RODH Chapter 33
by Brie33.
“Lord Ruben!”
Nevan’s shout jolted me back to my senses, and I instinctively raised both arms to shield my head.
It was my best attempt to brace for impact.
But suddenly, my body twisted, and my vision flipped a full 180 degrees.
Nevan had pulled me into his arms and rolled forward.
Thanks to that, we avoided being crushed by the falling rocks—but the sudden motion left me so nauseated, I was gasping for air for a while.
“Lord— Are you… Lord Ruben! Are you alright?”
Only after Nevan shook my shoulders several times did I finally come back to myself.
I stared blankly at the collapsed tunnel entrance.
Plip. Plop.
Ian and Nevan waited in the tunnel until the ground stabilized.
Once it seemed safe enough, Nevan began clearing the rocks blocking the exit.
Ian, still fighting off the nausea, joined in and started moving debris as well.
No words passed between them.
“……”
“……”
Eventually, the silence grew too stifling, and Ian broke it first.
“Do you think they’ll know we’re trapped in here?”
“They’ll search for us, but there’s a chance they won’t find us.”
“Then…”
“The oxygen level in the tunnel is low, Lord Ruben.”
Was he telling him not to speak?
No—given that he’d shown signs of motion sickness, Nevan was probably advising him to conserve energy.
Realizing that, Ian took Nevan’s words as a thoughtful gesture and kept them in mind.
As they worked together to move the stones, Ian noticed faint drops of blood on the ground.
He traced the trail and saw it led to Nevan.
His hand.
The blood was coming from the back of his hand.
“Did you hurt yourself because of me?”
Nevan kept silently moving the rocks, not offering a single word in response.
Frustrated, Ian grabbed him by the wrist.
Just like when Nevan had escorted him earlier, that electric jolt surged through his skin again.
Ian gritted his teeth and endured the sensation.
He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t just ignore someone who was hurt.
After a long pause, Nevan finally spoke.
“I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“……”
Nevan only stared at him, not making a move. So Ian pulled his wrist closer and tied a handkerchief from his pocket tightly around the wound.
From a distance, he hadn’t noticed, but Nevan’s hands were rough—scarred and hardened from countless battles.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. Lord Ruben, you—”
“I’m dizzy, but I can manage.”
With that, Nevan began moving the rocks even faster than before.
Ian didn’t know why he was suddenly in such a rush, and it was hard to keep up—but Nevan did know.
Time was running out.
Ian’s lips had taken on a faint bluish tint.
It meant the oxygen in the confined space was rapidly decreasing.
Nevan could endure longer—he’d trained for years in high-altitude environments.
But Ian wasn’t like him.
He didn’t seem particularly strong, nor was he trained for this. At most, he might last an hour.
They had to escape before then.
If something happened to Ian—
Nevan suddenly realized how completely he was consumed by worry.
Had he ever cared this much for another person before?
Suddenly overcome by a thought, Nevan paused in his movements.
Ian gasped softly and asked what was wrong.
Nevan replied,
“I will get you out of here. No matter what.”
At that vow-like declaration, Ian blinked.
Was the situation really that serious?
He almost asked—but then thought better of it.
No need to stir up more trouble.
They continued clearing rocks, but Ian’s dizziness worsened. Soon, everything went dark.
“Lord Ruben!”
“Ah…”
He could hardly breathe.
The mineworms had been cute as a picture, but they consumed a large amount of oxygen.
And now, with the entrance completely sealed,
he was slowly suffocating.
An internal alarm bell was ringing, loud and clear.
He was going to die again.
And yet… he felt strangely at peace.
Somehow, the thought “It wouldn’t be so bad to die right now” crept into his mind.
Was that normal when oxygen was this low?
Nevan pulled Ian upright and helped him lean comfortably against the wall.
“Lord Ruben, you must stay conscious.”
“I’m dizzy… Your Grace, I’m seeing two—no, three of you…”
“Forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
And with that, Nevan leaned in.
Their lips met.
Nevan gently breathed several times into Ian’s mouth, and as the air reached him, Ian’s fading consciousness began to return. His breathing grew steadier.
After finishing the emergency rescue breaths, Nevan quickly pulled away.
Ian simply blinked in shock at what had just happened.
As his vision cleared, Nevan’s back came into focus.
He was already back at the pile of rocks.
“We don’t have time. I’ll use a faster method.”
The tips of Nevan’s ears looked a little red.
Ian watched silently as Nevan drew his sword.
