I am a coward. Everyone knows it, and it needs no justification. Perhaps that is why Raymond chose to come in the way I feared most—or at least, that was what was inside his head.
I could hear the sound of friction between the stone wall outside my room and a sharp object. Screeech... screeech... It might have been a sword or the short dagger usually strapped to Raymond's waist. Whichever it was, he intended to make this coward terrified.
I truly felt sorry for the boy.
If this were the old Ben, this body would have already been curled up in terror or trying to hide on the tiny ledge at the window. But I was not the previous Benedict. I was tired. And I had already died once.
The scraping sound outside abruptly stopped. A stillness settled. Raymond must be standing right behind this thick wooden door, ear pressed against it, waiting for the sound of crying or the dragging of a table as I attempted to barricade the door.
Instead of granting him that satisfaction, I reached for the cold iron door handle, turned it, and pulled it wide open.
Creaak.
A young man with wavy brown hair stood on the threshold, a gleaming silver dagger still dangling in his right hand. Behind him, two heavily built guards stood with their arms crossed. Raymond's face, previously filled with a vicious smirk, instantly froze. The lines of arrogance on his lips tightened rigidly as he saw me standing tall before him, staring directly into his eyes without a single blink or tremor on my face.
"You... didn't hide yourself?" Raymond muttered, his voice catching slightly in surprise before he quickly composed himself again.
"Why should I hide?" I asked flatly, leaning part of my weight against the doorframe to reduce the pressure on my bruised ankle.
Raymond narrowed his eyes. His shock swiftly turned into anger, feeling his game had been ruined. He took a step forward, pointing the tip of his dagger directly in front of my chest, just inches away from my worn clothes.
"You seem to have lost your memory, Benedict," Raymond whispered in a deliberately very dangerous tone. "Was the pain of having your ankle snapped in the snow not enough to bring you to your senses? Or do you need me to crush your other leg so you remember how to kneel and beg for my mercy?"
I glanced briefly at the gleaming tip of the dagger, then shifted my gaze back to his pair of eyes. There was no rage inside my chest. No burning desire for revenge. What was there was only a most profound emptiness—an emotional exhaustion of someone who viewed all this intimidation as no more important than the swatting of a fly.
"You're wasting your time, Raymond," I replied in a voice so calm, it almost mimicked the whisper of the night wind. "If you came here just to repeat the same cheap trick, do it now. Stab me, or break my other leg."
Raymond stiffened. His hand holding the dagger trembled slightly—not out of fear, but out of sheer bafflement.
"But if not," I continued, staring into his eyes without blinking, "could you step away from my door? I'm tired."
This extreme apathy acted like a cold poison, draining away all of Raymond's dominance. In the world of nobles that glorified fear and power, the most terrifying reaction a prey could exhibit was when it no longer possessed any fear of death itself.
The two guards behind Raymond stepped forward, growling angrily. "Young Master Raymond, allow us to beat him!"
"Wait!" Raymond shouted suddenly, his voice sounding slightly shrill.
He raised his left hand, holding his two guards back. Raymond inspected me from head to toe, searching for a crack of terror on my face, but all he found was a pair of empty gray eyes—the gaze of a dead man.
An unfamiliar, slowly creeping discomfort began to gnaw at Raymond's chest. Torturing someone who screamed and begged for mercy provided a sweet sensation of power. But torturing something that acted like a breathing corpse only made him feel odd and intimidated by what he could not comprehend.
"You... you really have gone mad," Raymond hissed, trying to laugh mockingly to cover the hesitation cracking through his ego. He lowered his dagger and sheathed it back at his waist with slightly hurried movements. "Torturing the current you isn't fun at all. You are nothing more than a boring, walking corpse."
"Thank you for the compliment," I replied shortly.
Raymond narrowed his eyes, glaring at me sharply one last time before turning sharply on his heel. "Let's go! This place smells like a carcass!"
I watched the backs of Raymond and his two guards as they marched away down the dimly lit stone corridor. Raymond's pace felt slightly faster and stiffer than usual—a subtle gesture of a predator recently unsettled by his own prey.
I pulled my wooden door back, closing it slowly until the iron latch clicked shut. I leaned against the door, closing my eyes in the darkness of the room. Raymond would not stop here. His wounded ego would surely drive him to plot something far more dangerous in the future.