The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the air. Their journey had taken a slight detour due to an unexpected complication. Unlike the swiftly moving carriage, the book in Mikhail’s hand hadn’t seen a page turn in quite some time. Ever since receiving the letter from the courier, he hadn’t been able to focus on the words at all.
Thwack. Mikhail snapped the book shut with a frustrated motion.
Why on earth is a Mirkint—which only blooms after drinking dragon’s blood—growing there, of all places?
That question had been swirling relentlessly through his mind.
The location mentioned in Kyle’s letter had been specific: the path from the royal greenhouse to the main gate. And the moment he read it, a vivid scene from his memory resurfaced.
It had happened during the first academy break, when he and Adrian had visited the capital at Alix’s invitation. Midway through training, Mikhail had heard from a servant that something was wrong. He had rushed over to find Alix’s sword halted just above Adrian’s neck. A single drop of Adrian’s blood clung to the blade’s edge, and his shirt was already soaked red.
Mikhail had quickly approached them, grasped the sharp blade with his bare hand, and pushed it upward.
“…Get up.”
Then he’d reached down and pulled Adrian, who was kneeling and looking up at him, to his feet. Adrian, still dazed, mumbled, “Huh? Oh…” as he tried to stand but let out a painful grunt and pressed his palm against the still-bleeding wound on his neck.
Mikhail’s eyes drifted to the crimson droplets falling steadily to the floor, and his expression darkened.
His chin resting on his hand, Mikhail tilted his head slightly as he stared out the carriage window, the look on his face one of perplexity. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, the place Kyle mentioned was unmistakably that spot. Could this be coincidence?
If that Mirkint bloomed from Adrian’s blood back then… no, that’s impossible. It was a ridiculous assumption. Mirkint was a flower that grew only by consuming dragon’s blood. And as far as Mikhail knew, Adrian was just a powerless commoner who couldn’t even cast a proper spell.
Realizing his train of thought had reached a dead end, Mikhail shook his head from side to side.
Seeing Mikhail, who had abandoned his book and was now vigorously shaking his head, Luce Fennigan decided to speak. “Must’ve been something heavy you were reading, huh?”
Mikhail didn’t respond with words—just shifted his gaze to glance at Luce. Luce’s eyes were fixed on the table. The corner of a letter peeked out from under the book that Mikhail had just closed.
“That letter from the courier earlier.”
“…Yeah, sort of.”
Mikhail casually slid the book to fully cover the envelope. Now the letter was completely hidden from view. Luce eyed the spot for a moment before giving a slight shrug. He wasn’t so curious that he’d force the issue.
Mikhail bit down on his lip, held it for a beat, then slowly let go.
“There’s something I want to ask.”
“Go on.”
“It’s about the Mirkint flower…” The prince trailed off at the end, for no particular reason. Luce gave a nod, urging him to continue.
“Can it be grown in a greenhouse?”
A strange question, coming from Mikhail. Had he ever shown interest in horticulture? Not during their academy days, that was for sure.
“…It can be. But that flower doesn’t grow with water—you’ll have to feed it dragon’s blood.”
“How much would it take?”
Luce slowly ran his disinterested gaze over to Mikhail.
“Your royal blood’s weak. You’d have to bleed a lot. If you tried to make a Mirkint bloom, you might die in the process.”
Mikhail’s eyes sharpened at the dragon’s words. Just like that, the list of people who could have made that Mirkint bloom on the capital’s roadside had narrowed drastically. Luce held Mikhail’s gaze in the silence that filled the carriage.
Knock knock knock.
The coachman tapped on the carriage frame. At the sound, Mikhail immediately opened the small front window. The coachman gave the prince a slight nod and delivered his message.
“We’ve arrived at Tamahild. We’ll rest here for the night before continuing.”
Tamahild—the very place Mikhail had planned to skip from the start.
Clearly displeased, he bit down hard on his lip, then after a long pause, finally gave a nod.
“…Fine.”
