The Villain’s Aide Has Run Away

The torches placed here and there dimly lit the corridor. The wavering shadows clinging to the stone walls looked like the ghosts of the castle.

As Leslun followed the guard, he thought his footsteps sounded unusually sharp and loud. The friction between his damp soles and the wet floor seemed loud enough to echo far down the hall.

There was a strange feeling in walking voluntarily into the same prison where he had once been dragged in by the Crown Prince. Back then, he had been the one captured; this time, he was the one seeking the captured. Though the positions were clearly different, the overlap in circumstance made it difficult to suppress his discomfort.

“This is it,” the guard said, stopping in front of the door.

The heavy iron door creaked open, and the damp air mixed with the stench of mold drifted out. When Leslun stepped inside, the man tied tightly to the chair flinched.

It was Count Camilo.

The more the Count struggled to rise, the louder the chains that bound him rattled. The sound of the metal was like the cries of a beast caught in a trap. His writhing figure looked utterly pitiful.

The guard quietly brought Leslun a chair, just as he had done when Crown Prince Kailos was here.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Leslun sat down. Now at eye level, he could clearly see the flushed face of Count Camilo.

Bulging veins stood out on the Count’s reddened forehead, and his nose bridge and chin glistened with sweat. Above all, his eyes burned with naked hatred toward Leslun. He was blaming Leslun for all his humiliation.

“How laughable. A cat riding on the back of a lion,” the Count sneered. The sound of his tongue clicking echoed oddly inside the cell. Leslun did not move.

His expression remained perfectly composed, not a twitch of his brow or corner of his lips, which only fueled the Count’s rage.

“Just looking at that face makes my teeth grind,” the Count spat, breathing heavily as he shifted back and forth. The chains clanked again.

But soon, as if realizing something, he forced himself to breathe and calm down. Acting as though he had never been angry, he deliberately put on an expression of leisure. A smile appeared at the corners of his mouth, but it was merely a strange mask, an uneasy mix of mockery, arrogance, fear, and impatience.

“If you let me go, I will forgive everything you’ve done,” he said.

Leslun did not reply. He remained silent.

“I will not even hold the Crown Prince accountable. We can let this all pass as if nothing happened, so help me,” the Count added, his fake generosity barely masking a desperate threat.

At last, Leslun slowly opened his mouth.

“Why should I do that?”

His low voice carried no emotion.

“What?” The Count’s voice rose, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d heard.

“You ordered me to do many things,” Leslun said quietly. “Things I shouldn’t have done. Things that should never have been done.”

His tone stayed calm, so quiet it could be missed if one didn’t listen carefully. But every word struck like a finely honed blade.

“This time, you tried to have me kidnapped, and it backfired. So why should I help you now, Count?”

“You dare talk back to me?” the Count shouted, his face reddening.

“There was a time when I sat in that very seat,” Leslun said, pointing at the chair the Count was bound to.

That small gesture brought back old memories, and his eyes briefly darkened. It felt like ages ago, yet in truth, only a few months had passed.

Because of Crown Prince Kailos’s whim, he had been freed from prison and suddenly made an aide. Since then, time had raced forward without pause. Every one of those moments flashed before his eyes like a lantern show.

“Back then, I was prepared to die,” he said quietly.

“What are you talking about?” the Count demanded.

“I was ready to die taking all the blame in your place.”

Count Camilo clenched his jaw so hard the muscles in his face bulged and the veins in his eyes trembled.

“Everything I did was by your command,” Leslun continued. “I was ready to offer my life as payment, but why are you trying to escape punishment unscathed, Count?”

“Do you think you and I are the same?” the Count growled.

“We are not the same.”

“That’s right. A lowly thing like you could never—”

Leslun cut him off. “Your crimes are heavier, Count. So the price you must bear is greater.”

Count Camilo’s pupils wavered. It was only then he seemed to realize he had been outplayed. His bloodshot eyes flared with rage, but his voice sank low and heavy.