Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel-Chapter 564: ’Make This Quick.’

Florian couldn’t look away. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Lucius’s body lay still on the marble floor, blood seeping outward in slow, expanding ripples. It was reaching him now—warm, thick—pooling around his boots like a quiet accusation.

Cashew clung to him tightly, his small frame trembling, face buried in Florian’s chest as if hiding would make the scene disappear. Florian didn’t move, didn’t speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow.

The man who led the rogues stepped forward, his boots splashing into the blood as if it were nothing.

"You see," he began, voice casual, conversational, as though he weren’t standing among corpses, "the king you all worship has made a lot of us suffer. But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

Scarlett’s voice cracked, shaky but defiant. "W-We do... That’s why the king already made plans to—"

The man raised his hand. "Yes, yes. We all know about the king’s plans," he said, mocking her tone. "Plans made only after the damage was done. After villages burned. After families starved."

He chuckled, low and bitter. "And our savior—the one who truly leads us—oh, His Majesty has ruined their life beyond repair. There’s no apology or treaty that could ever fix that."

’Their...?’ Florian’s thoughts faltered. ’Is the savior multiple people... or is he...? Is he avoiding pronouns on purpose?’

His brow furrowed. ’Why hide their identity like that?’

His voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke. "Then why are you here? Why... me?"

The rogue leader smiled, slow and deliberate, like a man savoring a secret. "Because our savior already determined you..." He lifted his gaze, meeting Florian’s eyes. "...as the king’s weakness."

Florian’s breath hitched.

The man’s grin widened. "Not just a weakness. A hindrance. To finish off the king, you have to be gone."

Florian blinked once. Twice. That was it? That was the reason for all of this—the blood, the chaos, the bodies?

That was all?

That was the most pathetically predictable thing he’d ever heard.

A laugh almost slipped past his lips—but it wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief, sharp and bitter.

Because once again, everything came back to Heinz.

His suffering. His fear. His guilt. His existence in this cursed world.

It all circled back to that man.

"I’m not his weakness," Florian muttered, his voice trembling but firm. "I’m not a hindrance. I don’t even..." His throat tightened. "...I don’t even have the power to do anything. I’m—"

Weak.

The word echoed in his mind, heavy and cruel.

Weak enough to fall for Heinz.

Weak enough to get kidnapped twice.

Weak enough to still be trapped in a world that isn’t his.

’How could I possibly be a hindrance?’

The rogue’s laugh was wet and hungry in the close air.

"If you weren’t his weakness," he sneered, "then Charles wouldn’t have been able to distract him. Just by showing the king we were after you, we kept him busy."

He raised the blade as if to admire it, the metal catching torchlight and throwing cold sparks across the blood-streaked marble.

"And of course..." His grin sharpened, teeth bared. "...we wouldn’t want to let Charles’s little efforts go to waste, now would we?"

Florian felt the world narrow to three things: the wet warmth of Lucius’s blood at his feet, the tiny, shuddering weight of Cashew pressed into his chest, and the torchlight glancing off a murderer’s smile.

The princesses’ cries braided with Athena and Scarlett’s sobs, a chorus that scraped at him like fingernails on glass. The stench of iron and sweat filled his nose; the room smelled like an ending.

"And you are going with us whether you like it or not," the leader said, stepping closer until his bootprints darkened the crimson near Florian’s toes.

"But first we have to kill everyone in this room." He indicated the fallen and the trembling with a lazy sweep of his blade. "Starting with that kid that’s clinging onto you."

Cashew squealed, clutching harder, burying his face into Florian’s chest. ’No—’ The thought came raw, a jagged thing that wanted to break out of him.

He could feel every heartbeat like a drum in his ears.

Florian swallowed. For a second he looked like a broken thing—too small, too soft, soaked in everyone else’s pain.

But something tightened inside him then, an ember flaring into a stubborn flame. ’Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

He straightened, chest lifting despite the quiver in his limbs.

Florian eased Cashew behind him, planting himself like a human shield. His voice was quieter than he wanted, but it held a brittle steadiness.

"You can take me," he said, each word slow and deliberate, "but you will not touch them."

"No! Your Highness—" Cashew’s plea cracked, frantic.

The leader’s lips curled at the sound. "I agree with the kid. We can’t have that," he said, and the casual cruelty in his tone made Florian’s stomach drop. ’They mean it. They’re going to do this.’

"You only need me, right?" Florian’s voice wavered. "Please—"

"To send a message, of course." The man who’d stabbed Lucius answered, voice flat and satisfied. He spat the words like they were already carved into the world.

"To all the damn nobles in this kingdom, and to every other royal who thinks they can turn their backs on us." He turned to Scarlett and Athena, eyes cold and hungry, and the men around the princesses closed in like wolves.

Florian’s chest felt hollow.

’No. Not them. Not Cashew. Not the princesses.’ The room narrowed until all he could hear was the drip of blood, the ragged breathing of the fallen, and his own pulse pounding in his ears.

Cashew pressed himself against Florian’s calves, small fingers digging into fabric as if holding on would keep the world from collapsing.

The leader’s gaze dropped to the boy, then lifted his knife in a casual, slow motion—an executioner’s salute.

"I’m not even going to waste mana stones on killing him," the man said with a shrug, as if discussing rent. "Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll make it quick."

’No...’

Florian’s breath hitched—sharp, shallow, desperate.

He couldn’t think. His mind was a whirlwind, crashing thoughts colliding until everything blurred into one unbearable noise. His pulse roared in his ears, matching the rhythm of the rogue’s boots as they drew closer—heavy, unhurried, each step splashing through Lucius’s blood as if it were nothing.

The metallic scent of it filled the air, thick enough to taste, suffocating enough to choke on.

"Stay back..." Florian’s voice shook, his words barely holding together. His arms tightened around Cashew’s small frame, trying to shield him, but his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He couldn’t stop trembling.

Cashew tilted his tear-streaked face upward, eyes wide and frightened. "Your Highness," he whispered, his voice small, breaking apart, "you have to run."

"No, Cashew," Florian rasped, throat tight, panic clawing through his chest. "You have to run. I’ll distract him. Just—please—go. Get help." His words came out uneven, breathless. "They won’t kill me, so please..."

But Cashew shook his head, fiercely, stubbornly. "I’m not leaving you!" His voice cracked as he tried to step in front of Florian, tiny shoulders trembling but defiant. "I’ll be okay, I swear!"

The rogue’s chuckle was low and cold. "How touching." His shadow fell over them, long and heavy, swallowing them whole. "But neither of you are getting free."