Jean watched as Cleo disappeared down the hall, a faint frown creasing her brows. She had the nagging feeling that she had seen the child before.
She had been officially part of Captain Drasil's troops for only few months, so she wasn't familiar with many people.
Even their lady, Cassandra, was someone she had only seen at the training grounds, walking around with her big belly at the time. Lady Cassandra was attentive to the healers, even granting them opportunities to study regenerative magic under a renowned healer from the capital. This new founding of healing magic was a breakthrough for the healing magic. Lady Cassandra supported the healers, Jean really liked this ex- lieutenant who was the leader of the infamous Scarlet team.
Jean knew a few of the maids who followed their lady, but as for Cleo…
Where have I seen her before? she wondered. But before the thought could settle, a shift in the air caught her attention.
She tensed.
With most healers dispatched to the villages, she was the only one left here. The hospital had servants to assist with daily tasks, but none of them were combatants. And this was a hospital—no place for warriors.
"If you came with good intentions, there's no need to hide, right?" she called out to the empty air, her tone steady.
A thin, sharp blade of mana flickered at her fingertips, poised to strike.
From the shadows, two figures emerged.
Three and Seven.
Two people?! Damn it! How long they have been here? Jean groaned in her mind
Seven's gaze fell on the sleeping Sierra. His expression was unreadable, but there was something dark in his voice.
"She saved her with her life…" he murmured. "This little girl—is she worth it?"
Jean's jaw tightened. "She saved you, even when you weren't worth it. Why wouldn't she save her own little sister? Why wouldn't she be worth it?" Her voice was sharp, unwavering. "Of course, she's worth it!"
Seven's eyes narrowed. "We know our leader's combat style better than anyone. She couldn't have been the one who killed all those monsters. And the ice magic… that child was the only other person at her side."
Jean's grip on her mana blade tightened. "So? What are you trying to say?"
Seven met her gaze. "There's a chance that child was the one who killed her."
Jean's breath hitched.
But Seven continued, his voice calm, almost unnervingly so.
"Our leader came to save her. She would've let her guard down around her own sister. What if this girl was a bait sent by the enemy?"
Jean stared at him—this boy, younger than her, yet speaking such cruel words with absolute conviction. Disbelief and disgust swirled inside her.
"…You mean to tell me that a six-year-old child is a spy?" Jean said slowly, disbelief clear in her voice. "Did you hear yourself just now? Did you even believe your own words when you said them?"
Seven didn't flinch under Jean's sharp gaze. "I'm saying it's a possibility," he insisted, his voice unwavering. "Leader wouldn't have died so easily. Someone set her up."
Jean let out a short, humorless laugh. "And you think this child—who can barely sit up, who lost her own arm, who was saved by your Leader—is the mastermind?"
Seven's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Three cut in.
"Enough." She stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "Can I check on her?"
Jean hesitated. She knew how dangerous these people could be. They wouldn't stop until they found the truth. She couldn't afford to lower her guard.
"You can," she allowed. "But if you have anything bad in mind, believe it or not—you have no tomorrow."
If I put my life on the line... I can finish another healer, Jean thought.
Three knelt beside the bed, her sharp gaze scanning Sierra's fragile form. But she wasn't just assessing her condition—she was searching for an answer.
Why had their master died?
Jean, arms crossed, watched her closely. "Can you feel it?" she asked quietly. "The proof that she was ready—knowingly giving her life to save her sister."
Seven's eyes darkened. He ignored Jean and turned to Three. "How is it, Sister? Explain."
Three let out a slow, heavy sigh. Grief and relief warred in her expression.
"We weren't late," she admitted. "It's just… we never had a chance to begin with."
Seven frowned. "What do you mean?"
Three's hands clenched at her sides. "Even if I had been with the Leader at that moment, I wouldn't have been able to save her." She exhaled, her voice unsteady. "It's a miracle this child is even alive. No one could have saved the Third Young Miss in the condition she was in. The result would have been the same."
She glanced at Sierra, her gaze unreadable.
