Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 88

Circe spoke through clenched teeth.

“Are you going to abandon her again?”

A shadow of the past flickered through her eyes.

“Like last time?”

The day the chandelier fell. That unspoken accusation, Illan couldn’t have missed it. He didn’t answer. Circe, who had just barely regained her composure, took a long, steady breath.

“They owe Calliope. She’s saved them before they won’t turn us down. We’re not asking for anything unreasonable. Just help in locating a child. And with magic, they’ll be able to move far faster than we can.”

“…Understood, my lady. If you’re sure.”

As soon as Illan gave his answer, Circe shouted without hesitation.

“Naroa! Send an urgent message to the Glayderth estate! Tell them I’m coming personally!”

“Yes, Madam!”

Her loyal maid, Naroa, quickly rushed off to prepare the Marchioness’s carriage. Circe stood immediately and left with no further delay.

Once she was gone, only Illan remained in the room. He sat in silence for a long moment, pressing his hands to his head and letting out a deep sigh.

Just then, the door creaked open and a small face peeked through.

“D-Did something happen to Callie?”

It was Carolie. No—Kaphir stood beside her too, both of them pale with fear, staring at their father with wide eyes.

Illan wasn’t used to handling moments like this. He bit his lip hard, then opened his mouth slowly, choosing his words.

“We’re going to find her. Bring her home.”

“She’s… safe, right?”

This time it was Kaphir who asked.

But Illan couldn’t answer. Whether it was honesty or a failure of compassion, the result was the same—he said nothing.

He wasn’t cut out for this. Not as a father.

His silence only made things worse. Carolie and Kaphir’s faces turned ashen white. Then came the tears.

Haa… huff…

Calliope sat slumped against the ground, covered in blood.

One of the assassins had stabbed her in the side, but she had managed to strike back, aiming straight for his head. Crunch—crack! She heard the sharp sound of bone breaking, and the man’s body collapsed beside her. She pulled the dagger from her waist with a grimace.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be poisoned.

They had fought through more than a dozen rounds. If the blade had been coated in poison, she would’ve shown symptoms by now. Maybe the one carrying poison had already died. Her thoughts were cloudy. She struggled to hold on.

She looked around. Silence. Not a sound in the forest.

But she couldn’t relax. These enemies were trained to approach silently. Letting her guard down could be fatal.

“Isaac… Isaac…”

The area was too quiet now. Still, dragging her bruised and bloodied body forward, she crawled toward him.

“P-Please… Isaac…”

Then she felt it—his hand, ice-cold. Like a corpse.

Her back hit a tree as she pulled him into her arms. His body was limp, but he was still breathing—barely.

He was cold, like he had turned to stone. She pressed her hands to his cheeks, to his fingers, rubbing them with her own cold hands, trying desperately to return warmth to him.

But even as she did, the slightest sound—a rustling leaf—made her grip her sword, ready to strike. Her senses were sharp. She couldn’t afford to lower her guard. Not even now.

She couldn’t rest. Not while he was like this.

She had to protect him. Because she was the reason he was like this. Her mistake. Her fault.

The weight of guilt beat against her like black waves.

It was freezing, yet the corners of her eyes burned hot. Her tears fell, heavy and bitter. Her wide, furious eyes refused to close.

“No, Isaac… not now. Please… not now… My love…”

Dozens of knights arrived at the cliffside.

Calliope and Isaac had traveled the entire day to get there—but the knights had covered the same ground in a fraction of the time.

There was only one reason that was possible.

“The signal came from this area! Search everything! If you see anyone suspicious, especially an assassin—take them down immediately!”

The voice ringing out in the forest belonged to Otis.

Knights of House Glayderth were with him—over thirty in total. They responded loudly to his command and scattered like arrows from a bow, sprinting into the woods.

Circe’s message had been vague—just a warning that Calliope was in danger. But for some reason, the Duke of Glayderth had smiled and immediately dispatched his lieutenant. When Otis heard about it, he volunteered to go himself.

She had protected him once. Now it was his turn to protect her.

He bit his lip in frustration.

“What the hell was that idiot doing to let it get this far?”

He couldn’t help but blame Isaac.

So, what if the man was nearly a Sword Master? What use was that if he couldn’t even protect one woman? Look at the mess he left her in.

Just then, a voice shouted from nearby.

“Young master! We found a broken carriage!”

“A carriage?”

