"…"
My master's face clouded with unease at my words before she spoke. "You're right. Your sleeping habits are terrible, aren't they?"
"Huh?!" I blinked, caught off guard.
"You kick me in your sleep, flailing like you're unloading all your pent-up resentment toward your master under the guise of bad habits."
Just like that, she diagnosed me with sleepwalking. I tried to fix my sleeping habits in my own way, but it was no use—I slept so deeply it was almost unnatural.
"Master, even if you say that out of nowhere, there's no one around to—"
"Someone's been kidnapped, I tell you! How many times do I have to say we need a tracker?!"
Her voice cut through our banter, sharp with urgency. My heart pounded faster with every passing second.
The Blood Cult.
Those vile bastards wouldn't leave a hostage unscathed. Anyone who'd traveled with me, even briefly, would face torture to extract every scrap of information. If that failed, they'd turn to sinister curses to shatter their minds.
