Bain’s Sleep

The life of the man called Berlowen existed for a single person.

The purpose, the reason, and the ultimate result of him swinging his sword were all for that one person.

And Berlowen could not sleep.

That was a painfully familiar occurrence. The whispering phantoms that made his ears ache could appear at any moment. The ugly souls, recognizing a dog that had lost its master, endlessly shrieked their demands at Bain.

– Call your master.

– Even if it’s just a soul, you must bind it.

– So that he dare not abandon you.

Although he had succeeded in trapping the dead Emperor’s soul within the mansion, the soul had eventually vanished. From that moment on, Bain’s mind had become the playground of monsters, feeling as though it were constantly on the verge of exploding.

For two months, he had occasionally dozed off, but the actual time he had spent sleeping was less than ten minutes. Every nerve in his body was raw, reacting sharply to the slightest touch.

Whenever that happened, a specific smell would torment Bain. The smell of tobacco. Emperor Electro was a heavy smoker, and whenever Bain sat at his knees as usual, the Emperor always had a cigarette between his lips.

“Your Majesty.”

Yet Electro, whenever Bain called out to him, would tap the ash off his cigarette with his index finger, as if worried that a stray ember might fall on the dog sitting at his feet. It was a peculiar habit unique to Electro—a different posture from other smokers, flicking the ash off with his finger directly.

Bain had hated the Emperor’s smoking, but he had loved the way Electro got ash on his hands just for his sake.

Tonight, Grand Duke Berlowen once again could not sleep.

It was an all too familiar occurrence, and so Bain rose from his bed. Opening his door like a man who had lost his soul, Bain stepped out barefoot. He slowly opened the castle gate and ventured out into the freezing night.

On nights when sleep eluded him, he often came out to face the falling snow, or stood outside all day long.

Wearing only a thin shirt and black trousers, barefoot, Bain approached the thickly piled snow and slowly knelt.

Emperor Electro was Bain’s master. If not for that, Bain would surely have ripped open Electro’s belly and devoured his entrails long before he died. Electro would not have escaped Bain even through death, and everything would have been forever bound to Bain.

If Electro had not been the Emperor of the Empire and Berlowen’s master, that sweet, terrifyingly beautiful conclusion would certainly have come.

“If there is a next life, Your Majesty will never escape me.”

Staring up at the pitch-black sky, Bain wiped the cold expression from his face and smiled sharply. Just imagining it made him feel peace. Even his throbbing headache began to subside.

But the next life was a long way off. He had succeeded in trapping Electro’s soul in the mansion, but the moment it was bound, the Emperor’s soul had vanished.

Straightaway, Berlowen had gone to seek a certain ‘collaborator,’ but there was no harvest. That collaborator had left him with only vague words, advising Berlowen to return to his estate.

“What Your Grace desires is already in the mansion, so please return quickly.”

Berlowen recalled the day he had arrived back at the mansion. Until then, the ghosts had shrieked sharply in Bain’s ears, chattering about their dark desires.

– Tear him apart and kill him.

– Kill.

– Rip out his entrails.

– And bring the Emperor. Drag his soul here, make him yours forever.

– So that even in death, he cannot escape.

– Drag him back from hell.

Just as his head was about to split from the noise, Berlowen had heard someone open the main gate and enter. At that sound, the filthy desires that had been barking loudly in his mind suddenly fell dead silent.

Pale brown eyes. A color completely different from the Emperor’s beautiful golden eyes, but as he stared into them, Berlowen saw a gaze that was fundamentally identical. As he met those eyes, the ugly noises miraculously disappeared.

“Your eyes…”

“…”

“I don’t like them.”

They were eyes that saw right through Bain’s ugly desires.

Staring at eyes that made him feel as if he were standing directly before the Emperor, Berlowen had felt a rare flash of displeasure.

Whether the other man had good instincts or inhuman reflexes, he had snapped his head back before his eyes could be gouged out, successfully dodging the attack. Berlowen thought that if the man dodged, then fine; but if he hadn’t, he truly would have gouged his eyeballs out with his bare fingers.

Now, unable to sleep, the sensitive beast’s nostrils caught a scent. It was the smell of tobacco. Someone dared to smoke in his castle.

That was the very smell that had driven Emperor Electro to his death, a smell that had never left his side. For Bain, tobacco was a privilege permitted only to his master.

A low growl rumbled from his throat. Berlowen rose from his seat, moving to brutally slaughter the offender.

– Tear him apart.

– Kill.

– Tear off his limbs.

– Gouge out his eyes.

– Pull out his tongue.

– Eat his entrails. Kill.

– The Emperor… Ah…

– As an offering for my Majesty…

Inside the castle, on the stairs leading to the basement, past the kitchen, the smell of tobacco wafted clearly from the storage room. Bain opened the heavy door with silent, fluid movements. His form, immersed in the shadows, was barely visible, leaving only his intense eyes shining in the dark.

The knight he had seen during the day stood there without a trace of fear, his face sleepy and a cigarette between his lips as he glanced at the intruder who had barged into his space. Electro, blinking sleepily and staring at Bain’s approach with languid eyes, blew out a slow puff of smoke.

Bain’s bloodshot blue eyes gleamed coldly in the dark.

Bain had planned to kill Merwell in a manner far more brutal and disgusting than any rumor described. But strangely, as the other man looked up at him with those languid eyes—just like Emperor Electro used to—his surging murderous intent gradually subsided.

Instead, the fierce, possessive desire he felt only for the Emperor enveloped him.

