The Savior Who Bites My Neck (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 6

The shining empire, Edenbell.

A land where, due to its climate, grains and fruits ripen year-round in every region. Thus, it has no connection whatsoever with the words hunger or starvation, and is always peaceful.

Edenbell, coveted by all.

But the atmosphere of Edenbell—no, precisely, of the imperial palace—had recently turned grim.

It was all because, once again, Sinclair Butler had returned, alive and unharmed.

If Elaina accounted for about half of all the base rumors circulating in the empire, then Sinclair bore the other half without exaggeration.

The man who murdered the emperor’s favorite concubine right in the heart of the palace, and overnight lost his position as Crown Prince.

A merciless killer. A prince driven mad by madness. Abandoned by his own father, and constantly attacked by his half-brother.

And now, this man had returned—alive—once again. Naturally, the atmosphere grew tense.

Yet, unfortunately for the emperor, Sinclair was not the type to be cowed by public scorn.

Today was no different.

“Wherever the rumors started, everyone’s already in an uproar.”

Sinclair was greeted upon returning to the prince’s palace by Schuler, the bodyguard who had arrived early to wait for him.

“What now?”

Sinclair crossed his legs with his usual expression of annoyance, and Schuler shrugged before continuing.

“Everyone is buzzing about what favor you might ask of the emperor.”

That damned favor.

In truth, the emperor had agreed to grant Sinclair’s wish precisely because he believed Sinclair could never possibly return alive.

As Sinclair kept growing bolder and more powerful, the emperor, grinding his teeth, finally sent him off to war against the enemy nation—the last resort.

[Your Highness is telling me to go out and die, then.] [It is to protect the empire. If you still harbor any true loyalty to the imperial family, go and fight with your life.]

How utterly absurd those words had been—Sinclair remembered them vividly even now.

[Forgive me, but does Your Highness believe I have seven lives? I have never once fought without risking my life.]

But Sinclair knew well.

No matter how absurd the battlefield the emperor sent him to, he had no choice but to go.

[Since you are driving me into this death trap, perhaps I may set a condition this time.] […Condition? What condition are you speaking of? I am offering you, who bring shame to Edenbell, a golden opportunity to prove your royal blood!] [Yes, in the grand scheme, it is no different. Though Your Highness has gone to every length to push me out to die, if I, who care more for the imperial family than anyone else, return victorious after risking my life, I ask only that you grant me one wish. Could you truly not honor that? For your son, who accepts this golden opportunity with gratitude and goes to war?]

But contrary to everyone’s expectations, the emperor accepted Sinclair’s condition.

Of course, he openly reduced the number of troops sent to support him—petty measures meant to ensure Sinclair’s death.

Yet despite the emperor’s efforts, the demon-like Sinclair returned alive once again.

Schuler was right. Those who heard the rumors all spoke in unison, just as they had about Melvin and Melissa.

[He’s trying to become Crown Prince again. He’ll push Hester aside.] [No, he might even ask for the throne itself. He’s shameless enough.] [But His Majesty is still very much alive—surely he wouldn’t…] [You know nothing. Isn’t he precisely the kind of man who would do anything?]

In the end, everyone agreed: Sinclair, who could never become the next emperor as long as the emperor lived, would use his wish to seize the throne.

The emperor thought the same. Believing Sinclair would scheme to kill Hester and demand the position of Crown Prince, he assigned more than half of his personal guard to protect his beloved son.

But everyone’s expectations were spectacularly wrong.

Sinclair’s wish was something no one had ever imagined.

[I think it is time I marry.]

Though stripped of the title of Crown Prince, Sinclair was still imperial blood, and the emperor’s own promise stood.

Thus, no matter which noblewoman Sinclair demanded, the emperor had no excuse to refuse.

It was obvious he intended to form political alliances through marriage with noble houses, build his power, and ultimately strangle Hester’s influence. The emperor was genuinely crushed.

