Chapter 49: Unwanted Sacrifice 2
Eska's body convulsed violently. Her head jerked. Her eyes widened—not with fear, but something else. She scrambled, barefoot on cold stone. Her limbs trembled as she grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and wrapped it around herself, knees buckling.
From behind the howl of the wind came another sound—something slicing through the air. It wasn't the breeze; it wasn't natural. It was the same kind of sound you hear when clothes are hung out to dry and they flap violently in the wind.
Rowen spun, still on the bed, eyes wide. The color drained from his face as he saw the figure now perched in the open frame of the shattered window.
He swallowed hard. His hands began to tremble. "You..." His voice cracked. "You're—You're the one who tried to kill me…"
The figure didn't speak. Didn't flinch. Just stood at the window, coat flapping in the wind, his hands buried in his pockets as if the chaos around him wasn't worth removing them.
Eska barely able to stand, clutched the cloth tighter. Her voice shook more than her body. "Who are you?"
No answer.
Rowen pushed himself off the bed, stumbling backward. Then, with a burst of false courage, he lunged toward the sword mounted on the wall. His fingers wrapped around the hilt. The cold steel offered a flicker of comfort—but not enough to mask the fear coursing through him.
The figure didn't move. It just stood there.
Rowen stared.
Its face was mostly hidden beneath a dark hood and a mask. The mask was pitch black, marked only by a few curved white lines along the cheek area and a sharp, white border around the eyes—two horizontal strokes, one above like lashes, the other below like a grim underline.
But it wasn't the mask that chilled him.
It was the eyes.
Crimson as molten lava, those sharp, unblinking eyes glowed beneath the hood—half-moon shaped, with black pupils that pierced through the dim light. They didn't just radiate anger—they blazed with fury.
There was madness in them. A coiled intent, like a beast lying in wait.
His presence alone wasn't the most terrifying thing.
But those eyes...
Those eyes screamed of blood.
For a moment, the figure simply stood there, framed in the window—watching.
"You hiding behind that mask like a coward?" Rowen snarled, forcing a sneer onto his lips. "What, too scared to show your face? Think the silent act makes you scary? Tch... I've seen worse than you bleed like pigs."
Still, silence. The masked man didn't flinch. He simply stepped off the windowsill, dropping to the floor with all the grace of a falling leaf. His long coat settled around him like smoke, not a sound from his landing. No tension in his posture. No urgency. Just calm, cold stillness.
Rowen took a step forward—not out of bravery, but because he knew stepping back would shatter the brittle shell of pride he barely held together.
"You caught me off guard last time," he said, his voice rising. "But I'm not the same fool you faced before. I've cut down monsters worse than you. You're not getting away today."
Still nothing. The masked man's head tilted. Just a fraction. The faintest gesture—like a predator acknowledging its prey.
"You listening, you mute bastard?" Rowen barked. "You think that act is clever? Like you're some kind of legend? You're just a freak with a sword."
He raised his blade, pointing it at the masked man's chest. "You don't scare me. I'm not that bitch trembling in the corner."
Still, the masked man didn't speak. He didn't blink. He simply took a step forward.
"Come on!" Rowen roared, lunging with a horizontal slash.
Clang!
The black blade flicked upward, smooth and casual. It caught Rowen's strike with insulting ease like nothing.
"Try this!" Rowen snarled, slashing from the left.
Clang!
Again, a deflection. the masked man still hadn't taken his left hand out of his coat pocket.
"You just gonna keep blocking?" Rowen spat. "Fight me, dammit! FIGHT ME! YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
No reply.
"You think this is a game?! You think you can ignore me like I'm nothing?! I'll show you what a knight really is!"
He swung again—harder, faster. Wild now. Desperate. So desperate, he forgot everything he'd learned about swordsmanship.
He wasn't fighting anymore—he was just trying to land a hit. Anywhere.
But—
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every strike was effortlessly deflected. Every movement of the masked man's sword flowed with ease—calm, precise, almost indifferent, as if he wasn't even trying. As if he wasn't even interested.
"Say something!" Rowen screamed, voice cracking. "Look at me! You smug, silent fuck! I'll carve that mask off your damn face!"
He lunged—one final slash.
CLANG!
This time, the masked man shifted. Not much. Just enough.
Rowen's sword skidded off, metal screeching.
Then, with a whisper of movement, the masked man 's black blade pierced forward.
SHING!