"This girl is no spy," she said firmly. "I've checked her condition. Leader's mana is still lingering inside her. It wasn't just healing—it was a direct transfer. Leader forced her own life force into her sister to keep her alive."
She swallowed hard. "Leader had to pour her mana into her sister—to mend the wrecked veins from the inside. Leader… died because she exhausted her mana."
Jean's expression softened for a fraction of a second before her gaze sharpened once more.
Without hesitation, she flicked her fingers. A razor-thin mana blade appeared—pressing lightly against Three's neck.
"Tell the one aiming at the Young Miss to retreat," she said coldly, "or I will kill her."
Seven's body stiffened. He didn't expect Jean to be this good. He whispered under his breath, "Sister Five… back off."
Far in the shadows, Five remained motionless.
She was in awe.
Jean had sensed her presence through the walls.
That level of awareness… She's even better than Three.
Jean withdrew her mana blade after Five presence disappeared, but the scorn in her eyes remained. She looked at Three and Seven as if they were something rotten beneath her heel.
"This is the Third Young Miss of the Broissco family," she spat. "Even if you're not afraid of the Duke, shouldn't you at least respect the person who saved her? Your master gave her life for this child, and yet here you are—sneering at her survival, treating her like the enemy?"
She took a step forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous hush.
"Scram! And don't you ever show your faces before the Young Miss again."
Her grip tightened around her healer's staff, her fury pressing down on the room like a crushing weight.
"I can't wait to write a report on the disgrace that is the Scarlet Team. You arrived too late to see your master, and now you crawl out of the shadows just to intimidate a child?" Her lips curled. "How pathetic."
Three's fingers twitched, but she remained silent. Seven, however, looked like he wanted to argue. Before he could, Jean delivered the final blow.
"You should be ashamed of your incompetence."
A heavy silence followed.
Finally, Three exhaled, her voice edged with weariness. "We have no ill intentions toward the Young Miss," she said. "We just… wanted to see our master's legacy."
Jean scoffed. "Then go protect the young masters. They need you. The Third Young Miss doesn't."
Tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating—until a calm voice cut through it.
"I apologize for my comrades' behavior, Miss Fio."
Jeremy entered the room, carrying a bundle of gifts. His demeanor was steady, his words polite, but an unshakable authority lingered beneath them.
"We're comrades, aren't we?" He smiled, though his eyes flickered with warning. "We're all part of the Drasil family. There's no need to fight amongst ourselves."
He placed the gifts down gently. "These are for the Third Young Miss. We must return and prepare for the funeral, so…"
Jean turned away. "I have permission to stay here. You can go with the captain first."
Jeremy inclined his head. "Please excuse us, then. Let's go."
With that, the Scarlet Team finally left.
Jean stood still for a few minutes, scanning the now-empty room. Only when she was certain they were truly gone did she let out a shaky exhale and slump onto the floor.
Her back was drenched in sweat. Tears involuntarily came streaming in silence. She needed more than ten minutes to adjust her mind.
Of course, she had been afraid. The Scarlet Team wasn't just any group of warriors—they were trained killers, honed by years of battle. If they had truly wanted to eliminate her, she wouldn't have stood a chance. She was a healer, not a soldier. She had never faced death at their level, never been thrown into the chaos of war the way they had.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she wiped her damp palms against her skirt.
"I should request guards for the Young Miss," she murmured. "And maids."
She turned her gaze back to the bed. Sierra remained asleep, her small chest rising and falling steadily thanks to the medicine.
Jean approached carefully, her movements quiet. She placed a hand on the child's forehead, checking her temperature. Everything seemed stable, but the strain on her body was undeniable. Even in sleep, her tiny face was tense, her brows faintly furrowed—still fighting a battle, even in her dreams.
Jean sighed softly, brushing a stray strand of silver hair from Sierra's forehead.
"They say children forced to grow up too soon often come from broken homes," she whispered. "A heavy family name… absent parents… too many burdens for such small shoulders. Even now, people might have a grude towards her, just because she was saved."
Shaking her head, she gently pulled the blanket higher, tucking it securely around the girl's frail form.
"I just hope you can grow up safely," she murmured. "That's all I can ask for."