We kept walking.
For a long time.
Too long.
Verren was sulking.
Apparently, refusing to let him nibble on the emergency rations had deeply wounded his pride. Or his stomach. Possibly both.
But it wasn’t as if I could hand those over so easily. Those supplies were meant for actual emergencies—not for a gluttonous beast who treated every mild inconvenience like the end of the world.
Still, he hadn’t forgiven me.
-Rrraah...!
He let out a sharp cry, somewhere between a complaint and an accusation.
"I told you," I muttered, barely glancing at him. "Those aren’t snacks. They’re survival supplies."
-Grrr...
"Yes, I know you’re ’surviving.’ Dramatically."
I sighed, my thoughts drifting again.
My future plans were a mess.
Velra.
The Duke.
The Demon King.
The North.
Every decision from here on out would ripple outward. One wrong move, and the entire storyline could derail in ways I couldn’t predict.
-RRRAAH!!
Verren suddenly yanked hard on the hem of my clothes, nearly pulling me off balance.
"Hey—! What’s wrong with you? Since when do you wait for permission to run off and cause trouble?"
That was what confused me most.
Normally, Verren would already be halfway up a tree or chasing something small and screaming. He wasn’t the type to stand still and tug like a nervous guide dog.
-Growl...
He pulled again, more insistently this time.
I glanced down.
My hem was stretching dangerously.
"Alright, alright! I get it. Let’s go. You’re going to rip my clothes at this rate."
He darted ahead the moment I gave in, glancing back to make sure I followed.
"...What did you find?"
The air felt different.
Thicker.
Metallic.
Then I smelled it.
Blood.
My steps slowed.
Verren stopped a few paces ahead, ears flattened, unusually alert.
And then I saw him.
"...What?"
A man lay crumpled against a tree trunk, white hair stained red where blood matted at his temple. One arm was twisted awkwardly beneath him, and his breathing was shallow—too shallow.
I froze.
His face—
There was no mistaking it.
Sharp jawline. White hair. The faint scar under his left eye.
"Leave it to me! I’m confident in tasks requiring strength!"
That cheerful, overconfident voice echoed in my memory.
One of the main male leads.
A fan favorite.
The so-called "Power Route" character.
"...Why is he here?"
He wasn’t supposed to appear in this region for weeks. Not like this. Not alone. And definitely not half-dead in the middle of nowhere.
I rushed forward, kneeling beside him.
His pulse—
Weak. But steady.
"Hey. Can you hear me?"
No response.
Verren sniffed him cautiously.
-Grr...
"Don’t even think about it," I warned under my breath.
At the same time, I turned my glance towards him.
His name was Joe.
At the academy, he had been the easiest person to approach.
Bright. Loud. Endlessly talkative.
The kind of noble-born student who would casually strike up a conversation with someone the rest of the class deliberately avoided.
Including me.
He had built rapport faster than anyone else—not because he was clever, but because he was sincere.
And now—
"Ugh... water..."
That same cheerful voice rasped weakly in a place that smelled of blood and damp stone.
To see him like this...
It didn’t sit right.
The first thing that caught my eye was the bandage around his head. It was wrapped clumsily, uneven, already soaked through in places. Dark red stains pressed outward from both temples.
But that was only the beginning.
His body was a mess.
Cuts. Bruises. Puncture wounds.
His abdomen bore a long, ugly slash—clearly from a sword. It wasn’t deep enough to spill his organs, but it had bled heavily.
Both thighs had been stabbed. The wounds were narrow, deliberate.
Not wild.
Precise.
His chest—
I placed my hand lightly over it and felt it immediately.
Residual mana.
Not natural.
Not his.
"My goodness..." I muttered under my breath. "Who did you fight?"
Joe’s eyelids fluttered open at the sound of my voice.
He squinted at me for a second, unfocused.
"Water..."
"Hold on."
I lifted his head carefully and brought a flask to his lips. He drank greedily at first, then coughed, choking on his own urgency.
I scanned him again.
Unlike his head, which at least had the decency of being wrapped in bandages, the rest of his body had been left exposed to the cold air.
Sloppy.
Either he had crawled here alone... or whoever helped him had done the bare minimum.
"First, we need to stop the bleeding properly."
I drew my dagger and sliced off part of my sleeve without hesitation. The fabric tore with a quiet rip.
Layered winter clothing in the North was a nuisance at the best of times. Servant or noble, etiquette demanded we dress properly—even when it meant wearing three layers in freezing weather.
Right now, I was grateful for the extra cloth.
I tore a strip from the hem of my cloak and folded it twice before pressing it firmly against the wound in his abdomen.
Dark blood soaked through almost instantly.
"...I never thought I’d end up using this as a bandage."
"Uh... ugh..."
"Stay with me," I said sharply. "Don’t close your eyes. I’ll get you to a doctor soon."
His breathing was shallow—too shallow. Each inhale rattled faintly, like air struggling through a broken reed.
Up close, he looked younger than I expected.
Joe.
A commoner. A mercenary by origin.
In the original story, he never shone as brightly as the prince or the heirs of noble houses. His background was plain, his introduction late, his popularity modest compared to the dazzling male leads with illustrious bloodlines.
But—
He was still one of them.
One of the male leads.
The man destined to become Lilia’s new partner.
At least in one of the route.
The one who could stand at her side when the others faltered.
And more importantly—
The one whose presence could disrupt the fragile balance between Alice and the prince.
’I’m not letting you die here.’
Not on a muddy border road like some nameless extra.
His eyelids fluttered weakly before forcing themselves open. His gaze was unfocused at first, then slowly sharpened as he tried to make sense of me.
Bringing an unidentified man straight to the Draken ducal castle wasn’t an option. Even if I vouched for him, Duke would have him detained for days—if not weeks.
And if word spread that I’d smuggled in an unknown mercenary?
No.
Too messy.
If necessary, I would take him to the underground clinic in the slums near the trade district. Quiet. No questions asked. Expensive—but reliable.
He shifted slightly, wincing.
"Excuse me..." he muttered, forcing the words out. "Could you tell me... where we are?"
"Huh?" I adjusted my grip on him as we staggered forward. "This is the border between the Draken ducal territory and the Frost earldom."
His eyes widened faintly.
"...Is that so," he whispered. "Finally..."
"Finally what?"
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his fingers twitched weakly, gripping at my sleeve as though confirming I was real.
"I made it across..." he murmured. "Then... they won’t chase further."
"They?" I asked sharply. "Who was chasing you?"
-Thunk.
His full weight suddenly dropped onto my shoulder.
"Hey—!"
I staggered, barely catching him before he hit the ground.
"Joe?"
No response.
His head lolled slightly, breath still present—but faint.
"Hello?" I tapped his cheek lightly. "This is not the time for dramatic fainting."
Nothing.
"...Unbelievable."
I adjusted my grip, pulling his arm securely over my shoulders and tightening the makeshift bandage against his abdomen.
He had fainted.
From blood loss. From exhaustion. From whatever madness had driven him to run this far while injured.
I glanced down at him.
"You’d better survive," I muttered. "You’re too important to the plot to die here."
The wind swept across the border road, cold and sharp against my skin.
Ahead lay Draken territory.
Behind us—whoever had chased him.
I tightened my hold and began walking again.
One step at a time.
"Don’t die on me," I said quietly. "I still need you alive."
And this time—
I wasn’t joking.