The bronze mask hit the wall, producing a sharp sound as it rolled away.
The face of Guaran, who had appeared, was marred by severe burn scars. The left side of his cheek seemed to have been burned away, leaving the corner of his mouth torn up to the cheekbone. It looked like the jaw of a dog.
Not only his mouth but also the bridge of his nose bore traces of being licked by flames. With burns this severe, even if his sense of smell barely remained, it would surely be dulled. Kerei’s comment about detecting the smell of poison might have been due to this compromised nose.
“Terrible wounds. That night, wasn’t it? You barely escaped the fire, clinging to life as the only survivor.”
Guaran’s movements grew sluggish in sync with his wavering emotions. The tip of a short sword tore through the wide sleeve of his changpao, scattering threads into the air.
“Don’t the ghosts of those you left behind visit your bedside? Don’t they scream at you to kill the emperor? What about your burns? After twenty-five years, don’t they still ache?”
With venomous words and skillful taunts, Zhen cruelly dug into his wounds. Guaran clenched his exposed molars, grinding down the surging emotions welling up inside.
“Ghosts don’t speak. They don’t curse or mock me, either.”
Guaran counterattacked with a fierce slash.
“You talk as if you’ve seen it all yourself, but twenty-five years ago, that night—you hadn’t even been born.”
“So what? Hatred seeps into the blood, like poison.”
He laughed viciously, while Guaran furrowed his brows with a sharp grimace.
“Yeah, poison. If it keeps dripping into your eardrums, even a resentment you’ve never experienced can seep into your very bones.”
The machete struck back against the short sword.
“That night, there weren’t any imperial troops around the village. I don’t know whose scheme set the village on fire. But—the only one to survive, the daughter of the main house, renowned for her mastery of poison, isn’t that just like a cursed pot of venom?”
The machete grazed Zhen’s side, sending blood spraying into the air.
Zhen evaded the follow-up attack, retreating a step.
“…What are you trying to say?”
Zhen narrowed his eyes. Reflected in the lantern on the table, the purple of his irises glimmered darkly.
“Hatred is something that can be planted after the fact. That’s why, to me, gratitude far outweighs any resentment.”
Disappointment flickered across Zhen’s face as his killing intent grew.
“You have no intention of joining forces with me, do you? Then, die.”
A swarm of winged snakes shot out from Zhen’s sleeve.
The snakes bared their fangs and attacked Guaran. If Zhen had intended to kill from the start, he wouldn’t have used a sword at all. He was a human poison, harboring hundreds of insects and thousands of toxins within him.
Guaran swung his machete, slicing through the snakes one by one. The severed snakes fell to the floor, their venomous blood spraying everywhere. Their blood was poison to the touch, and their bites were lethal. Yet Guaran remained alert, deflecting the poison as he pressed toward Zhen.
At that moment, someone approached the room from the hallway.
“Guaran, are you all right?”
It was Lady Lisha.
Awoken by the noise, she had come without any caution, opening the door. The remaining snakes all turned toward her at once.
“———!”
In an instant, Guaran threw himself in front of her to shield her.
The snakes sank their fangs into his arms and legs.
“Guh!”
“Guaran!?”
Lady Lisha screamed.
(The Spring Consort…)
Having been seen by Lady Lisha, the Spring Consort, Guaran knew the situation was now dire.
He could either kill them both or retreat. If the Spring Consort were to die from a snake bite, the Empress would surely suspect something. For now, Zhen wanted to avoid drawing attention. He leapt to the window and fled.
However, in his jump, Zhen failed to notice that he had dropped something.
All the snake carcasses dissolved into smoke, leaving no trace of their presence.
Once separated from their handler, the venomous snakes burned out within about ten minutes—the time it takes to quarter a stick of incense. This was the nature of the “summoned snakes.”
The snakes that had bitten into Guaran also vanished into smoke, but the poison they injected into his body remained. Guaran coughed up blood, unable to stand as his knees buckled. Lady Lisha held him desperately, calling out to him.
“Why… Why did this happen? What’s going on?”
“…It’s nostalgic…”
Guaran’s consciousness was already fading, and Lady Lisha’s voice seemed not to reach him.
“Back then, too, someone picked me up like this… The Princess… She was so small back then… Ever since that time, I’ve…”
His voice grew fainter and fainter.
“I can’t hear you. What are you saying?”
Lady Lisha, crying, shook him as she called out.
From the rooftop, Zhen listened. Judging by the situation, he figured Guaran would not survive the night.
(To poison is to be poisoned…)
Kerei had once said that the Summer Consort met her end with those words. They were true. Poison masters never die well. Whether it was the clan burned with their village, the man bitten by venomous snakes, or Zhen’s own mother, they all met the same fate.
(Someday, I too will die from my own poison.)
That was simply the nature of retribution.
