How many Reinhardt Wolves existed, where they were, and what they did—everything about them was secret. Even after the King of Luxen, their homeland, betrayed them, he himself did not know. Most people did not even know the Wolves existed.
Still, some surfaced.
A prime example was Simon von Bernheim.
With blond hair and red eyes, Simon was a rare noble among the Wolves. He was also renowned for handling matters flawlessly, externally and internally.
Externally, he served as Oscar’s secretary and director of the Reinhardt Steel Company. Internally, he led and coordinated the agents within the Marquis family.
“Call a doctor in advance. If the woman’s condition is unchanged by five AM tomorrow, bring the brothel owner.”
“Yes.”
Simon walked down the corridor of the Royal Suite at the Ritz Hotel in Felpe. He opened the suite door quietly and entered.
The sound of water suggested Oscar was bathing. Wolves moving inside approached in silence.
“We’ve secured the key.”
Simon examined the key handed to him by his subordinate.
“A replica is already prepared. Only the engraving remains. And this is the key holder verification and identification certificate.”
As Simon scanned the documents passed to him one after another, his eyes narrowed.
“I can’t determine what language this is.”
“Yes. The Felpe Bank has also put it on hold for that reason.”
Simon returned the key and the certificate.
“Make an exact copy. Bring a translated version. Leave the key by the bedside so the Master sees it.”
“Understood.”
“Copy the holder verification as well. When the replica arrives, return it to its original place without detection.”
“Yes, Senior.”
Simon dismissed them with a gesture. Then, passing the busy Wolves, he headed toward the open room. He needed to confirm the woman’s condition.
The woman who had become a living key.
Considering the Felpe Banking Act, it would be extremely troublesome if she died or lost her mind.
Simon nudged the woman curled on her side. She was so weak that shifted with only the lightest touch.
Under hazy moonlight, the breath slipping from her parted lips shimmered like heat haze. Simon studied her vacant eyes and clicked his tongue softly. Then he ordered the guards out of the room. Leaving a woman in this state under rough field men was unwise.
After confirming she was alive, he stepped out.
Oscar emerged from the bathroom, wearing only pajama pants.
“We’ve secured the key, identification certificate, and holder verification.”
A Wolf retrieved the key from the bedside and presented it. Oscar took it, turning it leisurely in his hand.
“What’s her name?”
“……”
“That woman. What’s her name?”
His gaze, fixed on the room where she lay, shifted to Simon.
“The identification certificate cannot be interpreted. That is why the Felpe Bank placed it on hold.”
“Investigate the status of the Felpe Bank and the King of Felpe. Bring me the translated identification certificate within a week.”
“Understood.”
Oscar walked away with the key in hand. Behind him, Simon’s departure from the suite could be heard. Oscar’s attention remained on his palm.
The key.
Cold, hard metal. Smaller and simpler than expected.
There had been a time he would have overturned the world to find it. Yet when he searched, it had been nowhere. Now, it had appeared on its own.
“Well… not a bad price for being betrayed by an idiot.”
Muttering self-mockingly, Oscar stopped at the doorway.
His sharp blue gaze lifted from the key.
Beyond the wide-open door lay the woman, dragged there by unknown hands, in whatever state she was in. The woman on the bed, washed in moonlight. Between them, only powerless darkness coiled.
Oscar paused, then stepped forward.
Moonlight touched his toes, his ankles, and he walked fully into it, stopping beside the bed.
The reflected light carved his profile, casting deep shadow. Half in brightness, half in darkness, he gazed down at her.
The woman who had become a living key bore a face he had never imagined.
In his mind, the key’s holder had always been someone at the pinnacle of power.
A Pirate King ruling southern and eastern seas.A drug lord controlling narcotics.A violent syndicate head.Even a king of a nation.
But instead—
Just this woman.
A hollow laugh left him, then the self-deprecating laugh dried quickly, leaving only a cold gaze.
That gaze swept slowly over her exposed face.
Defenseless. Strikingly exotic. Reddish-brown hair spread across the bed like seaweed, making her skin appear even whiter.
