TPWTL 68

TPWTL

Posted by Tommy Vercetti, Released on August 23, 2025

#68. Lie Down.

“By now, you understand what it means if red hair and blue eyes are practically the trademark of my family, don’t you?”

“So if you and I were to marry and have a child, it would inevitably be a redhead with blue eyes?”

“That’s how it’s always been. Because children are so rare, there’s only ever been one or two in each generation, so there’s never been room for confusion. My bloodline insists stubbornly on leaving its mark, though apparently without the endurance to branch out in multiple ways.”

Olivia, who had just offered a rather biting assessment of her ancestors, let go of his cheek and sank deep into the sofa.

Isaac’s unexpected questions about children had startled her so badly that her shoulders had tensed up, and the spot where the nape of her neck met the back of her head was throbbing.

Distracted by the sudden wave of pain, she missed the words Cryer had muttered under his breath.

“…I see. So a child of yours would have red hair and blue eyes.”

She squirmed slightly, trying to ease the ache, but—as always—a little shifting of her body did nothing to dispel the pain.

Cryer watched her wriggling like a salted worm, then spoke.

“Where does it hurt?”

“The kind of place that hurts if you’ve been sitting too long.”

Her vague answer only earned a pointed look, so Olivia pressed her fingers into her neck and exhaled a long sigh.

“Keep sitting and your back weakens, your spine curves inward, and then your shoulders hunch in and… ah, anyway, the pain climbs up from my shoulders to the back of my neck until I feel like I want to rip my head clean off.”

Her ancestors, who had lived their entire lives buried under mountains of paperwork, had surely made the same agony their lifelong companion.

“One of them even called it ‘turtle neck.’ And it really does fit.”

To demonstrate, she picked up a random document, craned her neck forward, and pretended to read.

Without a word, Cryer suddenly lifted her out of the sofa.

Her eyes widened at the sudden rise in perspective, and she grabbed his shoulder.

“Where are you taking me?”

“What you’re describing is that your back and neck are all tense, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Before she could finish, he laid her down on the long sofa.

Now flat on her back, Olivia found herself uselessly noting how sharp his jawline looked from this angle—like it could cut her. But then his words left her gaping.

“Lie on your stomach.”

“What?”

“On your stomach. I’ll loosen it for you.”

Hearing the extra clarification, Olivia obeyed without protest and promptly rolled over.

“You know how to do that?”

“I’m used to working with bodies.”

“…That could be interpreted in a very questionable way, but considering your strength, I suppose it makes sense.”

What he meant by “working with bodies” wasn’t holding hands or giving hugs. It was something bloodier—sending every last one of his enemies to the underworld without exception.

He was a monster who could cut down knights ranked among the Empire’s strongest—men who had trained all their lives in the art of killing— with a single stroke.

When it came to the human body, he knew it better than anyone.

Looking down at the slim back wriggling faintly in anticipation, the delicate line of neck flowing up from it, Cryer swallowed something between a sigh and a groan.

Was she cautious, or wasn’t she?

It felt like a small rabbit, oblivious and defenseless, had climbed onto the plate of its own accord.

He really did mean only to relieve her pain—but her complete lack of awareness was dangerous in another way.

“…Cryer?”

When he froze and didn’t move, Olivia turned her head slightly against the cushion and called him.

But he only looked down at her, not moving his hand.

“Cra—”

“Is it all right if I put my hands on you as I please?”

Her lashes fluttered wildly at the sudden question—or was it a warning?

He meant massaging her back… right? Right?

Her blue eyes trembled as if an earthquake had struck when they met his crimson gaze, roiling with an unnamable emotion.

Unable to withstand the growing tension between them, Olivia hurriedly flipped onto her back and sat up.

“Uh—yeah, but… it’s fine. I’m fine now.”

Of course, the stabbing pain in her neck was still there. But having his hands roaming over her body was another problem altogether.

She shook her head briskly to chase away the thoughts and risked a glance at him from where she sat.

Too flustered to meet his eyes, her gaze drifted lower—landing on his collarbone.

An image of a child flashed across her mind.

“…Surely you wouldn’t have branded even a child like that.”

That was the thought that had made her grimace at Cryer’s earlier words.

Not because she doubted the child was his—but because she feared that an innocent child might bear the same brand as him.

“If it was a mage, or that mage’s daughter, who branded him, there’s no way a child could hide it from their eyes.”

“Or maybe they deliberately left it alone—to use him as a tool for something else.”

If it had been that boastful mage, he would have blabbed the plan already. But the woman? That was possible.

“Maybe.”

“If that’s true, then I’ll dig up that already-dead mage and cut his head off again.”

“…What does that even mean?”

“When a man guilty of a mortal crime dies too easily, the only punishment left is scorn and insult.”

Olivia said it without batting an eye, then scrunched her brows.

“I really do hate a lot of things.”

The abrupt admission made Cryer listen more closely.

“The worst kind of violence is the kind inflicted on those who can’t resist. Children. The sick. Animals that can’t speak.”

Her slender fingers ticked off each example, her blue eyes freezing over like ice.

“You said something was hidden in the body, didn’t you?”

If the child really bore a brand—

“I’ll have to check.”

Resolute, Olivia reached toward Cryer, who nodded and lifted her easily again.

“First, let’s wrap up this case—the so-called crime of passion.”

She tapped the stack of documents she’d been fuming over before Isaac barged in.

“Then we’ll use that pretext to look in on the child too.”

***

With her course decided, Olivia wasted no time.

To be precise, Cryer carried her quickly along. Her injured heel meant she couldn’t walk on her own.

He adjusted the deep hood of her robe to conceal her face and asked:

“We’ll need to leave the palace grounds. What about a disguise?”

“Showing up like this will draw attention no matter what. A grown woman carried in a man’s arms isn’t exactly an everyday sight.”

Disguise only worked to deflect attention. In this state, even with one, people would remember them. And if anyone remembered her disguised face, it could ruin its usefulness later.

“So, you’ll just have to stick to paths no one sees, right?”

Cryer didn’t answer—he simply vanished on the spot.

Shhhk.

The rush of wind across her cheeks was so sharp it whistled like blades scraping. Olivia clamped her mouth shut so as not to bite her tongue and held tighter to his neck.

Soon, they arrived at the address Isaac had given. Cryer stopped, and Olivia scanned their surroundings.

“That house, I think.”

Cryer followed her pointing finger.

“There’s someone inside. Just one. Barely moving. Heart racing fast—it’s a child.”

“Can you get us in?”

“Not without breaking the door.”

“That would draw too much attention. With Isaac and Ambre having already visited, the child is under suspicion. If we cause a scene, it could put him in even greater danger.”

She narrowed her eyes at the door.

“…Unless my eyes deceive me, only the door looks new.”

“That’s right. Just the door.”

“Unwelcome visitors lately… ah.”

She realized—Isaac and Ambre.

“Well, at least they replaced it with a sturdier one.”

Clicking her tongue, Olivia tapped Cryer’s arm.

“Can you get in alone without smashing it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Check the child first.”

“You mean, for the brand.”

“No. He may be a boy, but I can’t just strip him without explanation.”