The Doll's Tears
Upon reaching the hunting grounds, Orsini leaped from his horse before it had even stopped.
This place is in chaos.
He could feel them—presences hidden in the treetops, behind bushes, in every conceivable nook and cranny.
Right on cue, a figure emerged from the opposite side of the clearing.
It was a man wearing a golden butterfly mask. A black gentleman’s top hat sat on his head, and his perfect tailcoat made it look as though he had stepped straight out of a lavish party.
“Hello, Lord Orsini. Have you come looking for Canna?”
Orsini stared at him in silence.
The gentleman in the golden butterfly mask.
He was the Black Apostle who had first appeared three years ago. The Addis knights had taken to calling him Butterfly Mask.
“No. I came here to kill you, you bastard.”
Butterfly Mask was the most dangerous of the Black Apostles, the one his father Alexandro was currently hunting with everything he had.
Having the man appear before him like this—wasn’t that lucky?
“Wait, before you draw your sword, at least listen to what I—”
Orsini didn’t wait.
One powerful leap brought him directly in front of the man. His sword slashed forward, but the blade passed through nothing but a hazy afterimage.
An illusion, as expected.
The Black Apostles’ bizarre sorcery grew more sophisticated by the day—especially over the last three years.
Good. This works out perfectly.
It really had been worth coming.
Butterfly Mask or whatever the hell he called himself—Orsini would rip that bastard’s mask off, beat the information out of him, and squeeze him dry.
But first, he would have to slaughter the small fry.
Orsini sprang upward. He kicked off a tree trunk, seized a thick branch with one hand, and hauled himself into the canopy.
“Hurk!”
A Black Apostle had been hiding there. The man recoiled in terror at Orsini’s sudden appearance, but a brutal kick sent him plummeting to the ground.
With a sickening crunch, the Black Apostle’s neck twisted at an unnatural angle. He died instantly.
Orsini dropped down at once. The moment his boots hit the dirt he surged forward, yanking another man violently from the underbrush.
“W-wait—”
Crack!
Orsini snapped the Black Apostle’s neck and hurled the severed head backward. It rolled across the ground like a ball, tumbling until it thudded against a tree trunk and stopped.
“……”
The entire hunting ground fell deathly still.
The thick, choking fear radiating from the hidden Black Apostles crawled across Orsini’s skin. He slowly wiped the blood from his cheek and turned around.
The shimmering illusion of Butterfly Mask had appeared once more.
“Orsini Addis, let’s be honest. You’re not human at all, are you? You’re a wild beast.”
The masked man shook his head with a sigh.
“Shouldn’t you be asking where Canna is first?”
“What the fuck would I know about where that filth is?”
Was Canna even here at all?
Orsini was skeptical. He felt ridiculous for rushing here without fully understanding the situation. He had simply charged forward, driven by the one-hour deadline those bastards had imposed.
That was when it happened.
“Aaaaaaaaagh!”
A blood-curdling scream tore through the hunting grounds. It came from far away, yet Orsini heard it with perfect clarity.
That voice…
Canna.
The moment the realization hit, he felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body. Butterfly Mask smiled sweetly.
“Poor, poor Canna.”
“…What the hell did you do?”
“I cut off one of her fingers.”
What? A finger?
“Every time you act violently, I intend to cut off another one of Canna’s fingers.”
Butterfly Mask’s voice dripped with amusement.
“I was trying to tell you that earlier, but you drew your sword first. You really should have listened.”
He clapped his hands as if a new idea had struck him.
“Oh, that’s right—you pointed your sword at me earlier too, didn’t you? Cut off another finger.”
“Kyaaaaaaaah!”
Almost immediately, Canna’s scream echoed from somewhere deep in the forest.
Yet Orsini’s mind remained coldly rational.
Would Canna really scream like that?
Impossible.
Canna was vicious to her core. She was the kind of woman who would grit her teeth even if her throat were being slit open while she was still alive. There was no chance she would scream so easily.
Therefore, it could not be her.
Someone was imitating her voice.
Still… what if. What if, by some impossible chance, it really was Canna?
Goddammit.
Fire sparked in Orsini’s eyes. Even if it truly was her, she had brought this upon herself. He had warned her it was dangerous. He had tried to stop her from coming. Yet she had still walked into the trap with her own two feet.
“Lord Orsini, so if you would just remain quiet—”
“Remain quiet?”
“Yes. If you want to save Canna, stay obediently still.”