It sliced through the air, missing Rowen's throat by a breath. He stumbled back, eyes wide, chest heaving.
"Hhh–hah…"
He dropped hard to one knee, breath hitching, cold sweat clinging to his back. Before he could rise, a shadow loomed over him—deep and dark as night.
Still no sound.
No words.
Only those crimson eyes. Just glowing.
He looked up, face pale. For a moment, his arrogant tone vanished—silenced by those cold, unfeeling eyes. "Why… why are you after me?!" he coughed. "Who are you?!"
Then—
Wham!
A boot slammed into his chest, launching him across the room like a ragdoll.
He crashed into the wall—
Crack!
The impact split the wall slightly. He slumped forward, landing behind Eska, who trembled as she clung to the bed. She tried to scream, but no sound came—only breathless terror.
Her eyes dropped to the man who, moments ago, held power over her. Now he lay broken, blood staining his lips. Slowly, she looked up—shaking—as the dark figure took another step forward.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Every step echoed like the final toll of death. In that moment, he didn't need to utter a single word. His footsteps alone were enough to instill fear—true, bone-deep fear.
The masked man was already near Eska, moving steadily toward her.
She let out a strangled breath, trembling as she brought her hands to her mouth.
"P-Please…" she whispered, clutching her knees. "I didn't do anything… I just… Please don't hurt me…" Her voice broke, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if her heart had stopped.
But the masked man didn't stop. He didn't even glance at her. His gaze was fixed solely on Rowen. And without warning, he passed her by.
Meanwhile, Rowen scrambled to his feet, leaning against the wall, pain etched across his face. His sword lay too far away—useless.
"I'm not done!" he shouted. "The fuck with your silence—I'm not scared of you! You think you can just come here and intimidate me? I'll kill you! You hear me?! I'll kill you!"
He lunged forward, fist flying—a desperate strike fueled more by instinct than skill.
There was some speed behind it. But—
The masked man caught it effortlessly, his gloved hand snapping up to seize Rowen's wrist mid-air. It was like slamming into iron. No, worse—like steel jaws locking shut.
Then—
SNAP!
"AGHHHHH!!"
Rowen's scream tore through the air, raw and broken. His wrist bent at a grotesque angle, the bones twisted in ways they were never meant to go.
"F-Fuck you!" he gasped, voice shaking with pain. He swung his other arm wildly, blindly—driven by fury and fear.
SNAP!
"GAHHHHH!"
Now both arms hung limp and shattered at his sides. Useless. Tears spilled from his eyes, blurring the world into a watery haze of agony. He stared at the masked man, lips trembling, breath shallow.
But the masked man wasn't finished.
Not yet.
THUMP!
The kick landed square in his chest—lightning-fast.
He didn't even see it coming. Just felt it.
A sharp, crushing force.
His ribs folded inward with a sickening crunch. His body lifted off the ground, weightless for a heartbeat—
CRACK!
He slammed into the wall with brutal force, then crumpled to the floor like a broken doll, limbs splayed awkwardly.
Cough. Cough.
Thick droplets of blood splattered the ground beneath him. He knelt there, trembling, his body failing him. His fingers twitched but refused to move. His arms hung useless. His legs barely held him upright.
The rage that had burned so brightly moments ago… was gone.
Snuffed out—like a candle in the wind.
Only fear remained.
The masked man stepped forward again.
One step.
Then another.
Each one echoing like a war drum in the silent room.
Eska trembled, watching. Her tears streamed freely now, soundless, her lips parted in horror.
"W-who are you? W-what do you want?" Rowen rasped, trying to lift his head higher despite the blood pooling under his chin. "Tell me… I'll give it. If you're here for the woman, then fine—take her. Enjoy her. Just… let me go."
The masked man didn't stop walking. His coat shifted softly with the air—no rush, no hesitation. The shadow of his hood draped his expression, but his eyes… they glowed. Crimson. Dim. Like embers waiting for wind.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Let you go?" The masked man's voice was low—too low. It didn't echo. It sliced through the air like a blade. "Why exactly?"
Rowen blinked, caught off guard by the calmness. "Because I didn't do anything wrong," he said, trying to find stable ground. "Why are you after me? Before you kill me, at least tell me—what did I do?"
"You're playing innocent now." The masked man's voice remained composed, unnervingly steady. "Pretending to be some righteous fool. What a joke. You know exactly what you did. Don't act like you don't."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Rowen shouted.
