~Chapter 4~

“What was that? Could you read it out loud again?”

He definitely heard her!

Though it was obvious from his sly grin that he was teasing her, Lovelace couldn’t bring herself to refuse his request—or rather, his command.

“The most representative and effective method is through physical intimacy, and…”

“Ah, that.”

He cut her off as if he understood everything. Larvihan took steady steps toward Lovelace.

“Well, it can’t be helped, can it?”

“Wh-what do you mean, can’t be helped?”

Lovelace instinctively stepped back, only to be quickly blocked by a wall.

“You read it yourself. The only solution—physical intimacy.”

“No! It’s not the only solution! It just says it’s one of the most effective!”

“Go on. Finish reading it.”

He stood there, arms crossed, waiting patiently. Lovelace, her eyes blazing, read the page all the way to the end.

“…Unfortunately, there are no alternatives to physical contact.”

DUN DUN DUN.

Somewhere, Beethoven’s Fate Symphony began to play.

“Well? Shall we try it right here?”

“No! It might just mean sleeping in the same bed, right? I mean, it says physical contact can be enough, so, here!”

Lovelace extended her hand. Larvihan looked at it, puzzled.

“What’s this?”

“Hold it!”

She said it with dramatic emphasis, as if offering a great favor. Larvihan chuckled, amused. Then he stepped closer and took her hand.

A jolt ran through Lovelace’s body—was it the power transferring or just her imagination?

Larvihan gently pulled her toward him. With a lazy smile, he brushed back the hair that had fallen over her face. His long fingers looked incredibly delicate.

“One step at a time. Let’s start with sleeping together.”

Lovelace couldn’t bring herself to question why it had to be “one step at a time.”

His dark eyes felt like they could devour her whole.

That night, Larvihan’s mansion was unusually busy. Dozens of servants bustled about, carrying things—many of whom Lovelace had never seen before.

Lovelace turned her head back and forth trying to keep up, until her neck hurt.

“What is all this about?”

She asked Larvihan, who was standing nearby, watching with arms crossed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are they moving?”

“Ah, the rags you were wearing when you first arrived. They’re moving your things.”

Lovelace bit her lip.

“Yes, I can see that much. What I want to know is…”

“You’re wondering why your things are being moved into my room, right?”

How perceptive.

Lovelace nodded.

Larvihan uncrossed his arms and stepped in front of her, placing a hand on the wall. The distance between them shrank.

Lovelace instinctively stepped back, though the wall behind her gave no room to retreat. Her heels hit the wall, and she tried lifting them to put more distance between them, but it was useless.

“Why do you think they’re being moved?”

Lovelace lowered her gaze. The reason was painfully obvious.

“Exactly what you’re thinking.”

To regain his power—intimacy. Contact. Images of red warning labels and the number 19 floated through her head. Her face flushed.

But it wasn’t just embarrassment. It was anger.

She understood how important that power must be to him. He’d even set aside time to study with her in the library for a week.

But if it was that important, he should have taken better care of it. Why did she have to suffer like this?

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

The surge of emotion gave her courage. Lovelace planted her heels firmly on the ground and stood tall, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“I may have been dressed in rags and found on the streets, but I’m not that kind of woman.”

“What kind of woman?”

Larvihan narrowed his eyes as if he truly didn’t understand.

“I don’t jump into bed with just anyone! No matter how important your power is, I still have my dignity and pride as a woman.”

Once she started, the words flowed out. She decided not to worry about the consequences.

Just like Larvihan often did, Lovelace crossed her arms over her chest and stood tall.

Even that simple shift in posture made her feel a little braver… Or so she thought.

Larvihan straightened up, the shadow he had cast over her vanishing. The curve of his mouth flattened into a straight line.

“So you thought I’d drag you into bed right away?”

Why did he suddenly look so offended?

“You think I’d trample your dignity and act like some despicable man? Oh, of course, I might—someday—if I really need that power.”

“Absolutely not!”

Lovelace glared at him.

“I will never—ever—do that with someone I’m not married to!”

Larvihan seemed to mull over what “that” might mean, then let out a dry laugh.

“You’re right. We might need to, eventually.”

“I said I won’t!”

Lovelace squeezed her eyes shut. It took all her courage to say what she had never even considered before.

“If you keep getting too close like this—without even having the right—I’ll… I’ll just die!”

She thrust her head under his chin.

Larvihan’s lips parted slightly as he gauged the seriousness of her threat. In this world, mana didn’t transfer upon a mage’s death—it vanished completely.

That would be troublesome, he thought, rubbing his chin.

It worked!

In truth, Lovelace had no intention of dying. It was simply her last resort to stop Larvihan from getting too close.

“Well, since I’ve made myself clear, how about stepping back now?”

Her voice trembled but held determination.

“If it’s really that big a deal, then we just need to make it official, right? Let’s get married.”

Larvihan smiled sweetly. Time seemed to freeze—at least to Lovelace.

“Breathe.”

“I must’ve fallen asleep with my eyes open. I was dreaming.”

