was unnervingly vivid.
He felt heat rise to his face like an embarrassed adolescent.
"I said I didn't need it."
He tried twisting away, but his stiffened body wouldn't cooperate. His relaxed expression darkened.
If the seizure returns now... I don't want her to see me like that.
Then his thoughts scattered, and he lost consciousness entirely.
"Acares?"
Medea called to him. His eyes—which should have glittered with arrogance—remained tightly shut.
She pressed her fingers to his neck. A faint pulse throbbed beneath her touch. He'd merely lost consciousness from his injuries.
What do I do?
Should she really leave him here?
Medea hesitated.
If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have been poisoned.
This mercenary could have simply let the hydra tear her apart. But he hadn't.
Despite threatening to strangle her, despite his hostility—he'd protected her. Whatever his reasons, the fact remained: she owed him a debt.
"..."
Medea bit her lip.
Aside from her family and Peleus, this mercenary was the first man who'd ever tried to shield her.
"Medea, run! It's too dangerous—get back!"
Jason's voice echoed in her memory.
"Are you all right? That was close. You should be more careful, Medea."
He only lived with his mouth, that bastard.
Jason, her former husband, had always saved himself first whenever they encountered danger on their expeditions.
Once, when a monstrous beast ambushed them, Jason had fled—abandoning their son Lian without a second thought.
From that day forward, Medea never let her guard down regarding Lian's safety.
Prince Jason, renowned for his generosity and kindness, had revealed his true nature in those moments. Beneath the glittering reputation, he valued his own life above everything—even his family.
Compared to him, this mercenary Acares could almost be called honorable.
"How pathetic."
Medea let out a bitter laugh.
No matter who she compared her wretched ex-husband to, it only confirmed how catastrophically she'd misjudged him.
Lian, if only your mother had protected you better...
She thought of her lost child, then forced herself to stop. This wasn't the time for grief.
"..."
Medea looked down at the unconscious mercenary.
Not just a mercenary. The true leader of Facade.
Setting aside the debt, if word spread that she'd abandoned their leader like this, she had no idea how Facade might retaliate—against her, and by extension, the royal family.
One must know which cards to discard and which to keep. Right now, I have good reason to keep him alive.
Medea scanned the alley.
Beside the passage they'd entered stood a shabby house. Peering through the broken window, she saw the interior was empty. An abandoned dwelling, by the look of it.
*Clink.*
A faint metallic sound echoed through the quiet alley as Medea climbed over the low fence with practiced ease.
If Duke Claudio saw this, he'd be appalled—a princess breaking into an empty house like a common thief.
After a moment, Medea opened the door and dragged Cesare's considerable weight inside.
The door shut with a heavy scrape of stone against wood.
The street fell silent once more.
*Bang! Bang!*
"Search every house... Open the doors..."
Voices and footsteps echoed through the streets.
They've already tracked us here.
Medea steadied her breathing and laid the mercenary on what passed for a bed—little more than a wooden frame.
He was so tall his legs hung over the edge. She covered him with a worn blanket and piled dusty cloth beside him, arranging everything so he resembled a heap of stored luggage.
Searching the room, she found women's clothing. Medea quickly dusted herself off and pulled the garments over her dress, stuffing extra fabric underneath to bulk out her silhouette.
She smeared soot from the cold fireplace across her face and tousled her hair into disarray.
The reflection in the tarnished mirror showed a weary commoner woman staring back.
As she checked where Cesare lay hidden, she froze.
The smell. Blood. His injuries...
In an empty house like this, the scent would be unmistakable. The searchers would notice immediately.
We'll be discovered.
*Bang! Bang!*
The sounds of doors opening and closing drew nearer.
They were checking every house on the street above.
"..."
Medea mentally reached out to Neril, but even if her familiar received the message, it would take time to arrive. And she couldn't risk Neril confronting the searchers alone.
Her hesitation lasted only a moment.
*Slash!*
Medea drew the blade across her palm.
She quickly wrapped the wound with a nearby cloth. White fabric turned crimson almost instantly.
*Bang! Bang!*
Someone pounded on the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Royal Guard! We're pursuing an escaped prisoner—open the door!"
*Bang! Bang!*
Medea positioned herself near the entrance and called out in a weak, trembling voice.
"I'm terribly sorry, but my husband isn't home at the moment. If I could just—"
"We're searching for a fugitive. If you don't want to be arrested for harboring a criminal, open this door and cooperate with official business. Now."
She unlatched the door.
A man wearing a guard's armband looked down at her with cold suspicion. His eyes swept past her, scanning the shabby interior.
"Oh my, what trouble you must face in your duties. I wish I had something to offer you, but as you can see, we have so little..."
She wrung her hands nervously.
"Did you see anyone suspicious recently? Tall, agile—likely injured and in poor condition."
The guard's gaze lingered on the room's corners, searching for inconsistencies.
"I'm afraid not, sir. I've been so focused on finishing tomorrow's work, I haven't noticed anything outside."
Medea blinked innocently.
He's found nothing. Good.
The guard turned to leave—then stopped.
His body went rigid.
The faint, unmistakable scent of blood drifted through the air.
Those deadly eyes swept the room again, then fixed on Medea with renewed intensity.
"W-what is it...?"
She feigned confusion, letting color rise to her cheeks.
The guard's gaze dropped to her hands—to the bloodstained cloth wrapped clumsily around her palm.
"What is that wound?"
"Oh, this? I cut myself earlier while trimming fabric for—"
"Unwrap it. Show me."
"You might find it unpleasant to look at. It's quite ugly—"
"I said unwrap it. Now!"
Medea's fingers moved slowly toward the blood-soaked bandage.
One wrong move, and both she and the unconscious mercenary would be discovered.
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