…Until Sinclair spoke his next words.

[Since you told me to go die, it hardly matters what kind of woman I choose. A tavern wench, a gypsy from the street—perhaps even a crippled bastard of a noble house.] [What? What did you say?] [It doesn’t matter, does it? If my wife has a flaw, it is most convenient for Your Highness.]

“The rumor that I wished to marry Elaina has not yet spread, it seems.”

“It appears not. But it won’t last long. Within days, the entire empire will be abuzz.”

Schuler gave a faint smile at the obvious outcome.

“So, did the conversation go well, Sinclair?”

Then, in a voice now heavy with worry, unlike moments before, he asked:

“Did you deliver the betrothal letter respectfully?”

Schuler knew better than anyone what manner of man his lord was. Hence, his anxious inquiry. Yet there was no reply.

I should have gone with him. Schuler regretted it too late—but the water was spilled.

“How did the task I assigned go?”

“Oh, here it is.”

Sinclair, who had been lost in thought, turned his attention back.

What Schuler offered was a neatly organized stack of documents.

Sinclair took them quietly and began reading slowly.

– Elaina’s mother entered the Asweld household as a concubine, but died of illness when Elaina Asweld was four years old.

“…”

– Investigation revealed rumors at the time that she had not died of illness, but had been poisoned by the countess—but no proof could be found.

“You were right, Sinclair. She was said to have become a burden to the Asweld household at such a young age.”

Schuler clicked his tongue sympathetically, but Sinclair said nothing, continuing to read.

Shortly after, his gaze halted at…

– At approximately seven years of age, her right leg was permanently injured. Yet the exact cause remains unknown.

“People have consistently whispered about it. Some say she was beaten by the drunken count and fled, then fell down the stairs. Others say Layla Asweld and the countess conspired to break her leg with a club.”

“…”

“Without hearing it from her own lips, we cannot know the true truth. But one thing is certain: after her leg injury, Elaina Asweld became an entirely different person. Exactly as she is now.”

Schuler looked at her with pity.

“Before, she was, for her age, quite lively and cheerful. Truly…”

Continuing his report, yet receiving no response, Schuler narrowed his eyes and quietly waited for his lord’s reply.

“No.”

But the reply was difficult to comprehend.

“Pardon?”

“It was not because of the Asweld family that she ended up this way.”

What on earth did that mean? Schuler looked utterly bewildered, but Sinclair had already laid down the report. Then he looked up at Schuler and spoke again.

“Leave me. I need to rest.”

“Oh, yes.”

Even Schuler had questions about this marriage.

He could not fathom why Sinclair would make such a choice, squandering his chance to ask the emperor for a favor. Nor could he understand why he would choose Elaina—a woman who seemed to offer nothing at all.

But Schuler could not press further. The Sinclair before him seemed somehow…

Unusually displeased.

And suddenly.

Schuler knew well: when Sinclair was like this, it was best to obey quietly.

“Then I shall take my leave, Sinclair. Rest well.”

With a respectful bow, he stepped away carefully.

Soon, a heavy silence, like lead, settled over the spacious room. Left alone, Sinclair clenched his lips and stared at the reports Schuler had placed on the table.

[So, are you planning to run away? With a leg like that, it’s impossible.]

Then he recalled the words he had spoken to Elaina.

And again…

That leg.

Unlike the healthy one beside it, its muscles subtly wasted.

The frail, barely visible limb beneath the worn hem of her dress.

Over that pitiful leg of Elaina’s, the plump, perfectly healthy legs of a child overlapped.

And simultaneously, the leg, jammed tightly without a single gap between massive rocks, flashed past.

[Don’t leave me alone…]

Even the desperate scream echoed.

[Help me, Len!]

“Damn it.”

Sinclair muttered a brief curse, then screwed his face into a grimace, closing his eyes tightly.

As if believing that, by doing so, he could escape the memories of the past.