Winter Wolf - Chapter 15. Part 1

Chapter 15. Part 1

Lysithea Spencer was originally the niece of the Countess of Spencer in the Duchy of Randus, but she was soon adopted as her daughter. This made securing a marriage dowry from the Count’s family easier.

When the once beautiful, fallen noblewoman—who had once been engaged to royalty—appeared in Randus’ high society, marriage proposals flooded the Spencer household.

From the nation’s most handsome young baron to an old duke who owned a gold mine, men of all kinds showered her with attention and gifts.

So, the Countess of Spencer was furious when she confessed.

“What? You still haven’t had your period?”

“Yes.”

“Since when has it been like this, huh?”

“Since that day… the day everyone died in the revolution.”

The Countess of Spencer grew furious, seeing Lysithea’s calm expression.

“How do you expect to get married in this condition? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“That’s not the case.”

Lysithea quietly avoided her aunt’s gaze.

Pregnant with his child?

At first, she thought it might be possible, but now it had already been half a year since she left that estate. If she were pregnant, her belly would have shown by now, but instead, her body had only grown thinner.

The Countess impatiently tapped Lysithea’s shoulder with her fan.

“I can’t live like this. The Grand Duke of Noxar wants to remarry you! What if everything had been set in motion before I could check? What if the Duke had sent a doctor?”

“Should I just move out, then?”

When she asked with a blank expression, the Countess grew even more upset.

“Are you crazy? You’re already part of our family, Lysithea. Think and act like a lady. And don’t go around saying things like that!”

By “acting like a lady,” she meant increasing the dowry. After the Countess stormed out of the room after her outburst, Lysithea quietly sighed.

That day, after leaving the mansion, Lysithea arrived at Sylvanes Port as planned and successfully stowed away to the Duchy of Randus. Though she regained her status as a noble, she always carried the token of her escape.

The pendant she always wore around her neck, which she claimed to be a keepsake from her mother, actually held a copper token—the smuggling ticket. Originally, there had been two tokens, but she used one to pay for the fare, while the other remained in her possession.

Following the real Terrence Cadas’ advice, Lysithea searched through Phantom’s belongings and found the two tokens.

Even now, just thinking about that moment made her head spin.

“Two tokens.”

“What?”

“There are two tokens. Where is the other person?”

On the swaying deck, Lysithea couldn’t say a word as she took back the remaining token and put it in her pocket. She didn’t want to know why he had two tokens.

‘He’s always been a thorough planner.’

Adopted by her aunt, Lysithea became a valuable asset to the Spencer family, someone who could secure a hefty dowry. Naturally, she was welcomed, admired, and showered with endless compliments and lavish adornments. Born a noble, she found it easy to adjust to a life of luxury.

But she had lost her smile. No gift or kind words could make her truly laugh. In unavoidable situations, she forced herself to smile, but it only deepened the unbearable emptiness inside.

The happy people around her knew nothing of the revolution. They had no idea how quickly a person could die from a gunshot.

They didn’t know how large and ferocious wolves could be as they roamed the snowy plains, nor what it felt like to kiss someone while hearing the sound of a blizzard.

‘I feel so alone.’

In this place, Lysithea was completely alone, unable to rely on anyone. Although the nobles of high society all showed interest in her, she couldn’t easily accept any of their kindness.

She was always afraid of being vulnerable under their watchful eyes. The leader of the revolutionaries was still alive. She had already encountered the first assassin, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be a second.

Since parting ways with Phantom, Lysithea often had nightmares.

In her dreams, she always stood in front of a tightly closed door, and inside the room, she could hear the voice of an unknown man.

“Kill Lysithea Del Arman. The reward will be generous. It’s for the price of my son’s life.”

The strange man, the leader of the revolutionaries, always said the same line. After the request was made, a man in the room – probably the Phantom – would walk to the door where she stood. At that moment, Lysithea would find herself holding a revolver and leaning against the door.

Her breath would quicken, sweat would break out, and just as the doorknob turned, Lysithea would wake up.

‘Will Phantom come to kill me again?’

Every morning after a nightmare, Lysithea would take out her revolver and think of him—imagining the day he might come to kill her.

