| Chapter 21. Akrovablenny (Окровавленный)

The man stood amidst the roaring flames, his body covered in soot and ash, his crimson eyes burning more fiercely than the fire surrounding him.

“Ah… Alexei… it’s you…”

Natasha’s blurred gaze trembled with disbelief. Was this a dream? Had she already died and ascended to heaven? If so, did that mean… he was dead too? Tears streamed down her cheeks.

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“I’m sorry. I wished for you to be alive, but… to meet like this in death…”

“What?”

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Alexei frowned, his eyes narrowing. What kind of nonsense was this? Wait… did she just say she wished for him to live?

Crack!
A burning beam crashed onto the bed where Natasha sat. Without hesitation, Alexei hurled himself forward, sweeping the beam aside and lifting Natasha into his arms.

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“Ugh.”

He grunted, feeling the searing pain as flames licked his left arm. But he ignored it, his focus entirely on the woman in his grasp.

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Natasha gazed up at him dreamily, as if still trapped in a dream. Her parched lips quivered as if to speak, and Alexei leaned closer to catch her words.

“Save me…”

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A shiver ran down Alexei’s spine. The noble, untouchable lady, someone he had been forbidden even to acknowledge, was pleading with him. Her life now rested entirely in his hands.

But then, her dimming eyes shifted, and she added in a faint voice:

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“Not me… Save Sophia first… Protect her…”

With that, Natasha went limp, her consciousness slipping away.

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Alexei bit his lip hard, his jaw tightening. Even at the brink of death, she had not begged for her own life.

He stared at her pale, fragile face, so noble and untouchable, as if she were a lily too pure for mortal hands. His burning gaze lingered on her, fierce and unreadable.

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* * *

“Lord Alexei, the fires in both the secondary and main palaces have been contained. We’ve captured the fleeing nobles. What are your orders for the royal family and their court?”

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Mikhail, Alexei’s trusted lieutenant, approached and knelt. It was he who had helped Alexei escape the dungeons.

“Get me out of here.”

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Alexei had said to him.

“And I will make you my right hand. Together, we’ll build a new era. No one in this world is born inferior. All people deserve respect, and that includes the Knulu. But we have endured years of being trampled under Ivanov’s heel. ‘Akrovablenny’—‘Bloodchild,’ they called me. And by the goddess Ades’s decree, I will drench those who oppose us in blood.”

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Mikhail had been startled to encounter Alexei in the dungeons, broken and battered after his supposed execution in the gladiator arena. Yet even in his pitiful state, Alexei’s unwavering determination shone through.

In Alexei’s resolute eyes, Mikhail saw a future king—a leader who would usher in a new age for the Knulu tribe. Mikhail, who had long hidden his own Knulu blood, silently pledged his loyalty.

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“Akrovablenny.”

Mikhail had said, kneeling before Alexei with trembling reverence.

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* * *

Under Sergey’s indifference, oppression against the Knulu had grown more brutal in Ivanov. Their suffering and humiliation had reached a boiling point, yet they lacked the leadership to rise up.

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Then, Alexei Petrov returned.

A warrior undefeated in the arena. The man who had slain the infamous Albunin Lion, a beast known for its ferocity. A symbol of Knulu pride, despite having been a slave.

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When word spread that Sergey had secretly imprisoned Alexei and left him to die in the dungeons after his victory, the Knulu erupted in outrage. Alexei’s escape and the single word he left behind—’Akrovablenny’—ignited their blood like fire.

‘By the glory of the goddess Ades, the Knulu shall rise again.’

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Though downtrodden for years, the Knulu were vast in number, stretching across the borders of Ivanov. Including the half-blood ‘Metis’, who had lived in secrecy, their strength was undeniable.

Many Metis held significant positions within Ivanov Castle, hiding their heritage. With their support, the castle’s fall was only a matter of time.

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* * *

Now, as Alexei surveyed the wreckage, Mikhail awaited his orders.

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“Gather the nobles.”

Alexei said coldly.

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“We’ll see which of them deserve mercy… and which will serve as a warning.”

Mikhail bowed deeply, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.

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“As you command, ‘Akrovablenny’.”

Finally, the day of triumph had arrived. Everyone expected Alexei to immediately proclaim the founding of the “Petrov Duchy” by displaying Sergey’s severed head as a symbol of his victory.

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But after the fall of Ivanov Castle, Alexei remained holed up in the king’s study. He insisted the founding would happen only after everything had been properly organized and stabilized.

* * *

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“How is the lady faring?”

Alexei stood by the window, asking the same question every hour.

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He had saved Natasha, unconscious and vulnerable, from the flames. She had never begged him for her life, but he had acted nonetheless. At the height of his conquest, with Ivanov’s enemies crushed beneath his feet and the throne finally within his grasp, it was unthinkable that she wouldn’t be there to witness it. She had to be there.

Before losing consciousness, Natasha had called him by name, told him she wished for him to live, and begged him to save Sophia. But Alexei wasn’t certain she had truly recognized him. She had inhaled a great deal of smoke and seemed lost between dream and reality. Would she even remember the events clearly?

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Alexei wanted her to see—no, to understand—who now ruled this new era, built upon the ruins of Ivanov. He longed to see her reaction when she realized the man who had once been beneath her now stood above her. That single moment had driven him forward all these years.

Thus, Alexei ordered everyone around him not to reveal anything to Natasha when she awoke—not until he gave his permission.

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* * *

Cough, cough.

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A full day passed before Natasha, pale as death, stirred and let out a faint cough. Her long lashes fluttered before she slowly opened her eyes.

“My lady! You’re awake!”

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The royal physician, who had remained at her bedside without rest, leapt to his feet and exclaimed in relief.

Natasha Ivanov, who had likely yearned for death more than anything else in her miserable existence, had, unfortunately, survived.

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Dragged back after an attempted escape, the physician had used every skill he possessed—at Alexei’s command—to save her life.

“…Is Sophia alive?”

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The first words Natasha managed to whisper were a question about her sister.

“Of course, my lady! Lady Sophia is safe. Thank you for regaining consciousness; thank you!”

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Hearing the physician bow and thank her profusely, Natasha murmured weakly.

“…I see. That’s good. Then I… must live too.”

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Once again, life had refused to grant her the release, the freedom of death.

* * *

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“‘Give thanks,’ you said? I can’t let it end so easily.”

That voice, chilling and resonant, like a reaper from hell, echoed in her mind. So did the burning gaze that had looked at her more fiercely than the flames.

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‘Was it really Alexei who found me? How?’

She recalled the shouts of attackers, claiming the Knulu tribe had stormed the castle. If Alexei, of Knulu descent, had joined them, then he hadn’t fled far after all.

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He was alive.

That thought brought her a fleeting moment of relief, only to be replaced by a gnawing unease.

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Who had led this rebellion?

What would become of Ivanov now?

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And what fate awaited her and Sophia, the last remnants of Ivanov’s royal family?

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