| Chapter 3: The Price of a Moment

“Really impressive.”

Natasha, who had been gripping her handkerchief tightly, let out a sigh-like remark, then jumped slightly in surprise as she noticed Sergey’s gaze fixed on her.

“Didn’t you say before that it was cruel and inhumane?”

“Ah, well… I didn’t know it was such a dramatic match. I had no idea it would be this theatrical. It’s truly impressive that you’re hosting such an event.”

“Heh, well, I do have high standards.”

Noticing that Sergey was getting irritated, Natasha quickly turned the attention back to him and, seeing him pleased, let out a breath of relief.

In truth, the admiration and ‘impressive’ remarks were directed at the gladiator slave, but Natasha feared that if Sergey ever found out what was really on her mind, he would not let it go.

Relieved that she had diverted Sergey’s attention elsewhere, Natasha thought she had successfully avoided trouble. But Sergey, who was keenly perceptive when it came to women, was clenching his fists tightly.

‘That guy is really irritating.’

Alexei, the gladiator slave, was the top contributor to the arena’s soaring profits. His dazzling fighting skills and appearance made him a spectacle, and he was proving to be quite the golden goose. But if that slave captured Natasha’s heart, it would be a different story.

The proud and aloof Ivanov lily, who had always shown no interest in men, had started blushing at the sight of the bare-chested gladiator. Sergey had seen it all clearly.

‘She wouldn’t let me touch her, but some gladiator slave… No, that’s not going to happen.’

With a scowl, Sergey glared, his mind already filled with dangerous thoughts.

* * *

The next day.

“Natasha, shall I just shut down the arena?”

While Natasha was seated next to him, Sergey, who was devouring his meal, suddenly spoke with an unexpected comment.

“What? What are you saying…?”

Natasha’s hand, which had been elegantly cutting into her steak, froze. Sergey continued to watch her closely as he spoke.

“Like you said, it seems like an inhumane match, and I can’t get it out of my mind. Those slaves fighting to the death and making money… it’s all so vulgar.”

If we were to be technical, the ones fighting to the death in the arena weren’t the slaves. They had no human rights or property rights; the money that was earned came from the slave traders and the owners of the arena, like Sergey.

Of course, there was one exception to this rule.

The slave with no master, Alexei Petrov.

As Natasha realized who Sergey was referring to, her back stiffened.

Sergey was watching her carefully, not missing a single reaction. Natasha, aware of his gaze, stiffened her expression and lowered her eyes. She then tilted her chin slightly and, with her usual cold and indifferent demeanor, spoke.

“Well, it’s your hobby, so do as you please.”

“Heh. I see…”

Sergey chuckled, satisfied with her response.

As usual, Natasha’s attitude had not changed, and Sergey smiled, pleased. He took another long drink of wine, humming to himself as if something delightful had occurred.

Despite the red marks under his fingernails as he gripped the wine glass, Natasha didn’t notice them.

After finishing his meal, Sergey, claiming there was something urgent, skipped tea time and left the dining room quickly. Natasha, left alone, sighed in relief and drank her tea.

As she turned the pages of a book, leisurely sipping from her cup, Natasha suddenly looked up and gazed out the window. The peaceful evening sky was now tinged with the setting sun. It seemed like another day would pass without incident.

“Did Sergey really…?”

“Wasn’t he nearly killed? I wonder if he’s alright. His handsome face must be ruined. What are we going to do?”

The soft whispers of the maids, carrying the tray out of the room, caught Natasha’s attention, and she set her teacup down.

“…What are they talking about?”

* * *

Hearing that Sergey had whipped the slave to the brink of death, Natasha rushed out of the castle. The maids had kept quiet, sensing the danger, but Natasha had a pretty good idea of who the slave was.

She had noticed Sergey’s unusually good mood during dinner, but to think such a thing had happened.

She thought she had diverted Sergey’s attention with a bit of improvisation during the match, but the cold glare Sergey had cast at Alexei when he came to greet him afterward had given her a bad feeling.

But still, considering that he had called him the “most prized acquisition,” she thought maybe nothing too severe would happen.

‘Has he really gone that far with him?’

Natasha walked cautiously toward the dilapidated shelter located far from the main path. She knocked gently on the door.

Knock knock.

“Is anyone there?”

When no answer came, Natasha hesitated before slowly opening the door.

Inside the rundown shelter, which was little more than a straw bed in an abandoned barn, lay a large, blood-soaked man, half-collapsed onto the bed as though he couldn’t fully lie down.

‘Just as I feared…’

She had hoped it wasn’t him, but it was worse than she expected. Natasha was at a loss for words.

“How could anyone do this to a person…?”

The man who had effortlessly defeated three gladiators, his body covered in muscle like armor, now lay in a pitiful state, having been whipped to this extent by Sergey. Natasha shuddered at the thought of Sergey’s cruelty and felt bile rise in her throat.

No matter how skilled a gladiator, he would have had no chance of resisting the king, Sergey, and had to endure the cruel lashings without so much as a chance to fight back.

‘He hasn’t… died, has he?’

With trembling hands, Natasha reached out.

The man’s back was covered in sticky blood, but fortunately, there was still warmth there.

“Ugh…”

A faint, labored groan escaped from his lips, and Natasha felt a brief wave of relief.

She rolled up her sleeves and quickly filled a basin with lukewarm water. The injuries were severe enough to warrant a physician, but calling one in secret would be impossible, as Sergey would never allow it. Therefore, Natasha did what she could, hoping to ease his suffering.

“Ugh… I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize for my brother. Just hang on a little longer.”

As she continued to wipe the blood off his body, Natasha couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the entire situation. All of this had happened because their eyes had met for just a moment. The cruelty of Sergey, and her own weakness in not being able to do anything about it, disgusted her.

But she had to endure. This was her doing, and she had to find a way to make things right.

She forced herself to sit up straight and tied her hair back tightly.

Hiss…

But once again, seeing the extent of his injuries, a pained, helpless sound escaped her lips.

This was the first time she had seen someone so badly wounded in front of her. With every wipe of the cloth, the lashes would reopen, causing fresh blood to spill.

“What should I do…?”

This was her first time treating such horrific wounds, and Natasha’s hands shook as she continued. She clenched her teeth to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape, and despite herself, tears began to roll down her cheeks. But with determination, she twisted the bloodstained cloth and continued her work.

“I’m sorry, please just hold on a little longer. You’ll be okay.”

Although Alexei was barely conscious, he seemed to understand her words, clenching his teeth and enduring.

“Ha…”

After some time, Natasha straightened up and wiped the hair that had fallen across her forehead. Her hands were soaked in blood, and her face, too, had bloodstains on it. In contrast, Alexei’s body, though still covered in wounds, looked cleaner than before.

Natasha washed her hands in fresh water and applied a thick ointment to the wounds she had carefully cleaned. She had to treat almost his entire body, as the injuries were far from few.

“Ugh…”

Alexei winced as Natasha’s gentle touch brushed over his sore body. His eyelids, glued shut by dried blood, slowly began to open as Natasha carefully wiped his face with a warm cloth.

‘Who…?’

With his vision blurry, Alexei muttered, “I’m sorry,” over and over again as he felt her tend to his wounds. Despite her blood-soaked appearance, there was a strange sense of purity in her kindness.

Was she an angel? Or perhaps, a grim reaper?

No, even covered in blood, her face shone too brightly, too nobly, to be a grim reaper. She must truly be an angel.

‘An angel with the face of Princess Ivanov.’

In the fading haze of consciousness, Alexei thought this to himself.