She would be ready to meet him, revolver in hand, waiting, hidden by the door. He would burst in, bloodied from killing everyone in the Spencer mansion, and she would use all her strength to hug him. Until he finally realized he was too late and gave her that awkward smile.

‘Please come and kill me.’

Her desperate fantasies always ended with the sound of a maid knocking on the door. When she came to her senses, breakfast was served, and soon after the preparations for her day began. Until she went to sleep, she was the beautiful Lady Spencer, pushed and pulled wherever she was needed.

The only relief was that after it became known that she was unfit for marriage, the Countess stopped forcing her to attend every party.

“Only go to the necessary events. You need to recover your health before we can think about engagements or anything else.”

With this bit of freedom, Lysithea only agreed to attend hunting gatherings. It was just a game, chasing and hunting small animals for fun, but Lysithea quietly blended in with the crowd on horseback.

Each time the sound of a rifle echoed through the air with a loud *bang*, she felt an inexplicable sense of liberation.

“Lady Spencer, I see you come to the hunt often.”

“Shall I teach you how to shoot?”

A few men approached Lysithea, trying to strike up a conversation. She shook her head lightly.

“No need. I already know how to shoot.”

“Really? But I’ve never seen you fire.”

“Shall we lend her one? Hey, bring another rifle!”

With just a single response, everything happened quickly. The noblemen eagerly handed her a rifle, their faces filled with anticipation and smug satisfaction. They were expecting her to impress or entertain them.

They would shower her with flattery and praise if she hit the target, clinging to her side. They were ready to comfort her with sweet words if she missed, hoping to win her favor.

Lysithea stared intently at the target in the distance, set up beside the hunting ground.

*Click.*

The slow metallic sound of loading the hunting rifle filled her ears—something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“Hold your breath.”

As her finger hovered over the trigger, his voice echoed in her mind.

‘The center of the target came into sharp focus. Lysithea pulled the trigger.’

*Bang!*

The men watching leaped to their feet in shock.

“My goodness…!”

Lysithea’s rifle was pointed at the sky. The empty shot echoed in the clear summer sky, not a cloud in sight.

“Lady Spencer…!”

Without a word, Lysithea threw the rifle aside and turned away. She didn’t even offer the usual formalities of an excuse like “I suddenly have a headache”. Instead, she hurried away, almost fleeing as she ran to her carriage.

After that day, Lysithea never returned to the hunting grounds.

While staying at the Spencer estate, Lysithea occasionally heard phantom gunshots. When she did, her mind would feel clear, and her chest, momentarily, felt relieved.

But then, memories of Gray walking along the firing line and the warmth of the man who used to embrace her from behind would resurface, leaving her chest heavy once more.

“We need to send her off soon. The Grand Duke of Noxar isn’t known for his patience.”

The pressure from the Count of Spencer grew each day, and there was talk that they might have to deceive someone just to get her married.

“That man is dead.”

“What?”

The Countess tossed the weekly newspaper toward her. It was the front page. The word “suicide” stood out boldly among the headlines.

“The leader of the revolutionaries… is dead?”

In disbelief, Lysithea read the article carefully. He had been found in his home with a gun in his hand, with clear signs of suicide.

“My poor brother… If that bastard had died a year earlier, there would have been no revolution.”

The Countess cried as she thought of Lysithea’s father, the Marquis Arman. But was it true? The revolution hadn’t been the work of one man; it had been the work of many hands. Still, fate had been cruel.

Lysithea read the entire article. A feeling of emptiness and doubt filled her heart.

All the articles buzzed about his suicide note and signs of self-harm, but Lysithea couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

The leader wasn’t the type to commit suicide.

He was a cold and ruthless man, one who had hired the best assassin to avenge his son. And with his quarry – Lysithea – still alive, would a man who had successfully led a revolution write a note and take his own life? It didn’t add up. There was only one explanation that made sense to her.

**He** killed him. Ignoring her plea to stop killing, **he** did it. Phantom killed the leader of the revolution, Bran’s father—the man who had kept her life filled with fear and tension, and who had one day surely planned to kill her.

Phantom had killed him.

**Why…?**