"Do I need to remind you?" the man asked coldly. "What you did to the woman behind me?"
"Her?" Realization flickered in Rowen's eyes. Then it turned bitter. "I see now. That bitch. She hired you to kill me, didn't she? Now it makes sense. How many coins did she offer? Tell me. I'll give you more. I've got more than she could ever dream of. You've never even seen that much silver."
"You're still missing the point," the masked man replied, voice flat. "She didn't hire me."
"Then why?" Rowen growled. "Justice? Is that it? Whatever story she told you—it's twisted. She came to me."
He coughed, blood spilling from his lips, but his pride clung on desperately.
"She begged me. Got on her knees. Said she'd do anything to save her husband. I didn't force her. She offered herself. I just took what was already mine."
The masked man's footsteps stopped. Stillness fell like a guillotine.
"Offered?" he repeated, voice colder than before. "You think desperation is consent?"
Rowen scowled. "I didn't rape her," he growled. "She kissed me. She moaned. Don't act like I forced anything. You think I don't know what rape is? That wasn't it. She wanted it."
The masked man didn't move. His head tilted, just slightly—enough for his gaze to pierce through the mask like a judge delivering a sentence already written.
"Every rapist I've ever killed," he said slowly, "claimed the same thing."
Rowen flinched. Something in the air shifted—thicker now, heavier. But he held his ground.
"So what?" he spat. "You going around playing executioner now? Think you're some kind of justice? You don't even know the full story."
"I know enough."
"You know nothing," Rowen snapped. "I'm a Knight. She's a peasant's wife. You think anyone gives a damn if she sleeps around for favors? She knew what she was doing."
Silence.
Then the masked man spoke again—quieter, slower. Like steel dragging across stone.
"I was there."
Rowen blinked.
"I saw it in her eyes," the man said. "And I believe in eyes. Not mouths. Eyes don't know how to lie."
Rowen spat blood to the side. "What kind of twisted logic is that? You believe in eyes? You don't even know me."
"I know enough," the masked man said again. "Actually, you're too blind to see what I saw in her eyes. I saw a woman who didn't speak. Didn't breathe. Like her soul was already gone. A woman who flinched when I reached for her hand. Who didn't even know how to stand anymore." He took a single step forward. "That's not a woman who gave herself willingly."
Rowen gritted his teeth, desperate for another excuse. "She played you," he shot back, his voice rising. "You think she's innocent? She's just smart. Probably fed you some sob story, right? Let me guess—said I tricked her? Lied to her?"
"No," came the calm reply. "She didn't say a word. She doesn't even know who I am. We've never met."
"Then why are you doing this? Who asked you to?" Rowen muttered, frustration creeping in. "Don't you see? I did her a favor."
That got a reaction.
the masked man took another step.
"A favor?" His tone remained flat—but that word sparked something beneath it.
"I gave her hope," Rowen said. "She thought her husband was going to die. I gave her a chance. She just had to give me something in return. That's how the world works."
"She wasn't free to choose."
"No one's free!" Rowen snapped. "We all pay to survive. She paid. I paid. That's life!"
The masked man stopped a few feet away now. Close. The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then, without looking at Rowen, he spoke—quiet, pointed.
"You used her husband's arrest like a noose. You waited until her knees buckled. Until her heart broke. Until she had nothing left. Then you offered your hand—and drowned her."
Rowen tried to laugh—but it came out broken.
"You think you're some avenger?" he sneered. "You think this is justice? I didn't do anything wrong. She never said no."
"She didn't have to," the masked man said, his voice now deathly low. "Her eyes said it for her."
"You're wrong. Psychopath." Rowen glanced at Eska, who still couldn't put her thoughts in order. Then he snapped, "Hey, bitch—tell him. You wanted it, didn't you? Tell him how much you enjoyed it. Tell him." His voice was sharp, desperate—like a fox trying to deny it just ate the chicken.
Silence. Then suddenly...
"I… I wanted to," Eska whispered.
Both men stilled.
She was still crouched beside the bed. Her eyes were wet, swollen, trembling—but she raised her head, lips quivering as she forced the words out.
"I… said I wanted to. Because I didn't have a choice."
Rowen whipped his head toward her. "What?!"
She didn't look at him. Only the floor.
"My husband… was arrested a month ago," she said, barely above a whisper. "They said he stole a relic. The day I went to see him… they were already beating him. He was half-dead."
