Seeing her brooding profile, Akkard asked,
“Is it because you worried about Count Primula?”
“Yes.”
It was a curt reply, but she started to choke up.
‘Poor father.’
Damia wasn’t the only one lonely after losing her mother early on. Her father was forced to leave his young daughter alone in the mansion, wandering the land alone to sustain their livelihood and family business.
Upon returning to the mansion every few months, his father’s arms smelled of hard, unfamiliar dust. His slim shoulders and wide smile sometimes seemed too lonely, so when her father brought up his remarriage, Damia readily agreed.
Only a wife could give her spouse a unique sense of security and fulfillment. Damia hoped that Noella could be such a person to her father.
But she entered their household with lies instead of affection…. … . What kind of shock would her father go through upon learning this news?
‘And that damn seal.’
A terrible stigma that could only be found on old slaves and livestock was engraved on her loving parent’s body. Just thinking about her father made Damia cry these days.
Upon learning her father had to accompany them on a dangerous mission of infiltrating the enemy, Damia’s grief and despair were melted and charred at this point.
“… … Damia.”
Noticing her stubbornly holding back tears, Akkard sighed. It was heartbreaking when she hated or rejected him, but seeing her don that face was ten times more heartbreaking.
‘I’m a fool.’
Why did he care so much about the pain of a woman who didn’t care about him?
Akkard’s rationale, faithful to his instincts, was scathing and self-disparaging, but what could he do? He was guilty of falling in love first and caring more.
“Look at me, Damia.”
His voice was as soft as hot chocolate, holding back his bitterness and leaving only consideration. As if drawn by the warmth, she looked up at him, and he bent forward, holding her gaze with his.
“I know as a man, you can’t trust me, but at least you can trust my skills, right?”
The words of a man who had already succeeded, attaining his current position by his own merits and abilities, were persuasive.
Damia nodded, recalling his mastery in subduing several paladins in the blink of an eye. Then Akkard’s white, long eyelashes curled with his soft smile,
“Right, I am strong enough and have the strength to protect someone.”
With that statement, his hand, larger than her face, reached out towards her. It was a very muscular, veiny, thick hand with deep calluses.
Yet the fierce-looking hand gently caressed Damia’s red eyes and wiped away the moisture. It was as if she was a soap bubble that would burst when touched. It was such a careful graze of his hand, hardly even touching her.
“Just as I will protect you, I will also protect your father and ensure his safety with my very own hands. I will let no harm come to him. I swear on my name.”
He vowed repeatedly in reverence with a soothing voice. Helplessly bewitched, Damia looked up and stared at his face.
Incredibly, the oath made by an outstanding man who she could not be sure of was strangely very trustworthy.
‘This is more moving than any sweet words or declarations he has ever uttered.’
Damia knew she had no right to receive his oath.
She had so coldly rejected him that she had repeatedly ripped tears from the eyes of a man who was unlikely to cry even if he was about to die. How dare she accept an oath on his name?
But…….
“Thank you, Sir Akkard,”
Damia answered slowly with sincerity. All she could return was this formal gratitude; she had no other way to express her profound gratitude except for these simple, generic words.
And contrary to Damia’s thoughts, for a man in love, that alone already filled his heart and flooded over.
“Of course.”
Please wait in a safe place, said Akkard as he smiled as bright as a white dandelion* blooming on a spring day.
[*t1v: White dandelions often symbolize hope, freedom, and transformation. In literature, they are often metaphors for beauty and fleeting moments of joy. In Korea, the dandelion symbolizes devoted love, named after a woman in a legend who steadfastly waited for her husband during wartime and eventually followed him in death.]
Seeing her brooding profile, Akkard asked,
“Is it because you worried about Count Primula?”
“Yes.”
It was a curt reply, but she started to choke up.
‘Poor father.’
Damia wasn’t the only one lonely after losing her mother early on. Her father was forced to leave his young daughter alone in the mansion, wandering the land alone to sustain their livelihood and family business.
Upon returning to the mansion every few months, his father’s arms smelled of hard, unfamiliar dust. His slim shoulders and wide smile sometimes seemed too lonely, so when her father brought up his remarriage, Damia readily agreed.
Only a wife could give her spouse a unique sense of security and fulfillment. Damia hoped that Noella could be such a person to her father.
But she entered their household with lies instead of affection…. … . What kind of shock would her father go through upon learning this news?
‘And that damn seal.’
A terrible stigma that could only be found on old slaves and livestock was engraved on her loving parent’s body. Just thinking about her father made Damia cry these days.
Upon learning her father had to accompany them on a dangerous mission of infiltrating the enemy, Damia’s grief and despair were melted and charred at this point.
“… … Damia.”
Noticing her stubbornly holding back tears, Akkard sighed. It was heartbreaking when she hated or rejected him, but seeing her don that face was ten times more heartbreaking.
‘I’m a fool.’
Why did he care so much about the pain of a woman who didn’t care about him?
Akkard’s rationale, faithful to his instincts, was scathing and self-disparaging, but what could he do? He was guilty of falling in love first and caring more.
“Look at me, Damia.”
His voice was as soft as hot chocolate, holding back his bitterness and leaving only consideration. As if drawn by the warmth, she looked up at him, and he bent forward, holding her gaze with his.
“I know as a man, you can’t trust me, but at least you can trust my skills, right?”
The words of a man who had already succeeded, attaining his current position by his own merits and abilities, were persuasive.
Damia nodded, recalling his mastery in subduing several paladins in the blink of an eye. Then Akkard’s white, long eyelashes curled with his soft smile,
“Right, I am strong enough and have the strength to protect someone.”
With that statement, his hand, larger than her face, reached out towards her. It was a very muscular, veiny, thick hand with deep calluses.
Yet the fierce-looking hand gently caressed Damia’s red eyes and wiped away the moisture. It was as if she was a soap bubble that would burst when touched. It was such a careful graze of his hand, hardly even touching her.
“Just as I will protect you, I will also protect your father and ensure his safety with my very own hands. I will let no harm come to him. I swear on my name.”
He vowed repeatedly in reverence with a soothing voice. Helplessly bewitched, Damia looked up and stared at his face.
Incredibly, the oath made by an outstanding man who she could not be sure of was strangely very trustworthy.
‘This is more moving than any sweet words or declarations he has ever uttered.’
Damia knew she had no right to receive his oath.
She had so coldly rejected him that she had repeatedly ripped tears from the eyes of a man who was unlikely to cry even if he was about to die. How dare she accept an oath on his name?
But…….
“Thank you, Sir Akkard,”
Damia answered slowly with sincerity. All she could return was this formal gratitude; she had no other way to express her profound gratitude except for these simple, generic words.
And contrary to Damia’s thoughts, for a man in love, that alone already filled his heart and flooded over.
“Of course.”
Please wait in a safe place, said Akkard as he smiled as bright as a white dandelion* blooming on a spring day.
[*t1v: White dandelions often symbolize hope, freedom, and transformation. In literature, they are often metaphors for beauty and fleeting moments of joy. In Korea, the dandelion symbolizes devoted love, named after a woman in a legend who steadfastly waited for her husband during wartime and eventually followed him in death.]
