A Nightmare in the Black Fog
That night, Canna claimed the finest cabin on the ship.
Perhaps that was why she slipped into such a pleasant dream.
“Juhwa.”
In the dream, Yeonwoo appeared.
It had been so long since she last dreamed of him that a bittersweet rush of fondness swept over her.
A man she had once loved with all her heart. Yet now, a man she would never see again spoke to her.
“Juhwa, let’s talk.”
He was addressing “Juhwa.”
“We aren’t the sort of people who end things this easily. This isn’t like you at all.”
Longing for the person before him shimmered in his pale brown eyes.
“Why have you changed so much? It’s like you’re someone else entirely.”
At the sight of Yeonwoo’s gaunt, exhausted face, Canna’s chest tightened with a pain that felt like it would crush her.
She knew they could never meet again, yet she had always hoped he would find happiness.
Then her own lips moved in the dream.
“The man I love is not you.”
The voice was so frigid it could freeze blood.
Her heart ached as though it were dying, yet the version of herself in the dream—Juhwa—was ice itself.
Juhwa spat the words like a death sentence.
“So get lost.”
She woke with a gasp.
Canna shot upright. Her heart hammered violently and cold sweat clung to her forehead.
A dream…?
Yes. Only a dream.
I thought it was a good one.
Instead it had been a cursed nightmare.
Canna buried her face in her hands, breathing unsteadily. To think she would suffer such a grotesque dream…
“Duchess, are you awake?”
Canna nearly screamed. Someone was leaning casually against the wall.
“You…”
When she recognized the intruder, her eyes quivered.
“Sir Jerome?”
Why was he here?
Canna swallowed hard. Concealing her shock, she answered with forced calm.
“Who are you? I expected you to be rotting in a cell by now.”
He smiled with theatrical innocence.
“It seems my presence does not please you.”
“No one welcomes a scoundrel who breaks in during a sound sleep.”
Her tone remained steady, but her mind raced.
What about Sir Claude?
He was in the adjacent cabin.
Given how diligently he had guarded her until now, he could not possibly have missed an intruder.
Then why wasn’t he coming?
Or perhaps he was simply waiting for the perfect moment…
“Sir Claude, was it? You will wait in vain for that knight.”
Jerome spoke as though he had plucked the thought straight from her head.
“The Black Fog has sealed his room.”
“What?”
“Just like this one. He cannot step out; the Black Fog holds him prisoner.”
He gestured toward the door. Through the narrow gap, inky black vapor shimmered and coiled.
That was… perhaps… surely…
“The Black Fog…?”
“Indeed.”
A low groan escaped Canna’s throat.
“Did you create this?”
“Yes. Astonishingly, I have finally mastered proper control.”
It was impossible. Controlling the Black Fog? She had been told it was a natural disaster.
Questions swirled through her mind, threatening to shatter her composure. Yet even as they did, her fingers moved with purpose.
Under the pillow.
She kept talking to distract him from the motion.
“You’re a Black Apostle.”
“Correct.”
Her fingertip brushed the glass vial. Canna pressed on.
“What about Miss Rachel? Is she one of you as well?”
“No. Rachel was merely a girl lost in delusion.”
Damn it—her fingers slipped and the vial slid away.
Please, please let me catch it.
The self-defense poison she had hidden beneath the pillow as a precaution.
The same substance that had knocked Orsini unconscious would sear flesh with unbearable agony the instant it touched skin.
“I have longed to speak with you properly, Duchess, but there were always so many obstacles.”
Just a little farther.
“Now we are alone at last.”
Just a little more…
“We can finally have a true conversation.”
Got it.
Canna seized the vial tightly. Pushing the cork free with her thumb, she gave a crooked smile.
“Don’t make me laugh. Why would I waste words on filth like you?”
“I was not seeking your permission—”
Now.
Canna hurled the contents at his chest.
The liquid splashed across him. Jerome looked down at his soaked collar, bewildered.
