The silence in the corridor did not last long.
Rushed footsteps soon echoed through the stone hallway, reverberating along the floor before coming to an abrupt halt halfway down.
Then, a familiar voice—hesitant—called out his name
"Ray?"
Gilbert said it while staring at the scene before him, as if his eyes refused to believe it.
Raymond was on his knees, barely able to catch his breath.
He did not lift his head even once.
The blood staining him did not make him a mere witness to what had happened…
It made him part of it.
Gilbert stepped forward immediately and knelt beside him.
"Ray…"
He called softly, reaching for his shoulder before tightening his grip slightly.
"What happened here, Ray?"
But the words faded into emptiness.
Raymond did not open his eyes.
He did not respond.
It was as though the voice did not reach him at all…
At that moment, he was trapped somewhere else—farther than the corridor, farther even than the academy itself.
Behind them, more footsteps echoed.
One stopped a short distance away, while the other hurried forward and knelt beside Gilbert.
Beatrice… and Athena.
Beatrice surveyed the area silently for a few moments, her gaze shifting between Raymond and Gilbert.
She lowered her eyes slightly, took a deep breath, and then—without hesitation—raised her hand and struck the back of Raymond's neck.
His body collapsed instantly, unconscious.
Gilbert's eyes widened.
He turned to her, irritation and disbelief mingling in his tone.
"Why did you do that?"
She met his gaze briefly and sighed.
"Do I really need to explain?"
Her voice was calm, yet firm.
"He's in acute shock. If this continues, his condition will only worsen."
Gilbert looked away, uncomfortable with what had happened, yet he did not argue.
At that moment, he was in no state to think clearly enough to make a better decision…
And despite its harshness, Beatrice's action had been the most reasonable one.
He exhaled, then looked at her again.
"It seems I was short-sighted."
Beatrice did not respond.
Instead, she looked at him this time—not at Ray.
She noticed the pallor of his face, the faint tremor in his body, the way his breathing was deeper than it should have been.
The smell of blood was no less merciless to him.
If this continues a little longer… things might turn worse.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a low voice.
"Leave this place. You don't want matters to become more complicated, do you?"
Gilbert's eyes sharpened slightly as he looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
She answered plainly
"Would you like me to point out your condition as well?
You can barely hold a proper conversation.
Are you certain you're breathing properly—or even capable of maintaining consciousness in the middle of this chaos?"
He did not want to think about it… but her words struck a sensitive nerve.
Gilbert had never been good with blood.
His trembling body and pale expression betrayed him well enough.
"Can you carry him to the infirmary?" Beatrice asked quietly.
Gilbert nodded and lifted Raymond onto his back.
"Of course I can."
His tone sounded forced, as if he were trying to convince her—or perhaps himself—of the opposite.
Beatrice did not feel entirely reassured, but she nodded in approval.
Gilbert moved away, passing Athena, who had remained silent since her arrival without displaying any clear reaction.
After he left, Beatrice broke the silence.
"Is the scene so shocking that you're unable to speak?"
Athena shook her head.
"Not at all.
If anything, it seems to me that you're rather accustomed to standing among corpses… as if it were natural."
Beatrice glanced at her briefly, then shifted her gaze to the bodies behind her before looking back again.
"It seems we're both treating it as though it were normal."
Athena stepped back slightly.
"I don't consider it normal," she said flatly.
"But it doesn't concern me, and so I see no reason to dwell on it."
Beatrice hesitated before asking
"Isn't that a bit cruel?"
Athena did not deny it.
"Cruelty doesn't matter.
What matters is not getting involved."
She turned toward the far end of the corridor.
"Let's leave. Chaos will begin soon, and if we stay too long… we'll become part of it."
This time, Beatrice did not argue.
Together, they turned away—leaving behind a corridor that would later be erased…
But not the traces of what had occurred within it.
"There's something wrong with him…"
Gilbert muttered, glancing at Raymond on his back before refocusing on the path ahead.
To him, Raymond was not the type to collapse over something trivial.
At least… that was the impression he had formed from observing him closely.
He knew Raymond carried his own burdens, yet he had never once shown complaint or fracture because of them.
That was why seeing him in that state had filled him with a dreadful sense of helplessness—one he had never known before.
To make matters worse, Gilbert himself was not in a condition fit for clear thought.
He had always hated how blood affected him.
An ugly weakness for someone living this kind of life.
Though the scent of his own blood did not affect him the same way…
This was different.
He was forced to carry Ray, drenched in the heavy stench of blood—
A smell that invaded his throat, pressing against his mind without mercy.
As Beatrice had said, he was barely capable of maintaining proper consciousness.
And he did not deny it.
At this stage, he truly did not know what might happen to him if he remained near that bloody mire any longer.
As he passed the dormitory entrance, he noticed a familiar figure standing near the door.
The same man…
The one assigned to follow him.
Though he had never revealed himself directly before,
this time—apparently—intervention could no longer be postponed.
Their gazes met briefly.
The man's eyes dropped to the unconscious Raymond before he spoke seriously
"For now, it seems you're heading to the infirmary…
So I won't ask what happened."
Gilbert looked at him sharply, unable to conceal his irritation.
"If you don't need anything from me right now, why block my path?
And if your eyes function properly, there was no need to reveal yourself to me at this stage."
The man showed no annoyance at his tone. He nodded calmly.
