The Concubine Does Not Love the Emperor - Chapter 7.2

At Klein’s words, she strained her ears, hearing the sounds of soldiers searching for them in the distance. She couldn’t understand how they had found this path, but if they continued like this, they were bound to be caught.

“Keep moving.”

From what she remembered, there were no more crossroads ahead. After signaling Klein to lead the way, Margarite extinguished the candle by blowing on it.

The crown prince and his wife ran with all their might, but their pace gradually slowed. The water that had risen to their ankles seemed to grip their feet as if to hinder their movement. Their clothes, soaked in water, became heavy, impeding their steps.

The sounds that they had to strain to hear now were so close that they could hear them without effort. The crown prince, who had been looking back constantly, stumbled and fell. Margarite lifted him up from the shallow water, sensing the impending battle as she drew her sword.

In the dimly lit passage, the clash of wills between Klein and the approaching soldiers intensified. His resonant voice held a touch of persuasion, yet his eyes gleamed with a steely determination as he observed the soldiers closing in. Klein exploited the smallest opening and lunged forward, his blade finding its mark with precision. The soldier’s heart was pierced in an instant, and a sharp gasp reverberated through the damp sewer tunnels.

However, John seemed relentless in his efforts, sending wave after wave of soldiers forward. Behind him, bathed in a sinister grin, it was as if a line of torches awaited their turn, each soldier more eager than the last.

The next soldier, thrust into action by John’s command, aimed his sword with trembling hands at Klein. With an unyielding focus, Klein calmly addressed the soldier before him.

“Do you truly believe I’d succumb to defeat in a one-on-one confrontation?”

With a battle cry, the soldier charged forward, his courage admirable but his recklessness evident. Klein’s lithe form deftly sidestepped the attack, and with a swift motion, he directed his blade upward, impaling the soldier’s throat. There was no time for a scream—only a gurgled gasp that echoed within the confines of the sewer.

Despite the display of strength, John appeared determined to persist. His sinister laughter seemed to bolster the eerie anticipation of the soldiers behind him, torches waiting to ignite the dark tunnel.

As Klein’s gaze remained locked on the battlefield, his voice cut through the tension.

“You underestimate my capabilities if you think I’d fall in a one-on-one battle.”

Another soldier charged forward, their bravery overshadowed by their impetuosity. Evading the assault with fluid grace, Klein deftly maneuvered and struck from beneath, his sword finding its mark in the soldier’s neck. This time, no sound emerged save for the sound of blood dripping onto the floor below, the crimson liquid like tears from an unseen wound.

As the fallen soldier lay still on the cold stone, uncertainty lingered among the remaining soldiers. John’s voice, tinged with frustration, echoed through the tunnel.

“Fools! On the other side, there are only two of them! They won’t last much longer anyway. Fear not death! Those who fall shall be elevated in the afterlife, and their kin shall be rewarded generously.”

The promise of rewards sparked murmurs among the soldiers, their hushed voices carrying the weight of desperation. A cruel famine had driven prices skyward, and the prospect of security for their families, even in death, ignited a spark within their hearts. A soldier, his frame smaller than the others, stepped forward, trembling but determined.

“I shall not fall. It is an order.”

“I, too, cannot afford to fall. My existence already belongs to you.”

With unwavering resolve, the soldier who had charged forward met his end under Klein’s blade. Despite the gravity of the situation, Klein’s laughter rang out, the bloodstained visage on his face embodying an odd sort of joy. It was as if he relished the thought of fighting for her; his laughter was a testament to his unwavering dedication.

“As long as you remain, our paths shall cross once more.”

Rather than bidding farewell, Klein turned his body and advanced a single step toward the remaining soldiers. Their retreat was palpable, stifled beneath the weight of his indomitable presence.

“Until we meet again.”

With the final exchange concluded, she sheathed her sword, her wearied body turning away from the battlefield, the echoes of their encounters, and the faint light of torches casting intricate patterns upon the damp walls.