Chapter 2

Mercy was gone.

She had thrown herself from the highest point in Joslinton, the Starlit House, and her body was mangled beyond recognition. Death came to her instantly.

The news swept through Joslinton like a hurricane.

Some mourned her. Some laughed at her, and some felt only relief that she was gone.

For those four men, however, it was more than news. It struck like a thunderclap, shattering their very souls.

In the Solar Palace, Jeffrey sat in his study, devastated. Broken ceramic littered the floor around him.

The scene of Mercy leaping from the Starlit House replayed in his mind. Her eyes, once full of adoration and dreams, held only emptiness and bitter resentment in the end.

"With my blood as a curse, may you never find peace in life and forever lose all you hold dear!" she howled.

Her words echoed in his ears like a spell, repeating relentlessly.

His heart felt as though it were being crushed by an invisible hand. The pain was so sharp that he could hardly breathe.

'Why?' Jeffrey wondered.

He had only wanted her to settle, to understand her place, and to temper her overbearing and possessive nature.

He had hoped to soften her sharpness and guide her into the role of a proper crown princess.

He had never wanted her dead.

"Y-Your Highness, Mercy's body has already been... taken care of," a servant stammered.

"Taken care of?" Jeffrey snapped, his eyes bloodshot as he sprang to his feet. "Who permitted you to do that? Where is her body?"

"According to custom, the daughter of a traitor is to be thrown into the mass grave," the servant replied.

"You fool!" Jeffrey roared, kicking over the table in front of him. His eyes blazed with madness. "Find her for me. Alive or dead, I want to see her immediately."

He could not believe it. Mercy, who had always supported him, clearing every hurdle in his path and beaming with joy for an entire day at a single compliment, was now nothing more than a cold body abandoned in a mass grave.

He refused to accept the truth.

*****

At Guzman Manor, Clyde isolated himself in the training grounds. His spear cut through the air with fierce energy, but his movements were chaotic and lacked form.

Sweat soaked his clothes, but the restlessness inside him would not fade.

The image of Mercy stepping in front of him to shield him from the poisoned arrows replayed relentlessly in his mind.

Those three arrows had nearly taken her life. She had remained unconscious for three days and nights. When she finally woke, her first words had been, "Clyde, are you alright?"

Guilt gnawed at him as he recalled what he had said in response.

He had frowned and said in a cold voice, "I'm alright. Do not act so impulsively again."

He had thought that as the prime minister's legitimate daughter, she ought to remain composed and not risk herself like a reckless soldier.

Later, however, when he saw Ariella startled by a horse and tumble to the ground, fragile and vulnerable, he could not help feeling sorry for her. She seemed so innocent and sweet.

He had forgotten that Mercy, on the frontier, had also been thrown from a wild horse. She had risen, brushed off the dust, and smiled at him, saying, "It is nothing. A minor incident."

Clyde reflected bitterly on his own bias. He had taken Mercy's strength for granted while feeling sympathy only for Ariella's weakness.

"General, someone from the palace is here," a servant said. "They said Barrett heard of Mercy's death in prison. The grief and anger overwhelmed him. He has passed away."

Clyde's spear clattered to the ground.

He dropped to his knees and slammed his fist into the stone floor. His knuckles split open, and blood streamed down.

A stifled roar tore from his throat, filled with endless regret and pain.

He thought it was all his fault. He had insisted on drawing a line between himself and Mercy. He had listened to Ariella's manipulations. He had personally pushed the girl who had once stood by his side through life and death into the abyss.

*****

At the Manning residence, Ethan sat in his favorite spot in the garden. His most treasured coffee set was arranged before him, but he could not bring himself to take a single sip.

The memory of Mercy clutching his sleeve that day, begging for his help, left a chill that still lingered on his skin.

Guilt gnawed at him as he recalled what he had said.

He had told her, "Mercy, it is not that I do not want to help you."

The words felt hypocritical and cold, and Ethan could not believe he had spoken them.

He could have easily saved Barrett or at least Mercy.

There had been plenty of ways to do so, yet he had chosen not to act.

Ariella's whispers had influenced him, warning that the Randall family was too high-profile and would bring him down sooner or later.

He had put his own interests first and chosen self-preservation.

