Chapter 4. Your Happiness

The military faction, led by the undefeated veteran Marquis Dottney and the rising young general Neumonte, toppled the incompetent royal family in a bloody revolution.

Upon securing victory, Marquis Dottney restructured the political system into a republic and installed himself as its Consul.

Consul Dottney was a man with a precise vision. Truly, he was someone who could not be considered ordinary. His decisiveness and drive were undeniable, and he distributed his newfound power with meticulous efficiency.

It was a stormy hundred days.

The newly formed cabinet began dismantling the very foundation of the republic. They tore up planks that had been rotting for centuries, unleashing a stench and a swarm of sewer rats.

As the Inglaberry Republic groaned and shuddered through the growing pains of transformation, Neumonte was appointed Minister of Defense.

Despite his new title, the young maverick was still called “General” rather than “Count” or “Minister,” regardless of his own wishes.

“To let new flesh grow, you must first excise the rot.”

This slogan, borrowed from somewhere, became the rallying cry for a large-scale purge.

Neumonte didn’t hesitate to cut out even parts of himself. With an iron will, he eradicated any underlings who could sow the seeds of corruption or rebellion.

There was undoubtedly a grand ideal behind his actions. However, for a man who had clawed his way up from the very bottom, sudden power and honor were both exhilarating and burdensome.

Naturally sensitive by nature, he developed severe anxiety. His personality grew harsher, and those who valued their lives over their loyalty quietly left his side.

The only one who stayed was his faithful “dog.”

Nexiard Yul.

But loyalty didn’t exempt Nexiard from his superior’s hysterics. On the contrary, he endured Neumonte’s volcanic rages and violent outbursts alone.

Around this time, Nexiard began undertaking missions that would normally require an elite unit. He was likely returning from such a task now—one involving the extermination of a barbarian tribe entrenched in the Rugato Mountains.

In the original story, Nexiard had decimated the Red Hawk Tribe, nearly driving them to extinction. Yet, his delayed return earned him punishment instead of praise.

He had been confined to a solitary cell so small he had to curl up just to close the door. For a week, he had nothing to drink—not even a drop of water—as he reflected on his supposed failure.

‘It’s so unfair…’

I had been furious at the injustice Nexiard endured. I couldn’t accept the merciless end he faced in the story.

Maybe I had projected my own life onto his tragic one. I wanted him to be happy. Perhaps because I wanted that for myself, too.

‘Why does misfortune always seem to invite more misfortune?’

The landscape stretched out like a frozen white sea.

In the middle of it, Nexiard was gasping for breath, an anomaly in the pristine scene. Like a fish yanked out of water, his lips opened and closed, spurting black blood. Poisoned barbarian arrows had pierced his organs, contaminating his blood.

I knelt beside him, gently shaking his shoulders. His body was already succumbing to paralysis. Only his fierce, wolf-like blue eyes rolled toward me.

His cracked lips parted weakly, the sound barely audible.

“Woman… run…”

In that moment, it felt like lightning struck the crown of my head. Even as he lay dying, used and discarded, he was worried about a woman who had nothing to do with him.

Even if it was a mechanical display of kindness… Sometimes, it wasn’t grand ideals or lofty missions that moved a frozen heart, but the smallest flicker of warmth in the darkness.

I made a decision.

To live.

I would survive.

Even if my first life had been miserably wretched, even if this new life was equally uncertain.

I would live—cowardly, shamefully, stubbornly. I would survive no matter what.

Snowflakes began to fall, fat and soft.

“No…”

I tilted my head back to gaze at the distant sky. It loomed white and indifferent, like a plastered wall, unmoved by human tragedy. I wiped my hot, tear-streaked face with my dry, chapped hands. Nexiard’s harsh, labored breaths echoed in the still air, stirring my motionless heart.

This could be my last chance to hold onto life.

“I’ll save you.”

I said, my voice trembling.

Then, almost like a mantra, I whispered again, “I’ll make you happy.”

It was the same incantation Mine had once whispered to save herself in prison. At its core, it was a plea for happiness.

In the end, I wanted to be happy, too.

❖　❖　❖

In the deep mountains, there was no other cabin to take refuge in, so I stayed in the Kimbers’ home.

Just moving Nexiard to the bed felt like it took half a day. A room I’d never thought of as small before seemed cramped and stifling when occupied by a man built like a wolf.

I cleaned up the wrecked house, scrubbing away bloodstains and tidying the destruction. Every time I stumbled upon traces of the Kimbers—Mrs. Kimber’s favorite blanket, now marked with muddy footprints—I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up.

Once I had hastily put the house in order and returned to the room, Nexiard was still unconscious.

“…Is he dead?”

Leaning over, I held a hand under his sharp nose.

“…”

There it was—faint, whistling breaths that sounded like they could stop at any moment. His vitality was tenacious.