It was the village Mikhail had deliberately excluded from the route—because it reminded him of Adrian, who had vanished. It was here that Adrian had been injured during an encounter with a black beast.
If only his swordsmanship had been a little sharper back then… Adrian wouldn’t have hurt his leg. That was the part Mikhail still regretted. No—if he hadn’t been able to protect Adrian properly, then he would have rather taken the injury himself. If that had happened, things might not have spiraled all the way to the nightmare of Adrian falling from the cliff.
In contrast, when Luce heard the word Tamahild, his only thought was, We must be getting close to Hildeke Mountain now. That was it.
The carriage came to a stop directly in front of the same lodging they’d used during their previous visit. Since they needed the best accommodations the village had to offer, there wasn’t much choice but to stay at the same place again. Mikhail glanced out the window, then shut his eyes tightly, struggling to contain his emotions. He composed his face to appear unaffected and stepped out of the carriage.
“……”
His gaze fell on the map of Tamahild Village. He could see a forest not far from the lodging. Mikhail stood frozen before the map for a moment, an odd compulsion rising in him—a feeling that he had to go and see that place with his own eyes.
And he had to go right now. He couldn’t explain why. He didn’t even know what exactly he was supposed to find or why it had to be this moment. But the urgency didn’t waver.
“Not coming in?” Luce, who had been walking with him, paused and asked. He had a bundle slung over his shoulder—the luggage from the carriage.
Mikhail didn’t take his eyes off the map as he replied, “…There’s somewhere I need to go first.”
“Oh yeah? Go ahead. You don’t need to report every little thing to me.” Luce gave his tousled hair a casual ruffle and waved it off with disinterest.
Mikhail looked at him for a moment, then abruptly turned and set off alone down a familiar path—the one he and Adrian had once walked together. The peaceful village trail led into the forest.
Suddenly, he recalled the dark evening when he’d carried Adrian on his back, the boy’s injured leg dangling, his body giving off a cool warmth and a scent that still lingered vividly in Mikhail’s memory.
As he neared the woods, Mikhail’s pace quickened. Then, without realizing it, he broke into a full sprint. The saying “Lose yourself in one thought and you’ll go mad” popped into his mind. He clenched his teeth and pushed his speed to the limit. The trees lining the village road blurred past, whipping by in streaks of green and brown. As he ran, he muttered between his teeth like he was grinding them.
“Yeah, I’ve gone crazy.”
Maybe this strange feeling really was just paranoia. If he could just confirm with his own eyes that it was all in his head, then the unease would fade.
The faster he ran, the more those weird, invasive thoughts started to dissipate. It was exactly what he needed.
Soon, Mikhail reached the entrance to the forest where he and Adrian had once fought the monster. He came to a stop, gasping for breath, bending forward with his hands on his knees.
But it wasn’t the same forest he remembered—the threatening, shadowy woods they’d encountered at night. In daylight, the forest was quiet. Peaceful, even. No villager of Tamahild would ever imagine that a monster had once emerged from this place and attacked.
And yet, now that he was here, Mikhail suddenly hesitated. It was as if he already knew—on some level—what he was about to find.
“…No way.”
It couldn’t be. If what he was thinking right now turned out to be true… If it really was true… He shook his head fiercely, trying to expel the creeping dread from his mind.
“Adrian would never do something like that to me.”
His murmured words echoed faintly through the tranquil forest. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and finally moved forward.
He arrived at the clearing where they had slain the black beast. It was there that Adrian had received the deep wound to his leg.
Drip. Drip. Mikhail could almost see the red blood that had poured from Adrian’s leg, as if it were happening right before his eyes. He also saw another image—the one from the royal capital, where Adrian had lifted his head, bleeding at the palace gates.
And in that very clearing of the forest…
A crimson Mirkint, said to grow only after drinking dragon’s blood, had bloomed in full glory.
Mikhail’s red eyes—exactly the same shade as the Mirkint—trembled ever so slightly.
Oh my gosh the gears turning