I Stole The Duke - Chapter 78

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Meteor-sized rocks rained down from the sky.

Crash—!

The once-white stone walls crumbled like brittle cookies, scattering in every direction.

“Run!”

Shards from the shattered walls tore through the air, crashing down upon the soldiers.

“Kyahhhh!”

Beneath what had once been part of the main fortress, blood seeped out from under the rubble—bright red against pale stone.

“My lady!”

The southern stronghold, the White Shield of the South—Duke Ascher’s estate—was transforming into a living hell.

“My lady! You must get to safety!”

Puellini came running from the opposite corridor, shoving Eliana into a room.

Bang!

With a forceful kick, he shattered the old wardrobe, revealing a hidden passageway cloaked in darkness.

“Sir! What is this…?!”

“My lady, you must survive.”

Without bothering to answer her question, Puellini shoved Eliana into the secret tunnel.

“What about Michalis?!”

“Sir Joel, what are you doing? Escort the lady, now!”

“Yes, Commander!”

Joel, who had been standing behind Puellini, grabbed Eliana by the wrist.

“Sir Joel! I asked what happened to Michalis!”

“His Grace… Please, we must get you to safety first.”

Huff, huff…

Eliana stumbled along, breath ragged, dragged by Joel as they ran through the pitch-black tunnel. His blue uniform shimmered briefly before vanishing into the shadows.

Huff, huff… Sir Joel, please…!

Her legs finally gave out, crumpling beneath her. Salt-tinged sea air rushed down the corridor, burning her lungs.

“My lady, there’s no time to rest. Forgive me.”

Without pause, Joel lifted Eliana onto his back and resumed running.

Huff… huff…

His breath grew heavier, his back drenched in sweat.

Almost there… we’re almost there…

A pinprick of light ahead gradually expanded, growing brighter with each step.

Whoosh—!

As they burst through the sunlit exit, seawater splashed up from the cliffside and misted Eliana’s face.

Crash. Crash.

The tunnel led out to a rocky cliffside, waves of deep blue crashing wildly below.

“My lady, your silver hair will stand out. Please, wear this.”

Joel retrieved a small rowboat hidden in a rocky crevice nearby and draped his blue jacket over Eliana’s head.

“Take my hand.”

He climbed into the boat first, reaching out to her.

“Sir Joel… Michalis…?”

She couldn’t bring herself to take his hand—not until she got a real answer.

“Answer me! What happened to him?!”

“…He’s fallen.”

“Wh-What…?”

The weight she’d been carrying in her chest crushed her all at once.

“His final order… was to protect you, my lady.”

Joel gripped her wrist and pulled. Her pale, weakened body collapsed into the boat.

Hrk… Michalis… Michalis…

Her sobs were drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

Plop.

The weight shifted. Something—someone—had landed in the boat.

“To the lady!”

Joel instinctively reached for his sword—but his body froze in place, turning a lifeless shade of gray. His features were stiff and pale, devoid of life.

“Tch. So many secret passageways… Took me a bit longer than I thought.”

Eliana slowly raised her head.

“…Karahan.”

The hem of a pitch-black robe—like death’s own—fluttered in the sea breeze.

“Oh? Was this knight one of your precious people?”

Karahan kicked Joel’s petrified body.

Splash.

Joel’s motionless form slid over the edge of the boat, disappearing into the depths below.

“You… you could’ve just killed me…”

“Oh, but then you wouldn’t suffer. You have to live—live and watch all of it.”

Eliana’s body was lifted into the air, suspended by force.

“Ugh…”

Tears blurred her vision, and her eyes squeezed shut. Everything had happened too fast—too sudden. She hadn’t even had time to grab her magic cards.

Powerless. The feeling of helplessness burned bitter and deep.

“Come now, Duchess of Ascher. Open your eyes. You need to see this.”

“……”

Eliana’s eyes fluttered open, her body suspended high—far above the cliffs, close enough to touch the sky.

“…Karahan.”

Where once stood the beautiful white castle with twelve spires, now there was only a bloodstained pile of rubble—stacked like a grave.

Not a single soul had survived—not even a lowly foot soldier.

Like the shattered remains of the fortress, Eliana’s heart had splintered, scattered into pieces.

“……”

She took in the horror before her—every last detail scorched into her memory.

“Kill me.”

She begged.

.
.
.

“Riana. Riana.”

Eliana jolted awake to a voice calling her name gently, a hand shaking her shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

Michalis looked down at her with worry. Her sobs had woken him.

“Michalis? Michalis!”

