Chapter 33 -

Amon, engrossed in organizing documents, suddenly looked toward the bed when a faint groan disrupted the silence.

“Ugh…”

Julia, who had been breathing evenly just moments ago, was now furrowing her brow and letting out pained murmurs. Her crumpled blanket, clenched tightly, and the sporadic jerks of her body as if struggling, all suggested one thing: she was trapped in a nightmare.

Amon hesitated, unsure of what to do as he sat in his chair.

Had it been one of his fellow knights lying there, he wouldn’t have hesitated to wake them. The quickest way to escape a tormenting nightmare was to wake the dreamer. During long stakeouts or distant expeditions, it wasn’t uncommon for comrades to suffer nightmares due to rough sleeping conditions, and Amon had always woken them without a second thought.

But Julia wasn’t a knight. She was a lady of a noble house, unaccustomed to grueling training or sleepless investigations.

A knight was taught to respect a lady’s dignity. Approaching a sleeping lady for any reason was a violation of the chivalric code unless she was his lifelong partner.

So Amon turned his back to the bed, trying to focus on his report. But the distressed sounds from behind didn’t cease.

“…Die… you must die…”

This time, there were mutterings interspersed with her groans. Amon found himself turning back again. Even from a distance, he could see the cold sweat glistening on Julia’s forehead.

'What kind of dream could cause such agony?'

The problem wasn’t that there were no possibilities—it was that there were too many. How many people had died around Julia lately? Considering her past, it wasn’t surprising that she’d suffer such tormenting dreams.

In truth, Amon wasn’t so different. He still occasionally succumbed to nightmares, even though it had been longer since he’d lost his parents than the time he’d spent with them.

His nightmares were painfully precious yet horrifyingly cruel. Mundane moments spent with his parents filled those dreams, only for him to wake up to a reality where they were gone. Despite dedicating his life as a knight to uncovering the truth behind their deaths, he had uncovered nothing.

His gaze returned to the bed. Julia’s frail hands, clenched into fists, appeared pitiably delicate.

She had stabbed Russell with a dagger repeatedly, even after knowing he was already dead. While it wasn’t murder, it was still a serious crime.

Could he blame her, though? If he knew who was responsible for his parents’ deaths…

“Mmnn…”

Another pained whimper. That was it—Amon stood up.

Kneeling beside the bed, he gazed down at Julia. 

'What kind of dream is haunting this fragile woman? What scenes could be causing such torment?'

Gently, he used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead, brushing back a few strands of hair stuck to her face. He carefully pulled the disheveled blanket back up to her chest and unclenched her fist. Slowly, he smoothed her bony hand as if to comfort her—It’s okay. Russell is gone now. You’re safe.

He stayed by her side until her furrowed brow eased and her breathing steadied.

I opened my eyes groggily, staring blankly at the familiar ceiling.

'Did I… wake up? Just like this? Quietly?'

It was the first time since arriving in this world that I’d woken from a dream without screaming. My sleep had been uncharacteristically peaceful, and there wasn’t even a trace of clammy sweat on my skin.

I could still vividly recall the memory of killing Russell last night—the sensation of stabbing his chest as he lay in bed. Yet, strangely, the nightmare had somehow morphed into something pleasant midway through.

'Maybe this place has a calming atmosphere?'

As idle thoughts flitted through my mind, I sat up and noticed Amon slumped over the table, fast asleep.

“Oh…”

Amon. He’d been here with me. Perhaps that’s why I’d managed to sleep peacefully.

It seemed he’d stayed the whole night, even though he’d acted as if he’d only watch over me briefly. Rising carefully, I tried not to make noise. Thankfully, Amon didn’t stir.

'I thought knights were supposed to be light sleepers. He must’ve been exhausted.'

I approached the table, looking down at Amon. His head rested on one outstretched arm, his cheek slightly squished against it. His disheveled hair and closed eyes softened his usual sharp demeanor, making him look more like an ordinary young man—or perhaps even a child.

'His eyelashes are so light…'

Though not as bright as his hair, his lashes were closer to gray than black. Somehow, they only emphasized the brilliance of his blue eyes when they were open.

'Isn’t his arm uncomfortable?'

After gazing at him for some time, I realized his sleeping posture seemed awkward. But fetching a pillow might wake him, and knowing Amon, he wouldn’t fall asleep again if he woke in my presence.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was still early, likely before sunrise.

'He can sleep a bit longer.'

Moving quietly, I fetched a blanket from the bed and draped it over his broad shoulders. His steady breathing didn’t falter.

Then, my eyes fell on the papers scattered across the table. He must’ve been writing something when he dozed off, as there were faint marks on his face and arm from the sheets.

Should I move the papers? Or would that wake him?

As I deliberated, the text on one page caught my eye.

“…Hayden Bolev drank from the glass of water voluntarily, after which he suffered chest pains and collapsed. Within minutes, he suffered cardiac arrest, with no visible external injuries. The water glass…”

It was a report about Hayden’s death, just as we’d discussed yesterday. With no evidence of poison, the report contained only the observable facts.

'Nothing was found in Russell’s tea set, either.'

If the poison was undetectable, the culprit could commit a perfect crime. Even if it were forced upon the victim.

Wait… forced?

An idea suddenly struck me.

How was the arsonist killed?

If someone from the trio killed him as we suspected, how was the poison administered in a way nobody noticed?

'Force-feeding poison isn’t feasible. Could it have been injected directly into the bloodstream? If so…'

“Sir Spencer!”

Unable to contain my realization, I shook Amon awake, undoing all my efforts to let him rest.

Startled, Amon bolted upright, his disheveled face turning toward me.

“…Lady?”

“On the day of the arsonist’s death—when we were staking out that alley—who among the three knights had direct contact with him?”

“…What?”

Still groggy, he blinked in confusion, trying to process my words.

“Don’t you remember? Commander Eloise held the arsonist down, didn’t she?”

“Ah, yes… Eloise restrained him by his knees, and Boyd struck the back of his neck with the flat of his blade. I’m not sure about Marvin, but those two definitely made contact.”

“The knees and neck…”

“Why do you ask? Have you thought of something?”

Amon’s expression sharpened as he spoke, sensing the urgency in my voice.

I nodded vigorously, my heart pounding as clarity dawned.

“We need to examine the body.”

“What?”

“There might be marks—evidence of poison being injected instead of ingested. If the culprit used the back of the knee or neck…”

Amon’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. His fatigue vanished instantly.

“…We’d know who the traitor is.”

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