Shing—
It was too fast to even see. The blade flashed, and the rocks exploded into fragments.
Rumble—
The entire tunnel trembled as if a massive stone gate had opened.
More rocks crumbled from the ceiling—but fortunately, this time they left behind a hole, about the size of half a face.
The air that drifted in from outside was humid, but it carried real oxygen, and Ian immediately felt less faint.
What Nevan had done when Ian was on the brink of losing consciousness…
Just remembering it made heat flood to Ian’s face.
“Think nice thoughts. Calm thoughts.”
He frantically tried to push away the strange feelings rising up in him, when Nevan turned and asked,
Ian quickly averted his eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“Ah—yes.”
“Then why won’t you look at me…?”
“Look?”
When Ian finally looked straight ahead, it was Nevan who turned away this time.
“……”
“……”
The awkwardness between them only lasted a moment—then came the clatter of someone scrambling outside.
It was Luke.
“Your Grace! Lord Ruben!”
Nevan called back.
“We’re here, Luke! Bring reinforcements!”
The sword pointed at Lucian returned to its sheath.
All because of Seor’s command.
“He may not be my fiancé, but since he’s wearing that face, I can’t allow him to be harmed.”
Seor made it clear that he didn’t want to cause unnecessary misunderstanding or conflict.
At the same time, he demanded to know who was responsible for this absurd scheme.
Both Alvis and Bain turned their eyes to Lucian.
Lucian opened his mouth.
“The method was my idea, sure, but these two were in on it just the same. Otherwise, why do you think they stayed quiet while you were stuffed inside that wardrobe?”
Come to think of it, that was true.
As Seor felt the swelling in his cheek worsen, he turned to Alvis.
“Tower Lord, if you’ve got any sense of guilt, I think this is the time you hand over some salve.”
Alvis rummaged through his pockets and produced a jar.
“It reduces bruising.”
“It works instantly, right?”
“Yes.”
Peter took the ointment and gently applied it to Seor’s cheek.
Just as Alvis claimed, the wound healed instantly—no trace left to even tell who had hit him.
“If you sold this kind of medicine, even the sick would recover. Ever think of that?”
“Do you think it’s easy to make medicine with immediate effects?”
“Ooh, sharp words.”
“…Apologies.”
“As long as you understand.”
Seor then turned his gaze to Lucian, who still bore Ian’s face.
If there was ever a moment Seor could be his most sadistic, it was now.
“Kneel.”
Lucian’s brow twitched.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Ian was given an imperial decree. You impersonated him without any right to take his place. Do you even understand the weight of defiling the Imperial House?”
“I’m a shameless dragonkin—I wouldn’t know about that.”
“You’ve got some nerve. What if Ian suffers the consequences because of you?”
“Don’t drag Ian into this, you perverted bastard.”
Lucian’s pupils slit vertically.
Bain gasped, seeing the demonic look on Lucian’s face.
The tension was so thick, he longed for the cold winds of Ferost—anywhere but here.
Just as things were reaching a boiling point, a knock sounded at the door.
The heavy air—thick with dominant Alpha pheromones—finally started to settle. Seor jerked his chin toward Peter.
Peter opened the door to find one of the Emperor’s attendants bowing formally.
“What is it?”
Seor, clearly irritated, barked the question.
The attendant bowed even lower and said,
“His Majesty has summoned Lord Ruben to join him for the final dance of the Spring Festival.”
The Spring Festival traditionally ended with a dance between the Crown Prince and his betrothed.
Seor ran a hand irritably through his hair and muttered,
“Damn it.”
Peter, reading the room, quietly urged the attendant to go ahead and said they’d follow shortly.
After the attendant left, Lucian snapped,
“There’s no way in hell I’m dancing with you.”
“Says the one who started this.”
The roses outside the window filled the air with sweet scent, but inside the room, the tension between pheromones was sharp and biting.
If one had to compare it to a season, it wasn’t spring—it was a brutal winter.
Bain recalled Ian’s words and pleaded with Lucian,
“Please, for our young master’s sake—just dance! His Majesty’s decree can’t be ignored!”
Peter likewise tried to reason with Seor.
“Just endure it this once, Your Highness. You can think about punishment later.”
At their pleading, Seor and Lucian exchanged glares, then crossed their arms and snorted at each other.
“Hmph.”
But when the Emperor’s attendant returned a second time, Alvis cast a spell on them both—and they had no choice but to follow.