“What did you just—”
The pain arrived swiftly. A sizzling, horrific burn tore into his chest.
“Gah—aaargh!”
Jerome clutched his torso and doubled over.
Canna did not hesitate. She snatched the lamp from the bedside table and smashed it down on his skull with all her strength.
Glass exploded. Shards flew in every direction as Jerome crumpled.
“Huff… huff…”
Panting, Canna stared at the fallen man. Dead? Unconscious? He no longer moved.
“Filthy bastard…”
She turned to leave, but stopped short.
“Oh, damn it all.”
The corridor beyond the door was thick with Black Fog. Trapped—she could neither advance nor retreat. Frustration boiled up inside her.
“Grrrr…”
A grotesque breathing sound came from directly ahead.
The instant she instinctively recoiled, a massive shape burst from the mist.
Her breath froze in her lungs. A monster. She had never seen one before, yet there was no mistaking it.
It towered to the ceiling, its entire body charred black, and crimson blood dripped from teeth like sharpened stakes.
Whose blood was that?
“Grrrr… grr… grrrrr.”
The creature lumbered into the cabin. Canna held her breath and retreated until her back struck the wall.
“Grrrr…”
It halted before her and stretched out a colossal, clawed hand. Just before the blood-drenched fingers closed around her throat—
A sickening crunch of bone echoed. The monster convulsed violently.
Canna slowly lowered her gaze and witnessed something grotesque.
A human hand had pierced straight through the monster’s abdomen like a spear.
In the next heartbeat the hand withdrew with a wet slide. The monster collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
The cabin shuddered at the impact.
Canna exhaled the breath she had been holding and looked up. Her eyes met another’s.
“Madam, are you unharmed?”
For a fleeting moment the entire scene felt like another dream.
Perhaps it was the eerie calm on his face amid such carnage. Or perhaps it was simply that she had not expected him.
“Are you injured anywhere?”
Raphael asked with his usual impeccable courtesy.
“Raphael…?”
“Yes, Madam.”
His perfectly polite reply felt utterly unreal.
A monster. A hand that had impaled it. Raphael. The three elements refused to fit together. The dissonance was so violent it felt like forcing mismatched puzzle pieces into place.
At that moment—
“Ugh…”
Jerome stirred with a groan. He staggered to his feet.
“It hurts… it hurts! Damn you—argh!”
His eyes burned with murderous rage as they fixed on Canna.
“You will—!”
His words cut off in a choke. Raphael’s hand had seized his throat and lifted him clean off the ground.
“Gck—hack!”
“Madam, forgive me, but would you close your eyes?”
The request was so courteous it seemed impossible that the same voice belonged to a man currently crushing another’s windpipe.
Overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness of it, Canna obediently shut her eyes.
A sharp crack rang out—the sound of something vital being snapped. Then silence.
“You may open them now.”
Canna cautiously lifted her lids. Raphael was once again looking at her. Jerome was most likely—
Beneath.
Laid neatly atop the monster’s corpse.
Raphael spoke as though nothing unusual had occurred.
“I have lowered a small boat beneath the bow.”
He flicked the monster’s blood from his fingertips with the casual ease of long habit.
“Stay close behind me and you will be safe within the fog. Follow right—”
His words broke off.
He looked down at Canna’s hand, which had seized his wrist in a desperate grip.
“Raphael.”
His gaze returned to her face. She stared up at him with raw urgency.
“Sir Claude is in the next room. He may not be infected yet.”
Her voice was hoarse.
“Can you bring him with us?”
“…”
“I’m asking you.”
Raphael paused. After a brief stillness, his low voice answered.
“You need not ask. You have only to command me, Madam.”
For some reason, Canna was struck by the absurd feeling that Raphael had been waiting for this exact moment.
Yet the words could not be stopped.
“It is a command.”
At once Raphael bowed, deep and reverent, like a servant who had spent his entire life in perfect obedience.
“I shall obey.”