Chapter 147

Chapter 147
Sylvia's POV

"Miss Sylvia, please go back and rest." The butler clearly hadn't noticed the brief moment of panic that had just flashed through me, still dutifully performing his responsibilities.

I was about to turn and leave when suddenly, from the other end of the corridor, came the hushed conversation of two maids.

They thought they were speaking quietly enough—but having earned the top spot on the assassin rankings, my hearing had never been ornamental.

"God, I heard Master Ivar took all the family punishment for Sylvia," one maid's voice trembled.

"Not a single lash less. I really hope he can pull through."

"Are you insane? Shut up,"

Just as I was trying to catch more details about what had happened, another voice urgently interrupted her.

"Didn't you see how the butler looked? We're not supposed to discuss this."

Their footsteps quickly faded away.

I stood rooted to the spot, momentarily forgetting to move.

The werewolf's naturally keen senses allowed me to smell what seeped through the cracks of that tightly closed door—the scent of blood, mixed with the peculiar rusty, scorched odor left by silver implements after burning.

My heart sank uncontrollably by an inch.

"Tobias," I turned to the butler guarding the door, "is Ivar injured?"

His expression changed the instant I asked that question, as if he hadn't expected me to learn about this.

It was only a moment, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth.

In the gap of his stunned reaction, I suddenly reached out and pushed open the door he had been firmly blocking with his body.

"Miss Sylvia, Ivar gave orders..."

Seeing my action, he snapped back to his senses and reached out to stop me, but it was clearly too late.

The smell inside the room was ten times more intense than in the corridor.

The scent of blood, burning silver, sweat, and medicinal herbs mixed together, making the air feel heavy and thick.

Blood-stained bandages that hadn't been cleaned up yet lay scattered on the floor, and the water in the copper basin had been dyed dark red.

Ian stood beside the bed, holding hemostatic forceps in his hand. When he saw me burst in, his entire body visibly froze—he nearly dropped the medical instrument he was holding.

The scene before my eyes made me almost afraid to imagine how severely Ivar was injured.

I had never been afraid of anything before, yet at this moment I didn't dare glance at that bed.

I suppressed the inexplicable unease in my heart, took a deep breath, and shifted my gaze to the bed.

Ivar lay there, his complexion as pale as if all the blood had been drained from him.

His upper body was bare, with countless wounds from silver whips stretching from his shoulders to his waist—flesh torn and curled back, edges charred black, some still seeping blood.

Both wrists bore marks from being repeatedly worn by silver chains, the skin burned into a ring of deep purple bruises.

His lips were moving, as if repeating something.

A heartbreaking feeling seized my entire consciousness without warning, and Scylla let out a wail within me.

I froze completely in place.

The last time I had felt this way was when my family was murdered.

I had thought that after so many years as an assassin, I had developed a heart hard enough that I wouldn't feel this kind of emotion for anyone again.

Under Ian's shocked gaze, I walked to the bedside, my knees nearly touching the edge of the bed before I realized I was trembling.

I leaned down, putting my ear close to Ivar's lips, trying to hear clearly what he was repeating.

"Don't tell Sylvia... she'll be frightened."

I froze there completely.

Even in his unconscious state, he was still subconsciously repeating this sentence.

Tears reacted faster than my consciousness—I hadn't even noticed my eyes heating up before they were already falling onto the bedsheet.

"Miss Sylvia,"

Ian's voice came from beside me, his tone carrying a trace of barely perceptible oddness.

He glanced toward the doorway, clearly puzzled why Tobias had agreed to let me in.

"Please step aside for a moment. I need to stop Ivar's bleeding first."

I barely mustered some energy and stepped back half a pace. When I spoke, my voice carried a hoarseness that surprised even me.

"His self-healing ability has always been strong. How can the bleeding not stop?"

Ian's hands didn't stop moving, his voice more subdued than usual.

"The Blackwood family's punishment inflicts massive trauma on the punished in a short period of time."

"And repeated strikes cause a werewolf's healing speed to fail to keep pace with the rate of injury, ultimately leading to bodily collapse. That Ivar could endure those punishments is already a testament to his exceptional constitution."

His explanation brought the maid's earlier words back to my mind.

I had thought Ivar wouldn't let me into the room because he had begun to suspect my purpose in approaching him. It turned out he was only afraid I would be distressed by his injuries.

My purpose in coming to Ivar's side was clearly to kill him and Orion, yet somehow, this reason made my heart break even more than the first.

I stood to the side, watching Ian's actions somewhat numbly.

The medicine bottle in my pocket suddenly pressed painfully against my chest.

Such a small thing, usually tucked in the hidden pocket where I could barely feel its presence, now felt like a piece of red-hot iron, burning me until even my breathing became somewhat labored.

That was the poison Kaelum had given me—colorless, odorless, a few drops would be enough.

I had originally planned to act tonight.

"Miss Sylvia, are you alright?" Ian had probably noticed my exceptionally pale complexion and waved his hand in front of me.

His words brought me back from my chaotic thoughts.

I nodded, gripped Ivar's ice-cold hand, leaned down, and said in a whisper only he could hear,

"Ivar, you're such a fool."

Then I stood up, wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, and walked toward the door.

Passing by Ian, I stopped. "Please don't tell Ivar I was in this room."

He didn't ask why, only nodded once.

I pushed open the door, walked into the corridor, and returned all the way to my own bedroom, pressing my back against the cold wall.

Only with that structure's support could I barely regain a bit of strength.

Just then, my phone rang. It was a number without a label, but I recognized it at a glance—it was Kaelum's call.

I cleared my throat, returning my voice to its normal tone, and pressed the answer button.

"Sylvia, the deadline for the commission is approaching. It's time for you to act."

Kaelum's urging voice sounded. I hummed in acknowledgment. "Don't worry, I'll act soon."

On the other end, Kaelum laughed with satisfaction.

"After it's done, one hundred million will be transferred to your account as scheduled. Sylvia, don't disappoint me."

With that, he hung up. The room returned to silence, with only the "tick-tock" sound of the clock.

I stood up, expressionlessly took the medicine bottle from my pocket, unscrewed the cap, and poured all the liquid into a flowerpot.

In that moment, I suddenly didn't care about that exorbitant commission anymore.