The chilling sound of metal scraping echoed repeatedly down the dark corridor.
Luce sat down on the floor, eyes shut in exasperation. He couldn’t bear to watch Mikhail stubbornly fiddling with the lock any longer.
Yaaawn. Despite being trapped in a den of kidnappers, Luce yawned with an air of nonchalance. His patience had run its course. It was time to give Mikhail a heavy-handed push.
“Hm…”
Luce furrowed his brow, a suspicious look flickering across his face. Rising from where he’d been seated, he cast a wary glance toward the end of the hallway. That noise… Mikhail, still locked in a one-on-one battle with the padlock, paused to ask,
“…What’s wrong?”
Luce answered without turning his gaze away from the door at the corridor’s end.
“It’s strange that there’s no guard watching us.”
“There wasn’t anyone like that when I woke up.”
“That’s unlikely. Must be a rookie. Or maybe, just like you, they’re struggling to open that door.”
“…Do you have to talk like that?”
Mikhail grit his teeth at the dry remark. It was just like Luce—mocking and informative at the same time. Despite his urgency, the damned lock hadn’t budged an inch.
“Anyway, you’d better open that thing before a guard shows up. Otherwise, just hand me the sword.”
Skrrrch. The blade scraped across the surface of the lock again, producing another jarring screech.
“Have you ever actually opened a lock with a sword before?”
“Of course not. I don’t do anything that low-brow.”
“…Well, neither have I, for that matter.”
Tick. The blade slipped once more. No matter how many times he tried, it was impossible. Those stories about thieves breaking out of prisons or stealing treasure with nothing but a dagger—were they all just lies? Mikhail wrinkled his nose in frustration.
There was no way a dagger could even fit into the keyhole in the first place.
Then suddenly, an idea sparked in Mikhail’s mind. He realized there was more than one way to open a lock.
Instead of tinkering like some petty thief, there was a method he felt far more confident in. Mikhail slowly closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a long breath. Time was running out, but first, he had to calm his chaotic mind.
Across the corridor, Luce watched him with newfound interest. Ah, so there’s that option, he thought. It was something no ordinary human could pull off—something only Mikhail was capable of.
Mikhail’s eyes flew open, glowing red in the dark. A soft white aura wrapped around the hand gripping his dagger.
Whoosh. The blade traced a gleaming white arc through the air and slashed horizontally across the lock in one clean motion.
Infused with his sword energy, the dagger sliced the lock clean in half like it was a piece of cake. As the broken metal pieces clattered to the floor, Mikhail calmly caught them in his palm and smirked.
He pushed open the iron bars of the prison cell—until now tightly locked—and they slid aside smoothly. Glancing over toward the hallway door Luce had eyed earlier, he muttered with a hint of disbelief,
“…So the guard thing was just exaggeration, huh?”
“Well, whatever the case, you finally got the lock open. Now hurry up and open mine too.”
Luce stood on the other side of the bars, wearing his usual disinterested expression as he urged him along.
And that’s when it happened.
Click. Clack.
The sound of a doorknob turning echoed from beyond the dark corridor, freezing them both in place. Now of all times?
Luce and Mikhail locked eyes in alarm.
“Hurry!”
At Luce’s sharp command, Mikhail rushed over and opened his cell.
The moment Luce stepped out, he scanned their surroundings and immediately spotted something. He grabbed Mikhail’s arm and pulled.
Next to the cell they’d just escaped from, there was a narrow door. Without hesitation, Luce shoved Mikhail inside, then slipped in after him, shutting the door as silently as possible.
No sooner had they entered than the sound of the corridor door swinging open rang out.
Luce quickly surveyed the room they had ducked into. It appeared to be a storage room—cluttered, dirty, and filled with all sorts of junk.
[What the hell? They’re both empty? I thought you said you checked properly!]
[Huh?]
The startled voices of two men echoed into the storage room.
Thankfully, there was just enough space inside for the two of them to hide, albeit uncomfortably close.
So close, in fact, that they could hear each other’s breathing right beside their ears. Luce leaned in toward the door, pressing one ear tightly against it. From there, he could eavesdrop on the intruders’ conversation.
[I-I’m telling you, they were definitely unconscious just a few hours ago…!]
[What? A few hours ago?! Then what the hell were you doing instead of standing guard?!]
[I, uh, well…]
They bickered loudly, practically yelling at each other like they were about to come to blows.
Luce frowned, focusing all his senses on the situation outside, but the language itself was still difficult to understand. Thankfully, Mikhail knew their language.
Fixing his eyes on the door, Luce murmured in a barely audible voice, “Mikhail, you understand what those bastards are saying, right? Listen and translate for me.”