She blinked rapidly, then threw herself into his arms. The familiar scent of soap, the warmth of his body, the slightly rough texture of his shirt—all grounded her in reality.

‘It was a dream…’

The nightmare still felt real—she could practically feel the pressure of Joel’s grip on her wrist.

‘Even if I didn’t say it aloud… deep down, I was terrified something like this might happen.’

“I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Michalis gently rubbed her back as she clung to his neck.

“You weren’t asleep?”

As her heart began to calm, she noticed the magical stand lamp and the stack of papers on the tea table.

“I was focused on work.”

In truth, he hadn’t even tried to sleep. He had stayed beside her, in case there was another attack.

“I had a terrible nightmare… Please stay until I fall asleep again.”

Eliana released her grip on his neck and lifted the covers, inviting him beside her. If she didn’t, she knew he wouldn’t rest at all.

“…All right.”

After a few seconds of her unrelenting gaze, Michalis gave in and lay down beside her. But not without first retrieving the dagger from the table.

“Michalis, close your eyes.”

“Yes…”

‘This makes it harder to respond if someone really attacks…’

The moment he lay down, Eliana curled into his arms without hesitation.

“……”

They said nothing more. Only their breaths filled the silence, but their minds were racing in different directions.

‘She must’ve been so scared, to have such a nightmare…’

After a moment’s pause, Michalis gently wrapped his arm around her trembling back.

‘What if it wasn’t just a nightmare… but a vision?’
‘Karahan crafted regression magic… and locked it away where no one could reach it. What if…’

Eliana pressed her forehead against his chest, lost in thought.

‘Was it because the downfall of his family hurt too much? If that’s the case, couldn’t he have just protected the Espensen family himself, instead of going to such extremes?’

“Sigh…”

A weary breath escaped her lips.

“Can’t sleep?”

His voice rumbled softly above her head.

“A little.”

After that nightmare, how could she sleep? She had dodged the “rebel duke” route only to see a “destruction ending” play out instead.

‘Karahan…’

Eliana thought about him again. His face had been different each time they met, and even in her dreams it was blurry—she still didn’t know what he truly looked like.

‘One thing’s certain—he still cares about the Espensen family.’

He had no nationality now, no ties to any city, only the name Karahan. And yet, in the magic circle embedded in the Espensen estate, he was still registered as Karahan Espensen.

‘Maybe… the Espensen name is the last thing he still feels connected to.’

Her thoughts tangled until her head throbbed.

‘I don’t know the whole story. But one thing is clear—I have to stop the total destruction of the Espensen family.’

“……”

Michalis held his wife close, her body still tense in his arms. His own thoughts were far from calm.

‘Riana’s fear is deeper than she lets on. I cannot allow this to turn into lasting damage.’

Splash!

A bucket of cold water was dumped.

“Ugh!”

It worked immediately. The man hanging upside down, wearing nothing but his undergarments, groaned in pain.

“Where…?”

Jack jolted awake.

He was in a dimly lit basement, the air thick with the overwhelming scent of mixed floral paper—no potted plants in sight.

“Awake, are we?”

A plain-looking man, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second glance, stood before him—upside down from Jack’s view.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wespa District 7, Block 13. Gold Typhon Guild. Assassin Jack. Record includes: 43 kills, 21 aggravated assaults, 1 attempted murder.”

Instead of introducing himself, the man listed Jack’s record line by line.

‘How does he know all that?’

Jack had never carried anything that could reveal his identity. His face was the only trace of who he was.

“……”

He stared at the dirt clinging to the man’s overalls, his mind racing. The wound where he’d been shot had only received minimal first aid.

‘Damn it…’

His ankle was chained to a hook in the ceiling, and his arms were tightly bound behind him. Escaping wouldn’t be easy.

“…You work for Duke Ascher?”

“Jack. We’re short on time, so let’s get to the point. Was it Freya Espensen who ordered the assassination of the duchess?”

The man—Fiore—ignored Jack’s question entirely.

“You know assassin guilds don’t ask about clients’ identities. With your intel, you should know that. Why bother asking?”

Jack winced in pain with every word. His ribs had likely fractured after that hit from the black horse.

“Cough! I don’t know any noble lady’s name, all right? I just know the client was a woman. That’s all.”

“Fine. Then you’ll at least remember her voice.”

“……”

Jack narrowed his eyes and glared at the upside-down Fiore.

Click.

Fiore retrieved a voice recorder from the pocket of his overalls and pressed the button.

“……”

The voice that came out—it was one Jack had definitely heard before.

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