But Count Lynko’s faction could not die as vassals.
“Sit up straight. Don’t lean back.”
The knight escorting Edward glared fiercely and warned him when he kept leaning back. Even so, when Edward leaned back again, the knight shoved him away.
“Huh?”
As Edward Lynko’s body, which should have been sitting upright, slumped limply like a puppet with its strings cut, the knight hurriedly grabbed his upper body. Supporting his head, which had fallen every which way, the knight checked his face, and his own face filled with dismay.
Edward Lynko’s eyes were open and vacant. His unfocused gray-brown pupils proved that his soul had already departed his body. The knight urgently checked his pulse, but the place where a pulse should have been beating was utterly still.
“What the…”
Sirius, who had approached, trailed off. The moment he, having swiftly assessed the situation, was about to go to Ares—who was just passing through the ducal castle gate—dismayed gasps were heard from all around.
“Your Grace! My Lady!”
At the ominous call, Ares and Eliza, who had immediately run back, were met with the corpses of Count Lynko’s party sprawled across the cold, bare ground. Crimson, who was examining the corpses, approached the two and whispered softly.
“All of the corpses have marks as if pierced by needles at a point along the carotid artery. Their lips have turned purple, and blood has pooled inside their mouths.”