"Indeed… it appears I chose an inappropriate moment.
You may proceed."
Gilbert did not wait to hear more.
He continued immediately, leaving the man behind.
The latter watched him in silence for a few moments, then shifted his gaze toward the building ahead—
And after a brief hesitation, stepped inside.
Approximately ten minutes later, Gilbert reached the infirmary.
The building was single-story and modest in structure, yet the interior appeared larger than its exterior suggested.
Rows of white beds extended across the main hall, separated by movable fabric partitions.
The air was thick with the familiar scent of disinfectant and medicine.
The place was far from empty.
On the contrary, several doctors and nurses were present, all in constant readiness for emergencies.
The moment they noticed Gilbert entering with Raymond on his back, they moved toward him without requiring many questions.
"Over here. On the bed."
He was directed quickly.
Gilbert stepped forward cautiously and laid Ray down on one of the beds.
The instant he stepped away from Raymond, the air felt lighter.
The scent receded gradually, and with it, the pressure in his chest eased.
But the headache remained.
Persistent.
Like a memory unwilling to fade.
He stood silently, watching as a nurse wiped the blood away with damp cloths.
Then a physician leaned in to examine Raymond.
"There are no visible deep wounds"
the doctor said after several moments of focused silence.
"The fainting appears to be the result of acute shock and severe physical exhaustion."
"When I found him, he could barely catch his breath. When I called his name, he didn't respond at all. It was as if he were trapped somewhere far from reality.
It seems the shock of the scene was that severe."
Gilbert's tone was calm as he recalled the details.
After listening, the doctor nodded in understanding.
"What exactly happened?"
"There were two bodies. One was completely decapitated. The other appeared to have committed suicide by slashing his own throat."
The medical staff visibly paled.
The doctor steadied himself and replied
"That explains quite a bit. Thank you for informing us."
"It's nothing significant."
Gilbert shook his head lightly.
He remained standing beside the bed, watching in silence.
After the initial examination, the doctor straightened.
"We'll need to monitor him until he regains consciousness. Psychological disturbance from shock usually manifests after awakening, which limits what we can do for now."
He paused before adding
"We may prepare a sedative if he wakes with severe symptoms. Otherwise… there is no immediate intervention required."
Gilbert lowered his gaze to Raymond's pale face.
His features were unnaturally still.
That stillness alone was unsettling.
The doctor finally turned to him.
He observed Gilbert's pallor, his rigid posture.
"And you… are you feeling anything?"
His tone softened slightly.
"You don't look well."
Gilbert's expression stiffened for a moment before he shook his head.
"It's nothing. Just fatigue."
The doctor did not appear entirely convinced, yet he did not press further.
Several silent minutes passed before Gilbert asked quietly
"How long might it take for him to wake?"
"That depends," the doctor replied while arranging his tools.
"On both his physical and psychological condition. It could be hours, or longer. We must remain prepared."
Gilbert nodded.
He now understood the seriousness of the situation more than he wished to admit.
The doctor stepped away, then paused before leaving.
"You should rest as well. There's an empty bed nearby if you need it."
Gilbert had been ready to leave at any moment—
But the thought of returning to his dormitory room, of passing once more by that bloody mire…
Made his throat burn.
The headache intensified.
He breathed slowly, then sat on the edge of a nearby bed.
Lowering his gaze, he closed his eyes for longer than he should have.
He needed to be stronger than this.
When he opened them again, his gaze lingered on Raymond's still expression.
There it was again…
That unsettling sensation.
A vague resemblance.
Not in features. Not in posture.
But in something deeper—something he could not name.
As though the person lying before him stood at the edge of something not unlike what he himself had faced long ago.
An incomplete image slipped into his mind.
Not the face of a child—
But his voice.
His words.
The cold.
The blood.
The heavy scent of medicine…
Just like the one filling the infirmary now.
As if the similarity in scent alone was enough to tear a barrier in his memory.
"Even if I have to give my life… I'll protect you this time."
Those words—that resolute voice emerging from the mouth of a child no older than six—made no sense at all.
What was that child carrying in his eyes…?
And why did he speak as though he already knew the end?
The questions tangled in Gilbert's mind without answer.
Yet the thought that suddenly surfaced unsettled him.
What if this resemblance isn't an illusion…?
He shook his head, attempting to cast away the absurd thought.
There were more important matters than digging into memories that offered no answers.
Instead, he tried to distract himself.
He remembered the book the Marchioness had given him earlier.
Although he had finished reading it some time ago, he had not yet opened the letter hidden within.
He pulled it out, placed the book aside, and unfolded the letter with hesitation.
"There isn't much time left. Wait for me… I will reclaim you, no matter what."
Few words… yet unlike anything he had ever read before.
Something strange coursed through his chest—
An unbearable, inexplicable ache.
"Who are you… and who am I?"
he muttered softly, raising the letter to conceal the expression on his face.
Deep down, he knew—
The one who occasionally sent him these letters and books through the Marchioness…
Was someone precious.
Someone who truly cared for him.
And though he did not understand why that person had never appeared throughout all these years, nor knew their circumstances, he had silently forgiven them.
But what hurt the most…
Was that he had forgotten them.
He did not know whether that was punishment—
Or simply fate demanding what he had once erased.
Either way, enduring that hollow emptiness within him was beyond description—
as though his very soul lived under the rule of oblivion.
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