Unwan's hand ached so intensely that he could hardly describe the pain. It was as if something invisible was slowly sipping his blood, drop by drop, while a thousand burning needles pierced his bones every second.
Unable to bear it any longer, he stumbled out of the carriage. Unfortunately, his landing wasn't any better his head struck one of the palm-sized cobblestones on the city road. Then, because of falling from the carriage, his body hit the stones several more times before rolling forward a few meters.
Yet somehow, that pain felt dull or maybe it only seemed that way because the agony from his hand was far worse, spreading through his body with every heartbeat.
A few seconds later, Torin's voice echoed, and the carriage stopped. It halted several meters behind Unwan, the sound of four horses snorting faintly in the air.
Instinctively, Unwan looked at his hand. It had turned blue all the way up to the elbow, shrinking little by little as if the blood inside it was being drained away. A new kind of pain joined in his muscles felt like they were being gnawed apart, bit by bit.
He wanted to scream. But there was no one nearby only carriages in the distance and a strange iron figure standing beside a fountain. Still, he screamed anyway.
No matter how hard he tried, the thought he'd had earlier 'No matter what happens, just open the door and shout for help' didn't work out. What came out instead were raw, desperate cries of agony.
Torin, who was watching him from the carriage's rear window, seemed to take pleasure in his suffering. He leaned slightly out through the open door and spoke:
— It's useless. This is a carriage path hardly anyone walks through here. And even if someone does, they won't step in front of a moving carriage to reach you.
The pain only grew, and as his strength began to fade, Unwan muttered a single word again and again, barely above a whisper.
"Filthy… filthy…"
He didn't know whether Torin could hear him or not. But if he did and was even strengthening the spell because of it then Unwan couldn't even begin to imagine the cruelty.
Almost as if answering that thought, Torin spoke again.
— No matter how much you curse me now, it's too late. I warned you 'once your hand touches that handle, a Grimoire spell will activate.' If this is how fate decided your end, don't blame me.
Unwan couldn't move anymore. No matter how hard he tried, his legs refused to obey, as if the pain in his hand had spread and locked them in place. His right hand, of course, was beyond saving — he couldn't even twitch a finger. By now, the poison had already reached his shoulder.
The more Unwan's pain grew, the more Torin seemed to enjoy himself. Then, with a tone of feigned nobility, he said:
— Unfortunately, I have to leave you like this.
Night creatures only eat clean flesh. They don't touch anyone tainted by magic.
Torin stood, took a few steps to the door, and shut it. Then he gave an order to the driver, and the horses began to move again.
Unwan's mind could barely think through the agony. But two things became clear to him.
The first — even though Torin was long gone, the poison hadn't stopped spreading. That meant the spell was bound to the door handle itself an autonomous poison that would follow him until death. It made sense that the poison started from his right hand. In other words, it would not stop until his life did.
The second was more of a guess but a reasonable one. Torin probably couldn't lift the poison even if he wanted to. His last words had made that clear: "They don't eat flesh tainted by magic." It meant the spell was irreversible. Torin had abandoned his bait because he knew it couldn't be undone.
Unwan endured the pain or at least, that's what he told himself.
***
Barely twenty minutes had passed since Torin left, yet several carriages had already rolled by, forced to swerve around his body.
What else could one expect from the capital's streets especially those near the central district?
Back in the orphanage where he grew up, on the city's outskirts, carriages were a rare sight maybe once or twice a month when a new child was brought in. But here, they filled the roads like ants.
Now, half of Unwan's body including his right arm, most of his torso, and part of his leg was completely consumed by the poison.
Thankfully, he hadn't used his left hand to open the door. If he had, the poison might have reached his heart directly — killing him in an instant or freezing his blood solid.
Every second stretched into hours, every minute into eternity. Then Unwan made a decision. He would reach the fountain about fifteen meters ahead.
Inside him, voices whispered, "You can't. Why bother? It's useless. Stop hurting yourself."
But Unwan had only one reason left he didn't want his body to suffer any longer after death. He had already endured enough torment in this world.
Even in the Shining Kingdom, killing someone through a poisonous spell was considered among the most torturous crimes. Many grimoires' owners had been punished for using such magic and as for those without grimoires, the law was even harsher.
Unwan stared at the fountain in silence.
For some reason, he wanted to spend his final moments there as if an angel was waiting for him by its side.
And so, he began to move. He tried to stand, or at least crawl, but didn't make it even a meter before his muscles reached their limit.
Then he chose his last path – using his good hand to drag himself forward, clawing at the stones like a climber scaling a mountain.
It was painfully slow, and far from painless. True, compared to the agony burning through half his body, this seemed small but pain upon pain, struggle upon struggle… it never became easier.
Climbing a mountain is hard enough for anyone, but dragging yourself across the ground with one arm?
Each tiny push forward drained what little strength remained, his body scraping against the rough stones, the friction sharpening the pain with every inch he moved.