Her fingers clutched her sleeves tightly.
"I begged. I cried. No one listened. Then… then he came—" she looked briefly at Rowen, then away. "He said he could help. He said I only had to give him something in return. That was the price."
Tears ran down her cheeks, silent, relentless.
"I didn't want to. Not even for a second. But I thought… if it meant seeing my husband again… if it meant saving him…"
Her voice cracked.
"I told myself it didn't matter. That it was just one night. That it would be over quickly. But I never wanted it. I just wanted him to stop. He said it would be just once, but after that, he used it as an excuse—again and again. He blackmailed me. I didn't have any other choice. I'm just… tired. I can't take it anymore. I thought about dying… but I couldn't. I just couldn't." She broke down, sobbing so hard the sound tore through the night. Even the moon hid behind the clouds, as if ashamed to witness her pain.
The masked man still hadn't moved but his sword shifted—just slightly. Not raised. Not yet. But heavier. Hungrier. He clenched his fists tightly inside his coat pockets.
"You're lying... you fucking whore!" Rowen shouted, rising slightly, rage surging in place of fear. "You wanted it! You kissed me! You begged for more!"
She flinched. The masked man didn't even turn.
"She kissed me just now!" Rowen yelled again, desperate now. "You saw that too! You saw it, right?! She kissed me!"
"I saw it," the masked man murmured. "So what?"
Rowen trembled—his gauntlets rattling softly, knees buckling under the weight of fear or fury. Even he couldn't tell which consumed him more. His breath came shallow, rage boiling just beneath his skin.
Step!
One footfall. That was all it took.
The masked man stepped forward—just once. His mask was dark, but in that moment, it seemed even darker. As the moon slipped out from behind the clouds, its pale light only deepened the shadows clinging to him. Then, without warning, he raised his sword—aiming straight for Rowen's neck.
Rowen went pale. His breath hitched. A warm stream leaked down his leg, soaking his shirt. His mouth hung open, words caught in his throat like a noose.
Because what stood before him now wasn't a man. It was something else. Something colder than death.
The masked man's head lifted just a little—just enough for Rowen to see those burning crimson eyes glowing from the shadows. The faint glint of steel in his hand caught the moonlight like it thirsted for blood.
"I—I'm sorry," Rowen stammered. "Please. I won't—I swear I won't do anything like that again. I'll give you money. Weapons. A title. Anything you want. Just… just don't…"
His hands stretched out as if in prayer, blood and piss pooling beneath him. "Please. I'm begging you."
The masked man's voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade. Cold. Quiet. Controlled.
"So, how does it feel?" he asked. "To beg. To crawl. Do you understand now? Do you understand what she felt when you pinned her down? When you ripped away her voice, her dignity, her life?"
"I—I do! I swear I do!" Rowen cried. "I'm sorry! Please, just spare me!"
The masked man tilted his head. "Why ask me for forgiveness? I'm no one. I have no right to forgive you."
Rowen blinked, confused. "I—I don't know… I just—please, tell me what to do! I'll do anything!"
"Then ask her," the masked man said. "Not me."
Rowen's face twisted. He hesitated.
"Her?" he whispered.
"Yes, her.?" the masked man said, stepping aside. "The girl you broke. Now crawl to her. And beg. If she forgives you… I might let you live."
For a moment, Rowen didn't move. Then, with effort, he stood—legs wobbling, hands hanging limp. He staggered toward the girl, one clumsy step at a time. His pride shattered long ago, now replaced by a pathetic sliver of hope. He reached her. Dropped to his knees again.
Clutched her leg.
"Please… Mrs… forgive me. I was foolish. I was greedy. I was… lost. I made a mistake. But you—you're better than me, aren't you? You're kind. You're pure. I know you are. So… please. Say it. Say you forgive me…"
The girl looked down at him, eyes wide in disbelief. She sat frozen, her hands trembling near her chest.
But then something inside her shifted. Her expression hardened. Slowly, she pulled her leg away from his grasp, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from fury long held in silence.
"Forgive you?" she whispered. "For what you did to me? For the nightmares? For the silence? For the nights I wished I was dead just so I wouldn't have to wake up and remember?"
She took a crawl back.
"You're not sorry. You're just scared."
"No… no, please, I mean it—"
"In what face," she said, voice rising, "do you ask for forgiveness? You didn't see me as a person. So why should I see you as one now?"
Rowen's mouth opened—about to scream something, beg again—
Then it happened.
