Please Grant Me a Glorious Regret [Novel] Chapter 8

As her desperate voice called out the name he missed so dearly, Dimion's eyes widened.

His initial shock quickly gave way to a face Arte had never seen before.

The languid composure that had seemed eternal shattered into pieces, and a raging storm churned within his pale green eyes.

Arte couldn't tell if she had made the right move or committed another irreversible mistake.

She couldn't even be sure if the crashing waves in his eyes were aimed at her or Benjamin standing behind her.

Her heart felt like it would burst.

The wait for Dimion's response stretched on like an eternity.

"Who."

Dimion finally spoke.

His low, sunken voice slowly parted his lips.

"Who did this to you?"

Fortunately, the storm was aimed past Arte.

"Behind you?"

Her tension snapping, Arte nodded weakly.

She didn't have the energy to answer aloud.

"You filthy whore!"

As if to prove Arte's point, a blind Benjamin lunged at her.

Dimion instantly stepped in front of Arte, pushing her behind his back.

In a flash, Arte's view changed.

Instead of Dimion's face, a broad back filled her vision.

"Ha? See? I knew it. You sold your body, didn't you? Yeah! Why else would the Duke of Rocata come to a backwater like this!"

Benjamin, still not grasping the situation, spat nonsense as if vomiting out his resentment, and finally drew a pistol from his waist.

It was coated in so much gold that it flashed brilliantly the moment it was drawn.

Seeing a gun that reeked so heavily of new money, Dimion slightly raised an eyebrow.

It had been a long time since he'd seen such a shoddy weapon.

"Are you going to shoot? With a toy like that, you're the one who's going to get hurt."

"Wh-What are you talking about! Do you know how much this cost! I-I'm going to shoot that whore! So move!"

"And if I don't?"

"Th-Then I'll shoot you too!"

His voice lacked any spirit.

He stuttered so much it was hard to even understand him.

Dimion couldn't hold back a scoff.

It was a pathetic declaration of war.

Instead of dealing with Benjamin, he turned his head slightly to look at Arte standing behind him.

"Which hand?"

At the unexpected question, Arte's eyes flew wide open.

"…Pardon?"

"The hand that did this to you. Which hand was it?"

Her stunned paralysis lasted only a moment before Arte's mind began racing again.

This wasn't a question looking for a correct answer.

The chance to choose which hand to ruin.

He was handing Arte the authority to inflict maximum pain on Benjamin.

"Don't tell me, his hand…"

Arte couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

She was terrified that if she spoke her thoughts aloud, Dimion would actually do it.

A part of her wanted to blow Benjamin's hand off, too.

Considering the years her entire family had been manipulated by him and his father, it was only natural.

But Arte had to think about the aftermath.

If Dimion blew off Benjamin's hand now, the backlash would undoubtedly fall entirely on the Comital House of Tian.

There was no way the Baron and Benjamin would protest to the Rocata family.

It was obvious they would cower before the name Rocata and take it out on the easy target, which is the Count's family.

So she had to stop him.

Not for Benjamin's sake, but for her own.

"Duke. You can't. If you do…"

"It must be the right hand."

Dimion, however, thought differently.

He didn't even give Arte the time to stop him.

As if the pistol pointed at him was nothing, he didn't hesitate or waver for a second.

"G-Get lost!"

Sensing his aura, a terrified Benjamin screamed, but it had no effect on Dimion whatsoever.

"Aaaargh!"

It happened in a flash.

With a swift, clean motion, Dimion snatched the pistol from Benjamin's hand and pulled the trigger, aiming right at Benjamin's right hand.

"Aaaargh! Aaagh!"

"My. I only meant to scare you. The gun is so stupid it blew your hand right off."

Just last night, Arte had read articles praising him as a soldier possessing stats seen only once in a century.

Dimion had aimed precisely at the right wrist, and it was a direct hit.

A large amount of blood splattered onto the green grass.

The body part that had been attached to Benjamin's arm just moments ago detached with a thud and rolled onto the ground.

