Chapter 62

# 62

|

Lark raised an eyebrow at Nabiya’s expression.

That brat seems to be harboring some fearless and insolent thoughts again.

First, he summoned a coin into his hand and called out to Nabiya.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

Lark tossed a gold coin to Nabiya.

Nabiya, who had been worried that Lark might only give her a silver coin, was surprised to receive a gold one and greeted him with a look of astonishment.

"Thank you."

As Lark was taking off his robe, he noticed that Nabiya’s white nightgown was dotted with black hairs.

He turned his gaze to the mirror, examining his face, then said irritably and curtly,

"None of the hair came off."

"Oh, I’ll brush it off for you."

When Nabiya lifted the dry cloth again, Lark snapped his fingers.

Snap!

Suddenly, the hairs on Nabiya’s clothes and the floor vanished completely.

Nabiya realized that Lark had used magic to help her.

'Somehow, I feel like I understand Duke a little better now.'

So, Nabiya asked fearlessly,

"Did you help me?"

Lark replied unkindly,

"Not at all."

Nabiya, who had thought of Lark as a completely unknown figure, now felt that he was just an ordinary person.

A bit curt and a bit kind.

Was that why?

'Maybe we could become friends?'

This thought crossed her mind.

Nabiya could see the affection hidden in the scolding words of Margaret and Schleman when they criticized Lark.

If such good people got along well with him, it would be a great thing if he got along well with her too.

In short, Nabiya wanted to become friends with Lark.

Nabiya clasped her hands together and thanked him.

"Thank you for helping me."

"I didn’t help you."

Even as Lark refuted her, he couldn’t deny that he had helped the child.

'I helped her because she cut my hair well.'

He noticed Lark struggling to move the footstool to the side and, without hesitation, picked it up and moved it for him.

This had no special meaning.

"I could have done it..."

"You’re too slow."

"Yes..."

Nabiya thought it was a strange scolding as she continued to tidy up the tools.

Lark, running his hand through his newly shortened hair, looked in the mirror.

His attention was entirely on Nabiya.

'What is she doing now?'

Nabiya, while tidying up, suddenly turned her head to look at Lark.

Lark quickly averted his gaze.

Nabiya, puzzled by why Lark was still there, turned her gaze back to him.

Lark suddenly realized he had been doing foolish things and shook his head.

But Nabiya just kept looking at him.

What makes that little one so busy on her own? What thoughts fill that small head? Why is her hair silver, and why are her eyes red, drawing my attention?

'Maybe, if I had a daughter, she would be like that.'

Of course, it was impossible, but he entertained the absurd idea.

If she were my daughter...

Lark’s frown deepened as he thought about it.

'Please stop having such stupid thoughts. You’re a complete failure at learning.'

He definitely wasn’t giving a part of his heart to that child.

It was just because of those eyes.

If the child didn’t have those red eyes, he wouldn’t have had such thoughts.

'But if she stays here...'

Wouldn’t such peaceful moments become a part of his daily life? This morning was the first, but it felt quite nice.

Even the silver hair, which should have made him angry just to look at, was fine.

It was also nice to watch the small figure bustling about below.

Even in the bright space, drenched in sunlight, he didn’t feel afraid.

Yes. Having that child by his side made him feel like this would continue.

Maybe, he could even be happy.

Crack!

Suddenly, a large crack appeared from his hand, up his arm, and to his neck.

"Ugh!"

Caught off guard by the sudden splitting of his body, Lark couldn’t suppress a groan.

His vision blurred, and he staggered, but he threw his robe over the mirror to hide the cracks from Nabiya.

He couldn’t let her see his monstrous, hideous form.

"Duke!"

Nabiya, who had been tidying up the tools, ran towards Lark when she noticed his unusual state.

"Stop!"

Lark, trying to hide the cracks, turned sideways and barked fiercely.

Nabiya stopped in her tracks.

'Damn it.'

The brief moment of peace was instantly shattered. It didn’t just break; it shattered into pieces.

The soft golden sunlight that filled the room was pushed aside by the cold reality.

Nabiya remained calm despite the sharp atmosphere.

Or was she really calm? She couldn’t be truly calm and act so composed. Otherwise, she wouldn’t look like a wooden stick.

The child was making the most sensible response to this threatening situation.

...To avoid getting hit.

Snap!

He moved to the third-floor bedroom as if fleeing.

"Damn it."

He hurried to the table, clutching the cracked arm.

The sunlight coming through the uncurtained window was repulsive.

Lark, groaning in pain and cursing, waved his hand to close the curtains.

The bedroom instantly darkened, with only a faint light seeping in.

Lark took a sedative.

His arm, already extending with cracks, felt like it was about to fall off.

The brief moment of peace he had felt turned into the edge of hell.

And it was all his fault.

He was the problem.

As always.

"Ugh..."

Clang!

He threw the empty bottle, venting his frustration.

Margaret entered the bedroom, having heard from Nabiya.

"Master, are you alright?"

Lark, pressing his forehead, ordered coldly,

"Cancel the hairdresser for that child."

"What?"

"Get rid of everything. Don’t give her any tasks or any authority. Absolutely! Nothing!"

He knew this was just another pointless way to vent his frustration, like throwing the bottle.

He was just angry at his own wretched situation and taking it out on an innocent child.

He wanted to be part of that warm atmosphere centered around the child, to be inside it.

So he had taken a step closer.

Margaret said,

"That young lady wouldn’t want to see you like this."

"Shut up."

The space around Lark distorted for a moment.

This happened when he revealed his 'divinity.'

"Never mention that woman in front of me again."

Margaret bowed deeply, acknowledging her mistake.

"...Understood."

"Leave."

The bedroom door closed again, leaving Lark alone. He took more of the sedative.

Now, he couldn’t tell if he was taking the medicine because of the cracks or to forget reality.

He knew better than anyone that this behavior solved nothing.

But he couldn’t stop his self-destructive actions.

Self-restraint? Moderation? They were useless.

After all, he was already a failure, unworthy of such elegant and noble values.

"Damn it!"

I want to die.

Please, I want to die like this.

Without a next chapter, please.

The only reason he lived like this was one.

Because someone was waiting for him.

That was all.

The numbness and loss he thought he had lost everything to were now vividly consuming Lark because of one person.

'Am I being punished for briefly hoping for happiness?'

Then. And now.

Lark collapsed, as if overwhelmed by an unendurable amount of alcohol, and bowed his head deeply, intoxicated by the medicine.

Even though he was still alive.

And he kept waiting...

A voice, weak and powerless, like someone drunk, whispered,

"Please come..."

I can’t leave.