In a blur, the masked man was behind him.
A flash of steel.
A single sentence, as cold and final as death.
"No matter what…"
Schlkk!
The sound was sickening. Rowen's voice stopped mid-cry. His head dropped forward—then rolled clean off, bouncing once on the cold stone before settling in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide in shock.
"Rapists must die." the masked man said.
Rowen's body remained kneeling for a second longer. Upright. Hollow. Then collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence.
Blood sprayed across the floor… and onto the girl.
She stood there, frozen. Her hand clutched tightly to her chest, as if trying to contain the thunder of her own heartbeat. Her body trembled—not from fear, not even from relief. Something more complicated.
And yet… A small, confused smile broke across her lips. It felt wrong. But it was there. She didn't know why. Maybe because, for once, justice had shape. Had steel. Had a voice that didn't tremble like hers always had. And it wasn't hers.
"Who… are you?" she asked, voice cracking, barely holding together. "Why did you do that? Why did you save me?"
He was already walking away. Quiet, deliberate steps toward the window. The wind surged, catching the edge of his long black coat, tossing it like a shadow unfurling.
He paused as he reached the sill, placing one foot on the edge. He tilted his head slightly—just enough for his words to carry back to her, not enough to let her see his face.
"Who am I…?" he repeated, flatly. "I'm still figuring that out."
She blinked, stunned by the coldness. "But… still… thank you. You killed him. I couldn't do anything for a whole month. You—" her voice quivered. "You saved something I couldn't protect… I'll never forget this."
He didn't turn around. "I didn't come to save you." His voice was low, steady. Like iron cooled in water. "I came to kill a monster. That's all."
And then—he stepped off the ledge. No sound followed.
Only silence.
And moonlight.
Her knees buckled as the tension broke, and she sank to the floor. Her arms wrapped around her own body, gripping her chest, as if trying to hold the pieces of herself together. Finally… the tears came.
"Is that… really what I wanted?" she whispered to no one. "That masked man wasn't kind—but he was right. He did what I couldn't. And maybe… that's all I ever needed."
"Since I'm still breathing I can't die yet. So I have to keep living… for my Caelum"
She raised her head toward the window.
Moonlight poured through it like quiet judgment. "if he ever learns the truth... will he hate me? Could he ever forgive me—for all the nights I let that monster touch me? For what I let happen to myself Just to keep him alive…? Could he…?"
The weight of her own words broke her.
Tears streamed down her face, fast and silent. Her shoulders shook as guilt swallowed her whole. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't want it. I never wanted to do those things with him… I just… I didn't know what else to do…"
Then the moon slipped behind a cloud.
And the darkness embraced her.
Alone.
Or so she thought.
Above her—on the ceiling of the same house—the masked man stood still. Unmoving. A silent silhouette carved against the night. He had not left.
The wind clawed at his long coat, making it flap like wings of ash. His hood, heavy with mist, slipped slightly down. The moon emerged once more, casting a pale glow over the black mask that hid his face. Beneath it, strands of brown hair caught the moonlight—still, silent, unreadable. He stared up at the sky, as if searching for something that never came.
A slow breath escaped his mask.
"Humans… we break too easily," he thought. "We lie to ourselves. We bend. We surrender our bodies to keep hearts beating. That's the truth most people don't say out loud."
He exhaled again, quieter this time.
"Maybe she didn't want to do it. Maybe she did. Doesn't matter. The fact is… she did. Her body, her choice, her burden. I'm not the one to forgive her."
His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the direction of the woman below.
"If I were her husband… no, I can't speak for him. I have my own wife. Seraphina. If she ever… gave herself to another man, even if it was to protect me…"
A pause.
His hand twitched slightly at his side.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at her the same way again. I can't deny the facts—but I've already come to see her as family. So if it ever comes to that… I'll be the one to kill her. That's the kind of man I am. But as for her husband—I don't know him. Maybe he's stronger than I am. Maybe he'll understand the sacrifice she made."
He turned his back to the moon and began to walk across the rooftop, steps slow, deliberate.
"But that's not my story. Not my burden to bear. I killed the bastard—that's all I came for." A sigh escaped beneath the mask. "Now, I've got to head to the Capital. Still wondering why he called for me so suddenly."
A final gust of wind. His figure vanished into the dark. Only the night remained. And the sound of a woman quietly breaking.
---
(Chapter Ended)
To be continued...