Ah, denial—always a classic. Larvihan chuckled.

“Shall I say it again? Let’s get married.”

“You’re insane, aren’t you?”

Lovelace shouted before she realized it. Everyone froze. Dozens of eyes turned toward her.

Me? What did I do?

She looked around, startled by their accusing stares.

“Wow. First time I’ve been called insane for a proposal,” Larvihan said calmly, his voice echoing through the corridor.

Larvihan stared at the bed where Lovelace lay sleeping.

Despite her protests about never marrying him and not wanting him near her bed, she’d eventually fallen asleep like a kitten abandoned in a strange place.

“Do you think I have no pride or dignity?”

The moisture in her eyes as she said those words lingered in his mind.

Larvihan sighed.

She was the one who took his power. From his perspective, it was only natural to want it back. But of all the ways to retrieve it…

He wasn’t the type to force a woman. He wasn’t even interested in such things.

Shouldn’t he be the one offended, being seen as some depraved villain?

Maybe he should lock her up and starve her for a few days?

She loved food—she might crack in less than a day and agree to anything.

No, too risky.

If those after her found her in that state, she might run straight to them.

Guess I’ll have to charm her properly. Make sure she can’t even think about running until I get my power back.

As he was deep in thought—knock knock.

“Come in. Ah, wait a moment.”

The door that had opened slightly closed again. Larvihan approached Lovelace’s bed, where she had curled up and fallen asleep with the blankets kicked off.

For such a large bed, she took up so little space.

She looked younger with her round face and soft features, but she was an adult.

He gently pulled the blanket over her.

“You can come in now.”

It was his aide, Maxmuel—a man who looked like a scholar with glasses and brown hair, but bore a knight’s physique and a sword on his hip.

“Did you find out?”

Maxmuel waited until Larvihan returned to his desk before stepping forward and bowing.

“Yes, Your Grace. Soon after she fell asleep, there was a shift at the Vatican. The previously healthy Pope suddenly passed, and a young man named Nicolai Herhentain was appointed.”

“Never heard of him.”

To be appointed Pope, he should’ve had years of service.

“They say he received a divine revelation and manifested a powerful stigmata.”

“A saint straight from the heavens, huh?”

Larvihan smirked.

“He’s said to wield incredible divine power. There are reports of actual miracles.”

“Go on.”

Young or old, it didn’t matter. If they got in his way, they’d have to be eliminated.

“He’s had frequent meetings with His Majesty.”

“With Arwen?”

Maxmuel, unbothered, nodded.

Only someone like Larvihan could speak of the Emperor so casually.

“What did they talk about? Surely not romance.”

“Nothing is publicly known. It’s reported they exchanged blessings for the empire.”

“Look into it further.”

Maxmuel bowed.

“And prepare the wedding.”

“…Excuse me? Wedding?”

Larvihan stretched.

“You heard me. I’m getting married.”

He ignored Maxmuel’s unspoken plea for an explanation.

“Before that, maybe we should deal with the rats first?”

“What rats?”

“While you were away, some rats gnawed through the pantry.”

Maxmuel handed him a report. As Larvihan flipped through it, his face grew colder.

“You didn’t come empty-handed, did you?”

“Shall I bring in one of the rats?”

Larvihan picked up a sword beside him.

Maxmuel left and returned moments later with a man, hands bound and mouth gagged, eyes wide with terror.

“Mmmph! Mmmph!”

“You know, Maxmuel—I’m not doing this because I value the goods. I just hate when people touch what’s mine.”

“Of course, Your Grace. You’ve made that very clear—no one touches what’s yours.”

Maxmuel yanked the man’s hair back to expose his neck.

“No, wait. If I kill him, he can’t repay the debt.”

“You plan to collect?”

“I’m very thorough.”

Larvihan raised his sword. The man shut his eyes tightly. The blade struck before he could even scream.

Blood spurted like a fountain. One of the man’s arms dropped to the ground.

“Aaah!”

But the scream didn’t come from him—it was Lovelace.

She had woken up and now stood frozen, hand over her mouth.

Larvihan turned to her.

“Did I wake you? My apologies.”

He wiped the blood from his face with his thumb.

Lovelace stared at him, expression frozen.

“Is there something you want to say?”

She swallowed hard.

In truth, she had been awake for a while—her ears perking up at the word “marriage.”

As the conversation played out, she reviewed it like a page from a book.

“I don’t like anyone touching what’s mine.”

I’m doomed, she thought.

He had just severed a man’s arm for touching his property—and she had swallowed his elemental core.

He had every reason to kill her.

“Um…”

She made up her mind. Carefully, she spoke.

Maxmuel had already cleaned up the bloody scene, the trail of red stretching toward the door.

“Speak. I’m listening.”

Larvihan wiped his sword with a white cloth.

The way he smiled as he cleaned the blood off… looked cool, but no—he was insane!

Lovelace clenched her eyes shut.

“When’s the wedding? Let’s have it soon!”

Self-preservation comes first, after all.