He had assumed that Mercy was being dramatic and that she would recover from her despair. She loved them so deeply. He could not imagine she would go so far as to kill herself.

But Mercy was truly dead.

She chose the most tragic way to end her life, right before the eyes of everyone who had once mattered to her.

A servant hurried into the garden. "Sir, the man we placed by the crown prince's side has sent word. His Highness dispatched men to investigate the mass grave, but they could not find Mercy's body."

Ethan sprang to his feet, knocking his cup to the floor. Scalding coffee spilled across the back of his hand, but he did not notice.

"Couldn't find it?" Ethan's voice shook with excitement. "What do you mean?"

"The body is missing," the servant replied.

*****

At the lodge, Edgar stared at the dancing flames inside the alchemy furnace. For the first time, his heart skipped a beat.

His shamanic spirit had always been unshakable, but today, it finally showed its first crack.

The look of hatred and resentment in Mercy's eyes right before she died pierced his heart like a needle.

He had always prided himself on being a healer with a compassionate heart, a man who brought salvation to those who suffered.

But when it came to the woman who had once found him the life-saving herb, he had let her die without lifting a finger.

He told himself that it was because she had too much blood on her hands, tangled in karma, and he must not interfere.

But deep down, a voice whispered, haunting him. "Is that truly the reason? Or was it because Ariella said, 'Mercy smells like blood. It scares me,' and you began to avoid her?

"Your so-called 'detachment from the mortal world' is nothing but a cover for your selfishness and coldness."

"Master, something terrible has happened!" An apprentice stumbled into the room, his words frantic. "It's all over the place. They say Mercy's body was devoured by wild dogs at the mass grave."

Edgar's hand, which had been holding a rare medicinal herb, trembled, and the herb disintegrated into ash instantly.

His face turned pale as death.

'Devoured by wild dogs?' Edgar thought, his heart twisting in agony. 'She once beamed so brightly, used to pester me for medical lessons, clumsily made medicine, and burned herself in the process... In the end, not even her bones remain.'

Edgar suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood, the red staining his white robe.

His shamanic spirit shattered.

*****

At the mass grave, Jeffrey, Clyde, Ethan, and Edgar, once untouchable men, now appeared like madmen, desperately scouring the desolate, fetid wasteland.

They combed every inch of the earth, but all they found were broken fragments and the overwhelming stench of decay.

There was no trace of Mercy.

She was nowhere to be found.

"Mercy... Mercy, where are you?" Jeffrey muttered, his eyes wild, his mind teetering on the edge of madness.

"No way. She can't be gone," Clyde growled, his eyes bloodshot and hands raw from frantic digging.

Ethan collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The calm demeanor he once prided himself on was completely shattered.

Edgar stood motionless, dazed. His chest was tight with each breath, as if something crucial had been torn from him forever.

If the body was missing, there could only be two possibilities.

Either someone had taken it, or the rumors were true.

None of them dared even think about the second possibility, let alone accept it.

When they were consumed by despair, an old grave keeper shuffled over, trembling with age.

"Sirs, are you looking for the girl who jumped from the Starlit House?" the old man asked.

The four men whipped around, clutching at the faintest glimmer of hope, and they asked in unison, "Have you seen her?"

The old man let out a sigh, his voice heavy with weariness. He pointed to a patch of scorched earth nearby. "A few nights ago, lightning struck here.

"The fire blazed high into the sky, and when it finally burned out, there was nothing left. All I found in the ashes was this."

As he spoke, the old man produced a half-charred hairpin from his coat, its shape barely recognizable.

Ethan's eyes sharpened as he recognized it. It was the very hairpin he had once given to Mercy and then had her pass on to Ariella, only for Mercy to fight and take it back in the end.

He rushed forward like a man possessed, snatching the hairpin from the old man's hand. He gripped it so tightly that the sharp end pierced his palm, but he felt no pain, consumed instead by the realization of what it meant.

Lightning had struck, reducing her to nothing but ash.

Not a single trace of her body remained.

This was far more brutal than being torn apart by wild dogs.

Four voices, raw with despair, cried out in unison, echoing across the dead silence of the mass grave.

They finally realized that Mercy, the woman they had cast into the abyss with their own hands, was truly, irrevocably gone from their lives.

And their late, worthless regret was now reduced to nothing but ashes, scattered along with her.