#107. A Dangerous Invitation (3)
Sasha watched Ruslan’s smiling face with caution. He continued smoothly,
“There’s a relic I treasure, but I’ve always wondered about its use. Even though I invited renowned historians and magicians, none of them could tell me.”
“I doubt I could know what the experts didn’t,” Sasha answered calmly.
“No, I have a feeling you’ll know.”
‘Why is he so certain?’ she thought, uneasy at Ruslan’s mysterious tone.
“Perhaps you do know. Please, just take a look.”
As Ruslan pressed her, nearby nobles chimed in.
“I’ve heard of your accomplishments, Countess. They were impressive.”
“I’d also love to see the relics His Highness has collected. Let’s all go together.”
With no reason to refuse, Sasha agreed.
‘If I don’t know, I’ll just say so. It won’t bring me harm.’
The group left the banquet hall and walked toward the Crown Prince’s palace.
Unlike the arranged seating earlier, now everyone could move freely. Naturally, Sasha moved close to Pavel, linking her arm through his.
But before long, she noticed something wrong. Pavel’s face seemed flushed, and his breathing was rough.
“Pavel, are you alright?” she whispered.
“…Yes.”
His answer was slow.
“I’m fine.”
He even slipped into his old casual way of speaking, forgetting they were supposed to use formal words in public.
‘He doesn’t look fine at all.’
Her worried gaze met his, and Pavel gave her a small smile.
“Maybe the wine’s hitting me.”
“Oh…”
Sasha realized she had never really seen him drink much since they’d become adults. Apparently, he was weak to alcohol.
‘So Pavel can’t hold his liquor.’
“Do you want to rest instead?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. Though his body felt strange, there was no way he would leave her alone here—especially not in a place arranged by Ruslan, who always seemed to be scheming.
Pavel forced himself to stay upright, holding on to his fading clarity.
Soon, they reached the relic chamber.
The room was arranged like a museum gallery, with dim lighting, controlled humidity and temperature, and rows of glass-covered displays.
Nobles admired the sight.
“Magnificent! Just as I’ve heard.”
“His Highness truly has a remarkable collection.”
But Sasha and Pavel weren’t impressed. To Sasha, who had seen far greater things left behind by her old friend Tavaris, this was hardly worth surprise.
Ruslan pushed through the crowd and offered his hand to Sasha.
“This way, please.”
With Pavel slowed by his “drunkenness,” Sasha reluctantly allowed Ruslan to escort her forward.
She tried not to look back, but couldn’t hide her worry. Still, Pavel didn’t seem completely unwell—just tipsy. Nothing serious.
‘Let’s just go along with this quickly and then leave.’
Ruslan pointed at a relic.
“This one produces sparks when pressed. But it’s all used up now.”
Sasha only glanced and immediately understood.
He gestured to another. “And this?”
“That purifies polluted water,” Sasha said confidently. “It can’t handle large amounts, and it has daily limits, but it would be very useful in emergencies.”
“Ho…” Ruslan sounded genuinely impressed.
One after another, he asked, and Sasha answered without hesitation—sometimes even explaining more than he asked.
Ruslan’s eyes gleamed.
He had only invited her here with flattery, not expecting much. But she truly knew more than even the best experts he had gathered before.
‘She’s more knowledgeable than renowned relic scholars.’
His desire for her deepened. A woman like this should shine at his side.
After a moment of thought, he drew out something he always kept with him.
“Then perhaps you can tell me about this.”
It was a translucent orb, filling his large palm.
Sasha’s eyes widened.
‘Why is that here?!’
It was a forbidden relic that induced false dreams.
The owner could dream whatever fantasy they desired, as if it were real. But the price was severe: the user’s mind and life force were slowly consumed.
Sasha’s thoughts raced.
‘That explains it. His tired face, his strange mutterings about dreams, his odd behavior… it was all because of this.’
The orb glowed faintly red—it was active.
That meant Ruslan had been using it recently. Within months, it would drain him to the sickbed. Within a year, he would fall permanently into dreams, never to wake.
Sasha’s lips parted.
“Yes, I know what this is.”
“Truly?!”
Ruslan sounded genuinely shocked.
“No scholar has ever figured it out.”
“Of course not,” Sasha muttered. This magic had been banned a thousand years ago, all records erased, all relics supposedly destroyed. Yet here one remained.
Ruslan leaned in eagerly. “Then what is it?”
Sasha hesitated, then asked instead,
“Your Highness… where did you get this?”
“…What do you mean?”
“It’s important. I must know where and how this came into your possession.”
The smile faded from Ruslan’s face.
Far away, in the north—at the border of Volkov lands and the frozen wastes.
Where once there had been nothing, now a dark castle stood, filled with sinister energy.
It was the dwelling of the dead and the witch who commanded them.
At the very top floor, great windows blazed with light like a lighthouse piercing the mist.
There, Raissa gazed into a pale orb—her treasured relic.
Unlike others, to her it showed distant scenes. Even now, she watched what unfolded in Kalita’s palace: Ruslan drugging Pavel, standing beside Alexandra, showing her the orb.
Raissa scowled.
“I told him to get rid of Alexandra, and he wastes time toying with Pavel instead. Some Crown Prince he is…”
She planned to interfere again in Ruslan’s “dream” later, bending him closer to her will.
At that moment, Gregory Volkov appeared through the window.
“How goes it?” he rasped, his voice like claws on glass.
Irritated, Raissa turned from the orb. Gregory, blood-stained, approached with a foul stench.
She pinched her nose and answered, “Below, things are still in motion. What about the north?”
“Almost done,” Gregory said.
The battlefield raged, Grand Duke Dmitri Volkov leading his soldiers against waves of monsters. For now, they held their ground, but in the long war, humans had limits.
“And once Dmitri Volkov is dealt with, the rest will fall easily.”
Raissa smirked. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“How could I not be?” Gregory grinned.
“Looking forward to returning?”
“Of course.”
Gregory Volkov—once Count of Tula—smiled slyly.
The day he reclaimed the castle he had been cast out from, as its true master, was close at hand.