Otis ran toward the voice. When he arrived, he saw the shattered wreckage of a carriage crushed by a fallen boulder.

He looked up—and saw the enormous rock that had rolled from above.

Now the pieces fit. He could imagine how it all happened.

There were bodies nearby—knights, a coachman—likely caught in the crash.

Blood stained his lip as he bit down harder.

“Young master! There’s magical residue here!”

“Can you trace her exact location?”

The lieutenant from Glayderth scratched his head, then pointed toward a direction. In his hand, he held a necklace—Calliope’s.

“Hmm… I believe it’s over there.”

“‘Believe’?”

“It’s not something she carries all the time, so I can’t be completely sure. But I couldn’t exactly pack the young lady’s nightgown…”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Yes, I thought it might seem that way. That’s why I brought her necklace instead. It might not be perfect, but it’s not wrong either. The signal’s definitely coming from that direction.”

Otis sent the knights ahead, gripping his sword tightly as he followed, his eyes scanning the area with urgency. They soon came upon the charred bodies of eight assassins, likely killed by a powerful fire spell. In the dim light of the moon, Otis began to imagine what she must have endured.

There were more assassins than we thought. How is she still hanging on in a place like this?

Or maybe… No. A terrible thought crossed his mind. He shook his head hard, trying to push it away. No, that can’t be. She may be reckless, but she has the top swordsmanship prodigy at her side. There’s no way…

But when he finally saw her, Otis couldn’t speak.

“The Marquess’s daughter is here!”

“Where? Where is she? Bring her to me immediately.”

“Well… that’s…”

The knights hesitated, their voices uncertain. Otis, overwhelmed with worry, pushed through them himself and looked at Calliope—then froze.

Her crimson eyes glowed a cold, bright blue, like a wild animal’s. Her lips had turned blue from the cold, and the slender arm holding the enormous sword trembled nonstop. Yet her face still held a fierce determination. She was whispering again and again under her breath.

“You can’t take him. Isaac is mine. No one touches him. Never… never…”

It was the first time Otis had seen her affection—no, her raw obsession—up close. She looked completely lost, staring at them with wild, unseeing eyes, gripping her sword tightly, unable to even recognize who they were.

“If we get too close, she might start swinging the sword.”

“Yeah… I see that…”

Otis let out a strained laugh, almost a scoff. The corners of his eyes were twisted with pain. Slowly, he stepped toward her.

“My lord!”

“It’s dangerous—please be careful!”

“It’s fine.”

As he approached, she raised her sword higher in warning. He stopped just before it could reach him. Then he knelt down on one knee and spoke gently.

“He’s yours.”

“…”

“Isaac Esteban belongs to no one else. Only you.”

“…”

“But Calliope, if you want to keep him… we have to save him.”

From up close, it was clear how bad Isaac’s condition was. Blood was seeping from his head and shoulder, and the arm where the dagger was stuck had turned completely purple. If they waited any longer, it would be too late.

“So please, let us help…”

“My lord.”

Just then, the deputy of Duke Glayderth stepped forward and said,

“She’s fainted.”

“What?”

Otis looked at Calliope again. Her eyes had lost their focus. She had passed out with her eyes open, still holding her sword—driven only by the will to protect him. Like a statue of an angel guarding a fallen god.

“…Ha. Haha…”

Otis gave a broken laugh. Then, without realizing it, he wiped away the tears running down his face. In that moment, he could feel everything she had felt. That deep, overwhelming emotion—something he couldn’t even begin to understand. She had stepped into a place he could never reach. And the man she loved… was right there at the center of it all.

“Get them both to the carriage. And tend to their wounds.”

“I’m no full healer, but I can handle the poison. Understood.”

“Also, send word to the Marquess’s estate. Let them know they’re safe.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the knights carefully lifted the two unconscious figures, Otis watched and said bitterly,

“Let’s go home.”

The grass where the two had been lying was completely flattened. Three trees stood nearby, their shadows casting over the spot like silent witnesses. It looked as if something—or someone—had once been there, and then vanished without a trace. Otis stood staring at it for a long time… before finally turning away.

The warm room, decorated in soft browns, had once belonged to Calliope’s mother. Now it was hers. Jack and Susan sat beside her, their eyes dark and heavy with worry, watching her unconscious form.

“I should’ve gone with her,” Susan whispered through her tears. “If I had been there, she wouldn’t have had to go through all of this alone…”

She wept quietly, and Jack simply placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

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