Along with her exotic impression, he felt every line that formed her was so delicate it might break if touched.
A slender jaw and neck. Shoulders no wider than two spans. Fingers pushing the sheet away. Wrists. Small feet and ankles visible beneath the skirt that had ridden up.
The woman was—
Like a drawing sketched faintly in pencil.
As his gaze traced those fragile lines, where no stroke seemed drawn with force, it settled on her unfocused eyes.
The man’s body, sculpted like a cliff, leaned toward the woman offered like a sacrifice.
Her focus, flickering before, now seemed entirely gone. Yet it was not the gaze of the dead. Eyes emptied of life and turned pale were disturbing to behold. But her pupils had become so transparent that the bottom was visible.
As if defying her usual habit of lowering her gaze and hiding her face, the woman looked at him. Or rather, with no focus remaining, she allowed his gaze to pass through her pupils rather than meet his eyes.
The moonlight pouring over Oscar’s cheek shifted, casting shadow across the woman’s face. It was as if color slowly seeped into a black-and-white pencil drawing.
The texture of her pupils, drawn line by line with a finely sharpened colored pencil. Her delicate eyelashes.
“……”
The man who had taken many lives that night gazed at the woman he had seized, forgetting even how long he had been staring.
Tears gathered in her brown eyes, eyes that looked as though they had been colored by dozens of fine strokes. Within them lived contradiction: helpless beneath searing heat, yet equally drowned in misery.
“Haa… nng….”
The woman, who had lain quietly breathing soft, squirmed and let out a sharp moan. Her wide eyes narrowed. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her once-transparent pupils clouded as if intoxicated. She turned her head aside.
Her pale neck was exposed defenselessly before him. A neck so slender it seemed it could snap within one hand. Beneath the skin, a bluish pulse beat.
It was then that the man’s eyes, which had grown hazy like hers, sharpened with interest.
“Ha.”
Oscar regained himself, releasing a short, hollow laugh as he ran a hand through his hair.
It was absurd how drugs worked. How one or two drops could do this to a human being.
Straightening his body, he turned away, leaving his sharpened thoughts behind. There was no reason to keep looking at a woman driven mad. As he took a step, thinking coldly, an unexpected sound stopped him.
Grind.
The sound of flesh being chewed.
Oscar turned back instantly. Reflex faster than thought that could only be described as instantaneous.
The woman’s red lips, which had been releasing wet moans, were now clamped tightly shut.
“……!”
Oscar closed the distance at once. One knee pressed onto the bed. He cupped the back of her head with one hand even as her face twisted in pain.
The smell of blood.
She was biting her own tongue. Trying, even unconsciously, to resist the drug.
Oscar seized her jaw with his free hand. Thumb and middle finger pressed into both sides of her chin, forcing her mouth to open. But the woman, eyes clouded, refused.
Oscar’s brow furrowed.
Once, he had searched madly for this key. He had thought it would be fine if she opened it. Fine if she didn’t. He had craved it to madness, despaired as if he would die, then grown indifferent, then forgotten. Circumstances had changed. He had moved forward.
Yet he had not forgotten.
What the heart forgets, the body remembers.
If not, perhaps the emotions from that time of mad craving were etched into his body. They say what is learned by heart can be forgotten, but what is learned by the body remains until death.
As she bit down and blood flowed, his chest tightened violently. He felt something surged from deep within.
“You can’t.”
The mutter was savage.
Oscar forced his finger between her sealed lips. His finger pressed hard enough to crush her red lips, pushing between teeth biting down on her tongue. The slick warmth of her tongue curled around his fingertip.
“Relax.”
“Hngh….”
The voice was sharp enough to make even Wolves flinch. But the drugged woman did not respond. Perhaps desperate to bite through and regain herself, she instead tried to push Oscar’s interference away.
Her slender hand gripped his thick wrist. She pushed with all her strength. Tears streamed from her soaked eyes as she tried to drive away the invading finger with her tongue—only to seek again to bite herself.
That won’t do.
—