Chapter 025. Let’s Go, to the Land of Anata! (6)

Swiish—an arrow grazed her cheek.

“!”

In the same instant, her cloak caught on the arrow and was yanked off.

“There she is! The Grand Duke of Anata!”

The enemy soldier shouted after spotting Rosalyn’s red hair. At his signal, the enemy forces surged in her direction.

One of them managed to slip past Sionne and approached her.

“Rosalyn!”

Clang! Rosalyn quickly drew the sword at her waist and deflected the incoming blow.

She swung her sword and cut down the enemies rushing at her. Her movements were sharp and fierce.

But there was something unmistakably youthful in her strikes—too many unnecessary motions between attacks.

‘Damn it.’

The longer the fight went on, the more her focus began to waver. That damn valerian again.

Rosalyn, losing concentration, gradually stepped back. As the carriage no longer shielded her, she was now fully exposed outside.

“Die, red witch!”

Screeech—

The clash of metal rang out with a piercing screech. Had she been a second slower, her head would have been severed.

Clang, clang, clang.

The tide of battle had completely turned in the enemy’s favor.

“Kh…”

Rosalyn staggered backward, able only to defend herself.

The carriage was no longer a barrier, and she had to remain alert for arrows at any moment.

A few more steps back.

A few more desperate exchanges.

And Rosalyn was pushed to the edge.

“!”

She froze as she realized there was nowhere else to retreat.

Behind her—nothing but a sheer cliff.

Just as her right heel hovered over the void—

“Rosalyn!”

Sionne called her name and rushed in.

His sword sliced down the enemy threatening her with a high arc.

“Are you all right?”

Covered in blood, Sionne Feitan looked at her. His face was smeared with gore, but what stood out most were the worried blue eyes.

‘Feitan’s swordsmanship.’

That strange, irrelevant thought crossed Rosalyn’s mind as he rescued her.

Feitan’s sword style was famously distinctive.

It relied on overpowering opponents with heavy, forceful strikes—completely different from Hernia’s preference for speed and precision.

The two styles were polar opposites, with poor synergy. In fact, some even claimed Feitan had lost the war with Hernia because of that very difference in technique.

“Waaaaah! Capture every enemy alive!”

A commotion erupted at the enemy’s rear—Aaron must have arrived with reinforcements.

“Her Grace will personally reveal those who dare challenge Anata!”

The battle had clearly turned in Anata’s favor. Surrounded by forces at the front and rear, the enemy troops panicked in disarray.

‘I was right.’

Rosalyn clenched her gaze. The relief of knowing she hadn’t made the wrong call let her breathe again.

“This way. It’s dangerous.”

Sionne grasped her elbow and pulled her back.

“…Thank you.”

Rosalyn looked at him for a moment and gave her thanks. She had insisted she wouldn’t rely on a consort’s help, but that had been pure arrogance.

Sionne Feitan had been more helpful than anyone—and had saved her life.

“I only did what anyone would…”

He was still speaking when—

A glint. Rosalyn caught sight of an arrow flying toward them.

Swiish—one final shot from an archer who had stayed hidden to the end.

“Your Grace! Get down!”

Aaron shouted from afar.

It was Aaron Vanil’s misjudgment. Had he seen where the arrow was actually aimed—at the back of Sionne’s head, not Rosalyn—he wouldn’t have called out like that.

Rosalyn glanced down at the river below the cliff. Then, with a sudden motion, she grabbed Sionne’s hand—his hand still holding her arm—and pulled him the other way.

“Your Grace!!”

Aaron’s scream echoed from the distance.

Inhaling just before the fall, Rosalyn thought—

‘Did I do the right thing?’

Even now, she wasn’t sure.

It felt foolish to risk her life for a consort she’d already decided to abandon.

But it also felt only right to save the man who had saved her.

“…”

Despite the urgency of the moment, time seemed to slow.

Strands of hair clung to her face.

Beyond them, wide, startled blue eyes.

