“As you proceed with the investigation, predictions often go awry, and entirely different conclusions may emerge.”

“So, you mean we should take action!”

“Yes. That’s why I came to offer my assistance so rudely like this to investigate the missing servant…”

“Starting with the missing servant? Let’s do it together!”

Before Isaac could finish speaking and convey his refusal to Ambh, who barged in before he could say anything.

“Then, I’ll just overlook the unauthorized intrusion into the mansion and the method you used.”

Facing Ambh, who innocently asserted this with a smiling face, Isaac, feeling a chill down his spine, could only nod his head.

“Hoo.”

Letting out a low sigh, Cryer, with hair clinging to his forehead, turned his head and looked up at the ceiling.

Staring blankly at the hazy steam covering the ceiling with a quilt, he closed his eyes.

As soon as he closed his eyes, Olivia’s disgusted face came to mind.

‘Continent-wide war? Don’t even say that. If it comes out of your mouth, it’s real.’

The round shoulders shaking from the shivering red hair, which passed like a breeze over the faintly closed eyelids, made him smirk as he slowly opened his eyes.

Gradually, his twisted lips gazed at the mark on his collarbone, distorted by the ripples along the boundary where the boiling water and the distorted collarbone met.

He raised his hand, but only circled around the mark without touching the mark itself.

Although the shape of the stamp itself was not distorted accurately, the rough scars around it piled up so messily that it was hard to grasp the overall shape at a glance.

After the slave mark was engraved on his body, Cryer scratched and scratched that part for a while.

But the damn mark didn’t disappear, so he tried to dig around it with a small knife without hesitation.

After attempting such an act several times, countless times, he realized.

He could never erase this slave mark.

The crimson pupils, which were drawing the mark with their gaze, began to sink vaguely into the past.

The first thing that came to mind was the sound of searing flesh.

As if the disgusting sound of skin being supported by a heated throat, the sound mingled with the magician’s repulsive voice.

Of course, this stamp was not engraved with a steel-hot throat.

If it were made of such a physical thing, it would have been solved easily by digging out the part where the stamp was stuck.

The second was the smell piercing the tip of the nose.

In the damp air of the underground closed with walls, the unpleasant smell of burning flesh and blood emerged.

Actually, the flesh wasn’t burning, so there was no way such a smell could arise, but he immediately recognized it as that smell.

The third was darkness.
With eyes covered, the only thing visible is the dim darkness. Unable to recall the past, but the darkness was not frightening. Moreover, the darkness at that time was painted more with anger than fear. The final sensation was the unimaginably soft touch of the finest fabric, which didn’t match the situation felt from the bit in his mouth.

Greta, the daughter of the sorcerer who, with force on his jaw, swept away his cheek like a snake, whispered, “You said not to get hurt even a little.” The voice from the steam-filled bathroom floor was unbearably dry. Unlike Greta’s passionate heart, Cryer had not assigned any meaning to her from the beginning until now. If one were to put a name on the slight disturbance on his emotional surface when they first met until now, it would probably be annoyance.

Turning his gaze back to the ceiling again, he expelled the moment when the stamp was applied with hot breath. The reason for the emergence of memories from that time was not different. The pain felt from the stamp was never experienced until meeting Olivia, except for the moment the stamp was applied.

“It doesn’t start with any special movements or words.” The commonality when burning pain was felt from the stamp was only Olivia. However, even if she was by his side, the pain was not always felt. He searched through the memories of when the stamp was hot, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy.

“At times like this, I want to grab the sorcerer’s beard and force an answer out.” Having already mentioned the sorcerer with the goat’s beard that had died after him, Cryer swallowed saliva. If Greta, who took his place, could provide an answer, but he didn’t care much for that woman. After all, it wasn’t to the point of death, and there was no change in the stamp due to feeling pain.

Even if that were the case, if Olivia was the cause…
Having already taken into his mouth the goat-bearded sorcerer who had already died, Cryer swallowed arsenic. If it were Greta, who took his place, she might be able to provide an answer. However, he had no intention of asking that woman for help. From the beginning, she did not hold any significance for him.

Even if the pain wasn’t to the point of death and there was no change in the stamp due to feeling pain, if Olivia were the cause…

With the sound of water overflowing outside the bathtub, Cryer rose to his feet. Stepping out, he shook off the misty steam filling the bathroom. Droplets, like ash, fell from his grayish hair as he reached for a towel and roughly dried his hair.

Clad in pants prepared to cool himself, he slowly approached the desk. Among the haphazardly piled books, he pulled out one. As droplets flowed from the tips of his hair, creating stains on the book’s edge, he sighed lightly and brushed his hair aside.

Due to the ice, droplets clung only to the outer surface of the glass, and whenever he picked up a book, Olivia would open her eyes wide, thinking it was snowing.

Recalling her, who would only gaze at him with fresh eyes, Cryer’s gaze softened beyond recognition.

In the next moment, Cryer abruptly turned his head.