He hated Merwell’s languid eyes. It was because they stimulated the deepest desires Berlowen yearned for. Berlowen could tear Merwell to pieces with his bare hands right now. He raised his hand to do so.

Then, Merwell moved. Faced with a murderous intent that would have caused anyone else to faint on the spot, he merely squinted and smiled. That smile was the exact one the old Emperor had always worn when looking down at Berlowen.

Berlowen’s body, moving slowly to kill Merwell, flinched and ground to a halt. At the same time, Merwell raised the hand holding the cigarette and tapped the ash off with his index finger.

“…”

The fierce aura, which had felt ready to snap the opponent’s neck, visibly diminished. Berlowen, staring at that series of familiar actions as if nailed to the spot, slowly tilted his head.

Merwell looked at Berlowen’s dazed, pale eyes and spoke.

“What are you doing?”

The very same words echoed from the past.

“What are you doing?”

On a snowy day, Emperor Electro had sat in his rocking chair. As Bain had stopped, overcome by a rising appetite, Emperor Electro had called out to him. It felt exactly as if he had returned to that day.

Merwell still seemed drunk with sleep. Not in his right mind and with a strong cigarette in his mouth, he must be confusing reality and illusion. Even Electro, who had smoked heavily, had occasionally seen hallucinations.

“Why don’t you come here quickly?”

Electro raised his hand, tapping the ash off with his index finger so it wouldn’t fall. At the action, the bloodthirsty beast’s shining blue eyes flashed, but his fierce demeanor gradually faded, though he remained alert.

Berlowen, as if entranced or fascinated, slowly stepped toward Merwell. Then, Merwell naturally raised his hand, making space on his lap. Berlowen slowly knelt at Merwell’s feet and buried his head in his slender thigh.

“That’s right.”

A soft whisper.

A smile spread across Merwell’s elegant and handsome face. It was the Emperor’s smile, which Berlowen had never once missed.

Even though he didn’t understand what was happening, Berlowen rested his head on Merwell’s thigh and slowly closed his eyes.

Merwell also leaned against the wine barrel and closed his eyes. As Berlowen fell into slumber, his thoughts drifted.

If Your Majesty were not my master, or if you no longer had the power to protect yourself from me… then you should never let yourself be caught by me.

Berlowen realized that the bizarre, shrieking noises that usually disturbed his mind were no longer audible. It was a familiar, long-lost peace.

Soon, the breathing of the two men became steady in the darkness.

It was his first deep sleep in about two months.

Heavy.

Electro frowned at the tingling numbness in his left thigh. With the thought that whoever had placed something heavy on this old man while he slept would not be forgiven, he opened his eyes.

From the moment he opened his eyes, the cold rising from the floor hit his body; it was a miracle his jaw wasn’t chattering. Merwell tried to rise and move away. Falling asleep in a freezing cold underground storage room was complete insanity.

Then, suddenly, Merwell realized that the black weight on his thigh was no inanimate object.

“…”

That black mass was, surprisingly, Bain’s head. The loyal dog he had raised since infancy had fallen asleep with his dark hair spread out, his head resting securely on Merwell’s thigh.

Whenever Merwell stirred, the beautiful hound squirmed, complaining of the discomfort. Looking down at Berlowen kneeling at his feet, his long eyelashes fluttering in the shadows as he slept peacefully, Merwell slowly raised his hand.

He gently stroked the long, silky black hair. Berlowen was so deeply asleep that even the touch on his head didn’t fully wake him; he only burrowed deeper into Merwell’s embrace with a small, soft whimper.

“Hoo…”

Merwell sighed, pulling away the stray strands of hair stuck to Bain’s face. It felt exactly like he was back in the imperial bedroom.

Bain had often had sleepless nights. In Electro’s old age, when death drew near, Bain’s insomnia had worsened to the point where Electro couldn’t bear to watch.

The loyal dog, worried about his master’s failing health, would seek sleep at Electro’s feet whenever rest eluded him.

“Still suffering from insomnia?”

Merwell patted Bain’s head several times and let out a heavy sigh. He wanted to ask why he had turned to black magic, but now didn’t seem like the right time.

His dog, born with such beauty and given power that others envied, yet unable to live well despite it all, pained his heart.

Realizing that Bain had sat directly on the ice-cold floor to sleep, Merwell carefully rose. Bain growled softly, subconsciously trying to hold onto the departing warmth, but only for a moment before settling again.

Merwell looked around and found a blanket covering a nearby wine rack. Carefully, he pulled out the blanket, returned, and gently draped it over Bain’s shoulders.

Electro, looking down at Bain sleeping with his head resting on the wine barrel, eventually raised his hand, stroked his head once more, and stood up.

He could come back in a couple of hours to check on him. Judging by how deeply the Grand Duke slept, he probably hadn’t rested in days.

Electro carefully slipped out.

As the door creaked shut, Grand Duke Berlowen, who had been sleeping with his head against the wine barrel, slowly opened his eyes. In the dark and cold, his beautiful blue eyes traced the path Merwell had taken.

Fortunately, when he checked the underground storage room again later that night, Bain was gone. Merwell, holding a lantern, let out a small sigh. Staring at the floor where only the blanket lay abandoned, Electro scratched his head for no reason.

The underground storage room, devoid of any warmth, felt eerily unsettling. Perhaps it was because the recent matters of black magic and ghosts involving Bain had made him sensitive, he thought, and he slowly turned his back to leave.