Just in case, I waited a little longer, but no strange symptoms appeared.
If anything, the man’s twisted expression gradually relaxed.
The red blood that had been dripping beneath the sofa quickly stopped flowing. His erratic heartbeat slowly steadied as well.
“Th-that worked.”
Ha… damn.
The strength drained completely from my legs.
“I thought my heart was going to stop.”
I lifted the empty bottle.
‘Damn it, I used all of it.’
Making another one would take several more days.
“Tch.”
Well, it couldn’t be helped. I’d just count this as an experiment.
After setting the bottle down, I glanced sideways at the man.
The face that had looked moments away from death now appeared as peaceful as someone merely asleep.
Only after I relaxed a little did I finally take a proper look at him.
Messy white hair lay scattered over his pale face. He was tall and solidly built, carrying the weight of age yet still looking very much in his prime. Long legs stretched past the edge of the sofa.
‘Not exactly something you should say in front of an injured person, but…’
The potion’s effect seemed incredible.
His wounds had been severe.
Bad enough that I’d genuinely thought he might die.
If it could heal injuries like that, Gilbert would probably be more than satisfied. It might even sell for far more than I expected.
‘Good.’
I just needed to keep this up.
Pulling my gaze away from the man, I stretched lazily.
Then I rose from my seat and looked back at him once more.
‘Still… how did he even get hurt like that?’
It wasn’t easy to end up with injuries that serious.
I spun around and shrugged.
Whatever happened to him, saving his life was enough, wasn’t it? I decided not to dig any deeper into it.
Several days later.
Night had fallen, darkness settling over the land.
Hooooo—
An owl outside let out a loud cry.
At the same moment, the hand dangling off the sofa twitched.
“…!”
Eyes that had been tightly shut snapped open.
The royal family’s outcast.
Lowborn blood.
Those were only a few of the countless labels attached to the House of Kazlyden. Some mild, others too vile to even repeat aloud.
And yet, despite all their scorn, people feared the ducal house.
Kazlyden’s rule over the underworld could be summed up in a single word:
Merciless.
‘Arrogance and selfishness.’
No words suited Kazlyden better.
But did that mean Kazlyden had no enemies?
Of course not.
No matter how absolute a ruler’s power might be, there would always be someone sharpening a blade in the shadows.
And it was those very people who had nearly claimed the life of the current Duke of Kazlyden, Wistons Kazlyden.
“……”
Barely regaining consciousness, Wistons frowned.
Blinding sunlight flooded his vision.
“Ugh!”
He had only lifted a hand, yet a groan of pain escaped him immediately. Deep lines formed around his eyes as irritation twisted his face. His body felt stiff as stone—moving even slightly was difficult.
‘Damn it.’
Only after a long struggle did he manage to raise one arm.
Looking down at his own hand, Wistons muttered quietly,
“So… I’m alive.”
His voice was dry, and his reaction equally emotionless.
‘This time, I thought I was dead.’
Honestly, he was surprised.
Considering the state his body had been in, surviving should have been impossible short of a miracle.
‘How am I still breathing?’
He had been poisoned with something he had never seen or heard of before.
That was all he remembered.
After barely escaping, he had collapsed in front of some house.
Then everything went black.
And now, somehow, he was alive.
“Kgh…!”
Forcing strength into his rigid body, Wistons grabbed the backrest and slowly pushed himself upright.
As he pressed a hand to his abdomen, something caught his attention.
‘Bandages?’
Fresh bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach, clearly changed not long ago. Looking closer, he noticed traces of treatment all across his body.
‘Terrible work.’
Whoever wrapped these had done a miserable job. Wistons grabbed the bandages, which looked ready to unravel at any second.
The wrapping was atrocious.
Yet strangely enough, the treatment itself was exceptional.
Not only had they dragged him back from death—
‘The bleeding stopped.’
Even his wounds had healed cleanly.
It was astonishing.
A strange light flickered in Wistons’s eyes as he inspected himself further.
The poison’s aftereffects still made movement somewhat uncomfortable, but aside from that, there seemed to be no major issues.
‘Once I move around a bit, even this should improve.’
He had assumed the poison was so potent that even an antidote would be useless.
‘Is there really someone in Proud with medical skill like this?’
Several talented physicians crossed his mind.
But none capable of healing wounds this severe.
Unless…
‘Did they use a potion?’
His brow furrowed deeply.
If that were true, then this became an entirely different matter.
A potion capable of healing injuries like his would have to be high-grade—at the very least, mid-grade. There was no way something of that caliber could be obtained in this district.
‘I’ll have to meet the one who treated me myself.’
Why had they brought him here?
Who healed him?
Had they truly used a potion?
And if they really had used one on him, then Wistons resolved to at least see their face.
Since they hadn’t killed him immediately, they probably weren’t an enemy.
Though that didn’t mean he was safe.
‘No one’s here?’
Pushing his thoughts aside, Wistons surveyed the surroundings.
No presence.
The living room, nearly devoid of furniture, looked barren and abandoned.
Was this some deserted house?
‘Did someone move in here hastily?’
There was almost nothing that suggested anyone lived here.
After steadying his breathing, Wistons rose to his feet.
His stiff muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t remain sitting forever.
He began thoroughly searching the house, though there was little chance of finding anything in a place this empty.
‘There are ingredients here… so someone does live here after all.’
That was the only clue.
Returning to the living room, Wistons rolled his stiff neck.
But the brief peace didn’t last long.
“……”
Sensing a sharp presence, Wistons held his breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three sets of footsteps approached.
And they were heading straight here.
‘Did they come for me?’
Tch.
Clicking his tongue, Wistons quietly moved toward the door.
Standing beside it, he wrapped the doorknob with the bandages hanging from his hand.
Then—
Just as the footsteps reached the entrance—
Swiish—
A sharp blade sliced past his cheek.
Wistons frowned.
As he turned, he caught sight of a faint cat-shaped tattoo.
‘Oh?’
The corner of his lips curled upward.
Creak—
The heavy door slowly opened.
A full week had already passed since I treated the mysterious injured man.
Breathing in the fresh air, I stepped into the shopping district.
“Thank you! Please come again!”
Jingle jingle—
Listening to the cheerful ringing of the bell, I pulled out my notebook.
‘Good. I bought the medicine.’
I’d also arranged for the necessary supplies to be delivered to the house.
What else was there?
I thought carefully, but nothing came to mind.
So my final stop was to pick up the cake.
“Miss, you said you moved here recently, right?”