Rainy Night

Seven days later, deep into the night, rain poured down like a deluge.
Dense raindrops hammered against the roof of the small wooden cabin, producing an unending clatter, as if the entire world were about to be drowned.
Occasionally, a ghastly pale bolt of lightning tore across the sky, followed by rolling thunder that rumbled dully through the clouds.

Inside the cabin, everything was quiet.
The only source of light came from an old-fashioned oil lamp on the desk by the window.

Black held a quill pen, sketching on a sheet of draft paper.
What he drew were not images, but complex lines, arrows, annotated names, time markers, and various shorthand symbols that only he himself could understand.
After working for a long time, he picked up the paper and examined it carefully under the lamplight, as if running through some kind of deduction.

In the end, he shook his head, dissatisfied.
With a rip, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the corner, where dozens of paper balls had already piled up.
He pulled out a fresh sheet and continued.

Before long, the pen stopped again.
He lifted the new page, his gaze slowly sweeping across every mark, fingers tapping unconsciously against the desk as he continued to think it through.
This time, as though he had arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, his furrowed brow finally relaxed.

Black let out a long breath, folded the paper away, and leaned back in his chair.
Outside the window, the night was heavy and dark, the rain showing no sign of letting up, damp air seeping in through the cracks.

“Several days of weather like this already… it really fits the mood,” Black murmured to himself.

Seven days ago, the news of Alvin’s death had spread throughout Servia.
The Knight Order, the Dragon-Slaying Guard, and Dragonheart Academy had joined forces to investigate, making a tremendous commotion.
He heard they had even uncovered a black-market channel dealing in the deadly poison “Blood-Erosion Incense,” arresting many people for interrogation.
Even if nothing could be wrung out of them, anyone with a prior record was thrown into prison.
Those people had truly suffered misfortune out of nowhere.

Gandalf was still nowhere to be found.
Even the Dragon-Slaying Guard’s informants couldn’t locate him.
No one knew where he was hiding or what he was planning.

As for Kristine…
In these seven days, Black had only seen her once.

Outside the count’s residence, the girl had been dressed in solemn black mourning clothes.
Her already slender figure looked even more fragile.
Her silver hair was simply tied up, revealing pale cheeks and reddened eyes.
When he approached, she forced a smile, but it was such an awful one—more heartbreaking than tears.

She spoke very little.
The gentle serenity she once had was crushed beneath overwhelming grief, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Black wanted to say something, but when the words reached his lips, every form of comfort felt hollow and useless.
In the end, the two of them had simply stood there in silence for a while.

He wanted to stay with her, but the count’s funeral was large in scale and full of affairs that required personal attention.
Kristine had too much to handle herself; staying would only get in the way.

The only good news was that her emotions remained relatively stable, with no signs of dragonification.
Tomorrow would be the day of Alvin’s official burial.
He could only hope that after the funeral, Kristine would finally have the time to slowly process this immense pain and, little by little, step out of the shadows.

It was late.
Black blew out the lamp and lay down on the bed.
The rain was loud, and sleep stubbornly refused to come.

Just then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of knocking suddenly pierced through the rain and reached his ears.

Black opened his eyes, genuinely puzzled.
In the middle of the night, during a violent storm—who would be knocking on his door?

He got up, walked over, and opened it.

The rain fell like a waterfall, forming a curtain beneath the eaves.
And beyond that curtain of water, within the cold downpour, stood a single figure.

It was Kristine.

She stood there in the heavy rain without an umbrella, completely soaked.
Her clothes clung to her body, silver hair plastered to her pale cheeks.
She trembled faintly, her lips drained of color, her expression hollow—so sorrowful it looked as though it might shatter at any moment.

Black froze for a split second.
“Kristine?!”

He grabbed her arm, pulled her inside, and slammed the door shut, cutting off the wind and rain.
Lighting the lamp, he asked urgently, “Why are you here? Why are you soaked like this?”

Kristine didn’t answer.
She suddenly stepped forward and hugged him tightly, using all her strength, as if trying to embed herself into his chest.
Her face buried against his shoulder, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“Black…”
Her voice was choked, broken beyond repair.
“I’m so sad… so sad…”

Hearing this, Black recalled a saying: only in front of the person one loves can someone expose their vulnerability without restraint.
At this moment, he finally understood.

Kristine was strong.
Lady Mona had withdrawn from all responsibilities under the excuse of overwhelming grief, so for these seven days, Kristine had personally handled all funeral arrangements.
Beyond that, she hadn’t neglected her academy studies, nor her volunteer teaching at the orphanage.

In front of the children, she hid her sorrow deeply and wore a smile.
Kristine was a strong person.

But pain doesn’t disappear.
It only accumulates.
And tonight, it finally burst its banks.

On this stormy night, soaked by rain and lost in grief, she had come searching for a place that could ease her pain.
And so, she came here.

Black lowered his head and looked at the drenched person in his arms.
All words felt unnecessary.
He bent down and held her tightly, his voice low and steady.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Hearing that, Kristine clung to him even tighter and began to cry softly.
They embraced beneath the dim lamplight, with nothing but the sound of rain outside.

After a long while, her sobbing finally eased, though her body was icy cold.
“You’ll get sick like this. Go take a hot shower first and warm up,” Black said gently, patting her back.

Kristine nodded in his arms, letting go obediently, her movements dull and sluggish.
She took the blanket Black handed her and silently walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Soon, the soft sound of running water could be heard.
Black let out a quiet breath of relief.
Right now, the greatest help he could give Kristine was simply to offer her a warm harbor where she could rest.
Whatever she asked for, he would give it.

Time passed little by little.
The sound of water stopped.

After a while, the bathroom door opened slightly, and warm steam spilled out.
A wet head peeked through the gap.
Kristine’s cheeks were flushed a faint pink from the hot water.

She looked at Black, embarrassment and shyness mingling on her face, her voice as soft as a mosquito’s hum.
“B-Black… do you… have any clothes?”

Black froze for a moment, then realized what she meant, a hint of awkwardness crossing his face.
Kristine had come suddenly, drenched through; of course she hadn’t brought a change of clothes.
But this place—
a single man’s residence—how could it possibly have women’s clothing?

Seeing his dilemma, Kristine bit her lower lip, her voice dropping even softer.
“A… a bigger shirt would be fine.”

Hearing that, Black got up and rummaged through the wardrobe, eventually pulling out a loose white shirt.
He walked to the bathroom door, turned his body to the side, closed his eyes, and slipped the shirt through the crack.

“…Thank you,” came her quiet reply.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened again.
Kristine stepped out, now changed.

The sight made Black’s breathing hitch slightly, and he looked away, somewhat stiffly.
From head to toe, she was wearing only that oversized white shirt.