NRAL | Chapter 93

~Chapter 93~

Damian’s End

Damian struggled to lift his heavy eyelids.

His dizzy vision slowly brought into focus a dark street—wet walkways, scattered trash, and a chilling, ghostly atmosphere. It was vaguely familiar, yet completely unfamiliar.

‘Where… am I?’

With a low groan, he tried to recall his last memory.

Just moments ago, he had been running down a hallway. He remembered grabbing a weapon, enraged by Nora’s disrespectful words, and charging at her. She had been lying in front of the stairs, and he was about to strike her…

Then someone had pushed him from behind. After that, everything went black.

He must’ve passed out after falling down the stairs. That much, he could grasp.

But what didn’t make sense—what terrified him—was why he was lying here, on a filthy street. Not in his room. Not being cared for. Not being treated.

‘Who the hell…!’

Who would dare push the heir of the Astria family down the stairs and leave him like trash?

Whoever it was, he wouldn’t let them get away with it. Damian swore to himself as he reached out to push himself off the ground.

‘…Huh?’

Something was wrong. He was trying to use his hand—but the hand in his vision didn’t move at all.

Panicked, he tried moving other parts of his body. Toes, arms—anything. But nothing responded.

The only things he could move were his eyes and lips, and even that required immense effort. It was as if everything below his neck had gone numb.

Something was terribly wrong. Damian knew it instinctively. A chilling fear clamped down on his entire body.

Then—a voice spoke.

“Want me to let you live?”

It was unfamiliar, yet vaguely recognizable.

Damian slowly rolled his eyes in an effort to see. But he couldn’t move his head, so his field of view was painfully limited.

Soon, a worn-out shoe stepped into view. Judging by the material, it definitely wasn’t a noble’s shoe.

He strained to look higher—tattered clothes typical of a commoner.

And then, finally, the face.

He had seen this face before.

‘That commoner… the one who took me to the dogfighting gambling den!’

He hadn’t remembered it earlier—too unconscious, too disoriented. But seeing him now, Damian knew for certain.

This was the bastard who led him to that hell, who provoked the fight with Baron Griffith, and who ultimately started this whole mess. An insolent, worthless commoner.

“If you want to live, answer my question. If I like your answer, I’ll take you to a doctor.”

Wait—was this really the same man?

Damian’s breath hitched. He swallowed hard.

The man standing before him was nothing like the cowardly fool he remembered. There was murder in his eyes.

A quiet alley. No one around. No guards. A body that couldn’t even twitch a finger.

As he grasped the reality of his situation, the fury he felt toward the commoner gave way to pure terror.

“Let’s start, then.”

The voice was low. Damian’s lashes trembled.

“Do you remember Maya?”

Damian swore he’d never heard that name in his life.

As if expecting this, the man added an explanation.

“She worked at a nameless sandwich shop at the entrance of Salisbury. Blonde, freckled, had a small nose and chubby cheeks that she hated. Big girl but scared of bugs. That was Maya—my sister. Do you remember her?”

Even with the long description, Damian had no clue.

He’d hurt so many people, done so many awful things—it wasn’t surprising he couldn’t recall one plain-looking, scared girl.

A commoner. Not even particularly pretty by the sound of it. Of course, he wouldn’t remember someone like that.

“Blink twice if you remember her. Blink three times quickly if you don’t.”

But Damian realized something.

Telling the truth—that he had no idea who Maya was—could get him killed.

And so, even without remembering her, he knew he had to lie.

With a deep frown, Damian blinked twice.

‘There. I did it. Now, hurry up and take me to a doctor!’

His sharp, blazing blue eyes conveyed every bit of that demand.

Milo chuckled at the sight.

“Good. Then make sure you never forget it. Remember that name even in hell.”

He smiled sweetly, then pulled something from his pocket and unhesitatingly splashed it onto Damian.

“AAAGGHH!”

As the unknown liquid splattered across his body, Damian shut his eyes tight and let out an animalistic scream.

‘Am I going to die? Is this how I die?’

His lips trembled uncontrollably in fear.

What terrified him even more was that—despite being so scared—he still couldn’t feel anything from the neck down. His limbs remained completely unresponsive. He’d been bathed in liquid, yet there was no sensation at all.

Tears streamed down his face as he looked down at himself.

He’d expected to see his skin melting away, but instead, his body was intact. While stained with dried blood, there were no fresh wounds. What stood out was a sticky, yellowish, transparent substance clinging to his skin.

Panicked, Damian looked back up at Milo.

‘What is this?! You said you’d save me!’