The moment Butterfly Mask finished speaking, black smoke shot toward Orsini from behind like an arrow. He simply twisted his sword backward and deflected it all.
At the same time, smoke writhed up from beneath his feet. He lifted his boot and slammed it down as if crushing vermin.
Pure white holy power erupted from the point of impact and devoured every trace of the black haze.
There was no need for further conversation.
Orsini charged forward, dragging out the Black Apostles who had been irritating him from the shadows. He cut them down, again and again.
“Orsini…”
Then a voice like a sob drifted from behind him.
Only then did Orsini stop his slaughter. He lowered his blood-drenched sword and slowly turned.
There she was.
Canna stood bound in the arms of a man wearing a black cloak. Blood dripped steadily from her severed finger as she wept.
“Orsini.”
She called his name through her tears.
“It hurts so much, Orsini. Please save me.”
Orsini’s face settled into a calm, stony mask. His voice was rigid.
“You’re not Canna.”
“O-Orsini.”
“Canna would never ask me for help.”
Canna hated and loathed him more than anyone else in the world. There was no way she would ever beg someone like him.
But then again… would she really not?
Wasn’t Canna the kind of woman who would do anything to achieve her goals? Wasn’t she the kind of woman who could kiss him if she deemed it necessary?
“Drop your sword, Orsini Addis.”
The Black Apostle holding a dagger to Canna’s throat issued a low warning.
“Then walk quietly five steps forward. If you don’t obey—”
“Ugh!”
“—I’ll slit her throat.”
The dagger pressed deeper into Canna’s neck. Orsini watched the scene in silence.
It was fake.
No matter how he looked at it, that was fake.
There was no way Canna would wear such a pitiful expression, crying helplessly while waiting for someone to save her.
But what if.
What if it was real?
Clang!
His body chose before his mind could.
Strength drained from his fingers. The sword fell. It was the first time he had ever dropped his weapon in front of an enemy.
He walked obediently to the spot the Black Apostle had demanded.
The instant he took the fifth step, the ground began to tremble violently.
Black fog surged upward from beneath his feet like geysers. It crawled up his legs, devouring him inch by inch.
He stared down at it with dead eyes, then lifted his gaze to Canna once more.
The sight of her tear-streaked cheeks was utterly repulsive.
Whether she was real or fake, he never wanted to see that woman cry.
“Pathetic. Stop sniveling, you filth.”
It might be real. But it was probably fake.
If this was a gamble, he would have bet everything on it being fake.
Yet what was at stake wasn’t money. It was Canna. The woman who would vanish forever the moment he lost.
That was why he could not ignore even the slightest possibility. Orsini laughed at his own weakness. Looking at the sobbing figure, he spoke softly.
“Close your eyes.”
Whether you’re real or fake.
“Don’t watch this, you idiot.”
I don’t want to show you something this horrible.
Thud!
The next instant, the black fog pierced straight through his stomach.
Blood gushed out in a violent spray. Searing agony exploded through him. Dark red blood burst from Orsini’s mouth.
Thud. Thud. Thud!
One after another, the spears of fog impaled him—through his thighs, stomach, arms, shoulders, and finally the nape of his neck. Dozens of black lances transfixed his body.
His knees gave out. All strength fled his limbs.
He collapsed helplessly onto the ground.
Death came swiftly. Orsini could feel it. He had only seconds left.
Gathering the last of his strength, he raised his eyes.
Canna was staring down at him. She had stopped crying. She no longer pleaded. The moment he saw that doll-like, lifeless expression, he understood the truth.
It really was fake.
As expected, that thing was a fake.
The realization brought an absurd sense of relief.
At least Canna’s fingers would be safe…
“……”
In the next breath, Orsini’s pupils dilated wide.
The light in his eyes died. They sank into pitch-black darkness.
When Orsini’s breathing ceased, the watching Black Apostle approached cautiously.
He held a hand beneath the fallen man’s nose.
No breath.
Then he placed his hand over the broad chest.
No heartbeat.
“He’s dead.”
The Black Apostle burst into laughter.
“Orsini Addis is dead!”
There had been no trap.
“I’m sorry for getting lost on the way. I only started this job recently, so…”
It had simply been a minor error by the newly hired coachman.
Canna returned safely to the lord’s castle.
Why didn’t anything happen?
Canna gazed down at the sleeping Yeonwoo.
It can’t possibly not be a trap.
A terrible anxiety gnawed at her. There was no way events would unfold this smoothly.
Or perhaps…
Maybe the target of this trap had never been her at all?