With the men outside still arguing, speaking at this volume was safe enough.
“…”
“Mikhail.”
“…”
But Mikhail said nothing—his face was simply flushed red.
“Mikhail?”
Luce nudged his shoulder, brow raised as he stared at Mikhail’s reddened face. Only then did Mikhail snap out of it and part his lips.
“Huh? Oh, uh… yeah?”
“…What the hell were you thinking about to make you act so weird?”
Ahem. Mikhail brought a hand to his mouth in an awkward cough, and in doing so, the already narrow space between them somehow felt even smaller.
[How’d they get out? No, never mind that. We need to find them now—fast!]
[The lock… how the hell did they break it?]
[I said that’s not the point!]
From outside, the men shouted at each other again, followed by the sharp smack of someone hitting the other hard. Luce winced at the harsh noise, his ear still pressed to the door. He glanced at Mikhail and jabbed his thumb toward the hallway, repeating the question he’d already asked.
“Tell me what they’re saying.”
“…Yes.”
Mikhail brought his ear to the door.
Now crammed even more tightly into the narrow storage room, the two ended up face to face.
They both knew this was no time for distraction—but still, Mikhail couldn’t help but notice how Luce’s breath smelled faintly of a cool forest. Or perhaps something gentler, like fresh moss.
Back in Basamiel, Mikhail had once caught the scent of Adrian’s body, and now he finally realized what it was.
He bit his lip and shook his head. No, now wasn’t the time for that.
[Go outside and gather the others—round up anyone slacking off. We need to search the area.]
[Y-Yes, sir!]
Listening carefully, Mikhail then translated into Rustavaran for Luce.
“…It sounds like they’re going to call for reinforcements to search the area.”
“What? Persistent bastards. We’ll have to wait it out and slip away once things settle down.”
Luce grumbled back immediately at Mikhail’s translation.
[And at least one of them clearly knows how to wield sword energy or magic. Get a mage who can use detection spells—now.]
Mikhail’s brows drew together at that part of the conversation.
“Shit…”
“What?”
Luce pressed for an answer at Mikhail’s grim reaction.
“We can’t wait. We need to get out of here before they bring a mage.” He started to explain, but then glanced sideways—letting his eyes linger on Luce’s face.
Opportunities to observe Luce this closely were rare. Strands of his tousled, golden-blonde hair parted just enough to reveal a pale, smooth forehead.
Above Luce’s right temple, there was a single, tiny beauty mark—a mark the dragon himself hadn’t known about, and that Mikhail had discovered first.
Fixing his gaze on that dot, Mikhail smiled to himself. Without realizing, he slowly reached out and brushed his fingers over Luce’s forehead. Cool to the touch—just slightly colder than a human’s. Of course, Luce wasn’t human. He was a dragon.
“What do you mean, ‘we need to’—why’d you stop talking?”
Luce gave Mikhail a strange look as the other stroked his forehead for no apparent reason.
In a low, solemn voice, Mikhail finally replied, “…Things could get even more dangerous from here on out.”
His hand moved from Luce’s forehead, gently smoothing out the messy strands of golden hair.
In Mikhail’s mind, a vivid image flashed—Adrian, hair whipping behind him, falling from a cliff. Trying to maintain a neutral expression, Mikhail looked into Luce’s identical face and continued.
“I’m not asking you to fight for your life like a human would. But please… don’t throw your life away so easily, like before. Promise me. I swear, I’ll never let go of your hand.”
And with those words, he gently pressed his forehead to Luce’s.
What the hell? Where’s this coming from?
Luce instinctively tried to lean away from the sudden warmth of Mikhail’s touch—but his back hit the wall of the cramped storage room. There was nowhere left to retreat.
“Will you promise me?”
Mikhail’s voice hummed in the small space between them, more vibration than sound as their foreheads remained touching.
Luce looked at him steadily before answering.
“…Sorry, but dragons don’t make promises they can’t keep.”
“But you’re not a dragon right now, are you? This is the kind of promise anyone can make.”
“…”
Luce’s gaze flicked slightly to confirm just how close Mikhail really was.
The man stood with his eyes shut, waiting for an answer like it meant everything to him. It wasn’t even a plea to protect him—he was asking Luce to value his own life. They had no ties to each other, and yet the desperation in Mikhail’s expression was striking.
“Well, if it’s something like that…”
Luce, in his human form, hesitated before speaking.
“I can… try.”
The eyes that had been shut so tightly finally opened, revealing a pair of glowing red irises.
That was the answer Mikhail had wanted to hear.