His eyes screamed the question.

Milo understood perfectly and let out a mocking snort.

“I said I’d take you to a doctor if I liked your answer.”

In other words, saying he remembered Maya had been the wrong choice.

‘You bastard! How was I supposed to know that?!’

As Damian realized the liquid wasn’t harmful, his fear gave way to fury once again.

“You look so frustrated. Let me ask you again: do you really remember Maya?”

But the truth remained—his life was in this commoner’s hands.

So Damian swallowed his rage and blinked three times quickly.

“Hahahaha!”

Milo burst into laughter.

Was that the right answer? Damian thought for a moment he might be safe. But then Milo’s smile disappeared. In an instant, his face went cold.

“Idiot.”

“And you’re a noble?” Milo clicked his tongue, then splashed the remaining liquid right onto Damian’s face.

“Urrgh!”

Damian squeezed his eyes shut in panic. The sticky fluid nearly got into his eyes.

“Whatever comes out of your mouth, I’ll never like it.”

The truth was, Damian had no chance of survival from the beginning.

Milo had only asked out of curiosity—and Damian’s answers had only deepened his disgust. Honestly, Milo felt foolish for even wasting the time.

‘What the hell are you even pouring on me?!’

Damian crawled inside, unable to open his eyes or mouth, terrified by what might happen next. He couldn’t act until he knew what the substance was.

Milo frowned as he watched him.

He wanted Damian to keep his eyes open until the very end. So he explained—with a smile.

“It’s Phoenix, honey. Sweet, rich flavor. Even beasts go crazy for it—not just people.”

Honey?

That was… unexpected. A few drops had seeped into Damian’s mouth earlier—they had tasted sweet. Curious, he parted his lips slightly again. Yes, it really was, honey.

Realizing he hadn’t been poisoned, Damian felt a wave of relief and slowly opened his eyes.

Milo had clearly been waiting for this moment—he waved lightly.

“Well then, I’ll be going. Try to stay alive.”

What?

Was he really leaving?

Damian had been sure Milo would kill him here. This sudden twist made no sense. But compared to what he feared, it felt like mercy.

Sure, Milo wasn’t getting him a doctor—but someone would pass by eventually. Someone would find him.

Being left alone was better than being stuck with this madman.

“Oh, right. There’s something someone asked me to tell you.”

Milo suddenly stopped and crouched down beside Damian again.

As his face came closer, Damian instinctively shut his eyes tight.

Milo stared at his pitiful reaction, then leaned in and whispered:

“…Remember Oliver.”

Flash!

Damian’s eyes flew open.

Oliver.

That name was not only familiar — it was unforgettable. It had marked his first victory over Eleanor.

‘If that name is coming up now…’

Damian’s mind, so slow all his life, finally began racing—now that death was near.

Eleanor’s beloved dog, Oliver, who had died by Damian’s hand.

Honey that even beasts craved.

And this man, who had taken him to a dogfighting den in Salisbury.

‘No… No, it can’t be—!’

Damian stared at Milo with a face gone ghostly white, but Milo said no more.

Without looking back, he stood and walked away.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

With each step Milo took, Damian’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

No. It can’t be true. It must be a misunderstanding…

Damian repeated this to himself again and again, desperately hoping the conclusion he’d reached was wrong.

Before long, Milo vanished into the shadows of the alley.

“Huff… haah… huff…”

The alley was deathly silent. Nothing could be heard but Damian’s ragged breathing and pounding heart.

Minutes passed like an eternity.

Eventually, the tension in his body eased just slightly.

‘It was just my imagination.’

Damian told himself this with a weak, trembling smirk. His barely moving lips twitched upward.

But unfortunately for him, his relief came far too soon.

Tap tap tap tap!

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from the direction Milo had gone.

They were far too quick, far too light, and far too many—not human.

As soon as he heard them, Damian instinctively froze.

He knew that sound.

He had used dogs as gunshot targets in open fields before. He knew it too well.

Fighting dogs.

At least three or more.

‘Please… please, no…’

Damian began to pray. To every god he knew.

But the dogs—used to being rewarded with Phoenix honey after a win—had already locked on to their prize.

“Woof! Bark bark!”

“U-ugh… no…!”

As the sounds got closer, Damian tried to get up to flee—but his body still wouldn’t move. It was as if he were tied up with invisible ropes.

All he could do now—the once-proud heir of Astria—was scream helplessly, like a fool.

“NNGHH—AAARGHHH!!”

The dogs tore into him, eating the sweet honey along with his flesh, painting the alley red with blood—until there was nothing left but silence.