"…"

Everything felt distant, somehow surreal.

It had happened far too fast.

From the moment Arte borrowed Phelia's name to beg for help to the moment Dimion blew off Benjamin's right hand, barely a few minutes had passed.

"Aaaargh! Are you crazy? Are you crazy! Aaaaaargh!"

Benjamin screamed like a madman, rolling around on the ground.

To make matters worse, his dress code was white, making the bloodstains stand out even more vividly.

It was her first time seeing someone get shot right in front of her, seeing him collapse while bleeding, and seeing this much blood.

"Ah…"

Only then did Arte realize she was shaking like a leaf.

The emotions rushing in were too complex.

It was Arte who had borrowed Phelia's name to ask for help, and had it not been for Dimion, she had no idea what Benjamin would have done to her.

It was true that he had saved her.

But he hadn't listened to Arte's plea not to blow off his hand.

He pulled the trigger before she could even do anything.

He showed no emotion, no thrill, whatsoever.

He was completely unfazed, as if it were just another day.

It looked as natural to him as breathing.

Considering his profession as a soldier and the number of medals he had earned on the battlefield, it made sense.

But recognizing that fact logically and actually experiencing it were two entirely different things.

"Are you scared?"

Hearing Dimion's voice, Arte flinched and shuddered.

It was the moment her internalized fear surfaced.

Seeing her reaction, Dimion chuckled and slowly approached her.

He crouched down to meet the eye level of Arte, who had collapsed onto the ground, drained of all strength.

"I'm a little disappointed you're this terrified after I went through the trouble of helping you."

Could pale green be such a chilling color?

The eyes Dimion fixed upon Arte felt even colder than usual today.

"…Thank you for helping me. For saving me."

Her voice trembled pathetically.

Arte bit her lip hard, trying to hide the tremor in her voice, as she had no desire to face him like this.

Regardless of her gratitude, she had to say what needed to be said.

"However, asking for your help didn't mean I wanted you to blow off the young Baron's hand, Duke."

As she gritted her teeth and spoke with deliberate force, the trembling ceased.

Arte met Dimion's chilling aura with fierce eyes.

"Didn't you ask me to help you while imagining you were Phelia? Not me, but you yourself, My Lady."

"That was…"

"If you didn't want his wrist blown off, you shouldn't have brought up that name. Was our conversation yesterday not enough?"

His low, sunken voice sounded like the menacing growl of a beast.

The overwhelming pressure made Arte's fingertips curl inward.

"If the young Baron had actually done this to Phelia, it wouldn't have ended with just one shot."

"…"

"One shot for each hand because he dared to touch her. One shot for each eye because he dared to look at her. One shot to the head because he grabbed her hair."

His voice, listing exactly where he would have planted the bullets, dripped with lethal intent.

It wasn't an empty threat.

It wasn't just a boastful fantasy about something that could never happen.

Dimion was entirely serious.

This rage, spilling out as if just imagining it made his blood boil, was the proof.

"What's with the gunshot… Arte!"

As Arte faced Dimion's wrath, the Count arrived with a group of people.

It was evident he had run as fast as he could upon hearing the gunshot and screams.

His daughter in a disheveled state, the Duke of Rocata facing her, and the young Baron rolling on the ground bleeding.

The Count couldn't hide his shock at a scene he would much rather believe was just the middle of a nightmare.

Despite sensing the presence of others and hearing a new voice, Dimion didn't take his eyes off Arte.

Arte was the same.

As if his eyes were a trap, she was caught and unable to look away.

"So don't ever casually bring up that name again. This is the last time I will let it slide."

Dimion's warning took physical form.

It felt as if his words themselves had become a thick arm tightly constricting Arte's throat.

Only after Arte's body flinched from the suffocating warning did Dimion stand up.

As if he had never been glaring at her, he coldly withdrew his gaze and walked over to the Count.

"The young Baron attacked the young lady. She seems quite shaken, so please take good care of her."

Dimion summarized the situation in a few short sentences.

Then, without any lingering attachment, he strode away across the chaotic garden.