I boiled herbs I’d found in a cupboard. It was the same recipe Mrs. Kimber had used on me. I pried open his lips with a brass spoon, letting the murky green liquid trickle into his mouth.

“Ugh… mmm.”

“No, you can’t spit it out.”

The moment the bitter concoction touched his tongue, he coughed instinctively. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I put on my sternest expression.

“You have to drink it all.”

“Cough… cough…”

I soothed his chest with my hand as it heaved violently, calming him enough to pour in another spoonful. It was a painstaking process.

“There. All done…”

Now that the medicine was in him, it was time to check his injuries. His massive body loomed before me. I swallowed dryly. The bed creaked under his weight like it might give out at any moment.

Nexiard wasn’t just an elite soldier. He was a legend, renowned for his skill alone in an elite covert unit that handled the dirtiest missions. His broad shoulders seemed impossibly wide, his hands and feet massive like those of a mountain beast.

“I need to treat your wounds.”

His black hair, matted with blood, sweat, and dirt, clung to his forehead and cheeks, yet even that didn’t diminish his beauty.

Cautiously, I reached out and brushed the hair away from his forehead. My fingers traced the harsh slant of his eyes and his thick lashes. As I touched his face, his sharp nose twitched slightly, as if tickled. Startled, I drew back as quickly as if I’d been caught playing with fire.

“I-I’m just trying to change your clothes.”

“…”

“If I don’t, the fabric might stick to your skin and lead to a bigger problem.”

“…”

“So, I’ll… get started. Don’t get the wrong idea…”

It was ridiculous to explain myself to someone who couldn’t hear me, but I felt compelled to do so. Taking a deep breath, I steeled my nerves. Nexiard’s life was hanging by a thread.

I carefully cut away the fabric that had adhered to his skin, the sound of scissors slicing through cloth mixing with the howling wind rattling the cabin door. As I worked, scarred flesh was gradually revealed.

His torso was a map of old wounds. His abdomen bore a gash so deep it resembled overripe fruit that had split open, and his muscles—hardened from systematic training—were riddled with injuries. Not a patch of smooth skin remained. His body bore bruises of every hue, from fresh purple to a sickly green, as if it had been a canvas for violence.

As my eyes wandered over the expanse of his body, they inevitably landed on his powerful thighs and—
I snapped my gaze away, my face burning. Hastily, I pulled a blanket over him.

Fleeing to the kitchen, I fetched hot water and clean towels.

“I’m going to clean you up,” I said softly.

“…”

“You need to stay still.”

“…”

“Talking to myself like this makes me sound crazy…”

Carefully avoiding his larger wounds, I wiped his body with the damp cloth. The silence felt oppressive, compelling me to fill it with words.

“Before I ended up in Mine’s body… I used to talk to myself a lot. I didn’t have any family or friends.”

“…”

“I’d mutter something, then tell myself, ‘You really need to stop talking to yourself,’ and then I’d mutter that too. But… talking to myself made me feel a little less lonely.”

“…”

“You’re not dead, are you?”

“…”

“Don’t die.”

As I pressed the warm towel to a wound, Nexiard’s eyelids twitched. A moment later, his eyes snapped open, and his hand shot out to grab my wrist.

“Ack! That hurts!”

Startled, I flinched, knocking over the basin of water. The freezing liquid soaked the floor, staining it a murky brown.

“…Woman.”

“Oh, you’re alive.”

Worried that he might take that the wrong way, I quickly added, “That’s… good. I mean, it’s really good that you’re alive. Ow, my wrist!”

He tugged me forward, and I stumbled, collapsing onto his chest.

A pungent mix of blood, sweat, and fever wafted off him, the scent of death still clinging faintly to his skin. Relief and fear battled within me, making my heart race uncontrollably.

“Let me go,” I stammered.

“…Clothes.”

“I’ll bring something for you to wear.”

“…”

“I swear, I wasn’t trying to… you know…”

“…Woman.”

“Please… let me go.”

Instead of releasing me, Nexiard buried his face against my neck and inhaled deeply. His voice was low and hoarse, almost a whisper.

“…You smell like a woman.”

“…”

I froze. My mind raced, and fear stabbed through me like ice.

‘He’s still a man.’

Shame surged first, quickly followed by fear. My knees buckled, and I collapsed back onto the floor.

“…”

But Nexiard, as if the act of grabbing me had sapped all his strength, lay still. His head lolled to the side, and his heavy-lidded eyes blinked slowly, as if struggling to stay open. His deep voice broke the silence, calm and steady.

“Thank you.”

“…?”

“For saving me.”

His breathing began to even out, the faintest rhythm of life filling the room. Trembling, I crawled closer and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Then I rested my forehead against the edge of the bed.

‘He’s so pitiful…’

That thought was immediately followed by a wave of relief. We’d overcome the worst of it. The tension that had gripped me for days finally eased, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

That night, I wept silently.