And the man’s hand, wrapping around her head, pulling her close to his shoulder.

Rosalyn stopped thinking and shut her eyes tight.

* * *

Sionne emerged from the water, dragging the unconscious woman to the riverbank.

“Guh—!” He gagged as if every opening on his face had been flooded with water.

“Haah…!”

He spat out water through his mouth and sucked in air through his nose. He could feel his lungs filling with air again.

“Haah, haah…”

It felt like he was both dying and being reborn. Never had breathing felt so desperately necessary, and yet every breath came with a wave of pain.

“Ha…”

Once his breathing began to steady, Sionne turned to the woman beside him.

“Rosalyn! Rosalyn!”

He shook her shoulder, calling her name. Strangely enough, at some point, saying her name had stopped bothering him—but he hadn’t even noticed.

“Please, open your eyes.”

When she didn’t respond, Sionne tilted her chin up and pressed his mouth to hers. He exhaled into her lungs until her chest rose.

She didn’t come to right away. Only after he pressed his lips to hers, over and over, did she finally react.

“Khah…!”

Rosalyn turned her head and coughed up water.

Cough, cough!

Foam poured from her lips before her body slumped again.

“Your Grace.”

Sionne called her again, but there was no response. He lifted a hand and held it beneath her nose.

Faint, but definite—she was still breathing.

“Whew…”

Sionne let out a shaky laugh.

The fact that he had been so anxious over a woman he once considered his enemy felt ridiculous.

But Rosalyn de Anata couldn’t die. Not yet. Not until he knew the whereabouts of Merilyn and Anna.

‘The Emperor of Hernia might promise to find them, but I can’t trust that. I have to see it through myself.’

He looked down at Rosalyn’s now-peaceful face.

‘After that… then I’ll kill her. After that.’

Sionne let out a deep, bone-heavy sigh and buried his face in his knees.

The entire situation felt too absurd, too pathetic. Even farce had its limits, and this—this was something else.

* * *

Rosalyn woke to a strange emptiness and the sharp scent of smoke.

“Ugh…”

She shifted a few times before forcing her eyes open.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

The blurry figure that came into view was Sionne Feitan.

“Where… are we?”

Rosalyn looked around as she asked.

Tree roots hung down from the ceiling, forming supports along the walls. Through a round opening, she could see a river glowing under the light of the setting sun.

“There was an earthen cave near the water, so I brought you here. It looked like the sun was going to set soon.”

Sionne spoke while still busy with something.

“Come closer and warm yourself.”

He was stoking a fire, adding more wood to build up the flames. The fire flared up brightly as he fed it.

Beside him was a large pile of firewood he had gathered.

“You’ve clearly done this before.”

“Yes, making a fire is a must on the battlefield.”

Sionne replied calmly but never once looked in her direction.

And Rosalyn thought she understood why.

“So… where are my clothes?”

She looked down at herself, wearing only her undergarments. They were soaked and clinging to her skin, hardly serving their purpose anymore.

“It’s dangerous to stay in wet clothes. I hung them up outside to dry.”

Sionne abruptly stood.

“I’ll bring them for you.”

Rosalyn watched the prince’s bare back as he stepped outside the cave. Was it just her imagination, or did he seem oddly clumsy?

Even with the fire, the chill wouldn’t leave her bones. She pulled her feet in tightly. The northern cold wasn’t something a single campfire could overcome.

Especially after the sun fully set—her teeth began to chatter from the cold. And this was autumn.

Looking across from her, she spotted Sionne’s lips turning a deep shade of violet.

“Sionne Feitan.”

She called to him, seated across the fire.

“If we sit here wrapped in damp clothes, we’re both going to freeze to death.”

Rosalyn lifted the garment he had handed her.

“Come here.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable having me this close?” Sionne asked, his voice trembling. As a man from the south, he felt the cold twice as much as she did.

“Weren’t you the one always creeping closer, even when I said I was uncomfortable?”