CHAPTER 03
Anyway, that’s how Rahan ended up climbing the cliff to Windrock Monastery on the morning of his own wedding day.
“Huff, huff… Why the hell is the groom’s entrance this damn difficult?”
Panting heavily, Rahan finally pulled himself over the cliff’s edge. Below, waves crashed violently against the rocks.
He had survived every hellish trial during his expeditions.
But scaling a sheer cliff over the sea to sneak into a monastery perched on top of it? That was something else entirely.
The ocean stretched endlessly below, whipped by ferocious winds. Even the usual screeching seabirds were nowhere in sight, as if the sea itself forbade their presence.
A single misstep meant instant death.
“They said a monk would lower a rope. Yeah, right.”
Rahan collapsed behind the monastery, soaked in sweat.
Soon after, his lieutenant Harris dragged himself up the cliff as well, sweating buckets.
“Ugh… I almost died.”
“Maybe dying would’ve been better.”
Rahan jerked his chin toward the monastery. Harris followed his gaze, expression dazed as he looked up.
Even atop the cliff, the monastery towered high. And at the very top of the bell tower—was today’s bride.
And yes, after scaling a deadly cliff, the two of them now had to climb the tower too.
“Can’t the bride just wait on the cliff? Why the tower?”
“In this region, it’s tradition. The bride prays under the bell until evening for a happy marriage.”
“You know too much. They say marriages only work if the bride respects the groom. It’s not too late—you could marry her instead.”
“If you’re that opposed, feel free to throw yourself back off the cliff.”
Yeah. If I die now, I won’t have to get married.
Rahan chuckled at Harris’s dark joke.
“Is that all you’ve got? No comforting words or anything?”
“Hm. Liet did say to pass on a message.”
“What was it?”
Rahan was curious despite himself. Liet, the most useless underling in the entire Duchy of Lachaise, rarely had anything helpful to say. But at this moment, Rahan would take whatever comfort he could get.
Harris shrugged.
“She said, ‘If everything sucks, just remind yourself: Maybe it’s because I’m so cute.’”
“I’m supposed to put up with that crap because I’m cute? Is that it?”
Even during the fiercest battles of the campaign, Rahan Norwich never lost his sense of humor. Harris, still sprawled on the ground, chuckled weakly.
Just then—
“Hey! Over here!”
A young monk came rushing out from a back door of the monastery. Rahan clicked his tongue.
“Rahan Norwich,” he said, handing over the seal of Eridrathan from the Duke.
The monk examined it, then flipped it over—likely checking for the name of Abbot Wilbert engraved on the back.
“Confirmed. Thank you. I’m so sorry for being late…”
Despite his apology, the monk kept sneaking glances at Rahan—curious, clearly, about the so-called “son of a devil.” Rahan smirked.
“You’re Father Marid?”
“Yes! That is the name of this humble servant of Eridrathan.”
The monk made a quick gesture, intertwining his thumbs to form the holy cross of Eridrathan.
Even now, showing reverence to his god—it seemed he really was a priest.
No time for breaks. Rahan stood up and asked,
“We’re in a rush. Where’s the bride?”
“Oh, just under the bell tower. I can’t accompany you, though…”
Marid pointed toward the tower. Rahan didn’t respond, just started walking—he’d already wasted too much time.
As he strode forward, his long legs eating up ground, he noticed the monastery was eerily quiet. Probably everyone was at the wheat fields preparing for the wedding.
No obstacles. That was good.
“Wait!”
Just as he was about to move on, Marid came chasing after him. Rahan turned around, confused—only to see the young monk with teary eyes grab his arm.
“Lord Norwich, please… take care of Eryshi. She’s a good girl.”
Oh, great. This kind of drama.
Rahan simply raised one eyebrow. He wasn’t the kind of guy to offer comforting reassurances.
Harris stepped in, patting the monk’s shoulder.
“We’ll treat her well, don’t worry—”
“Treat her well? It’s a kidnapping. What’s ‘well’ about that?”
Rahan’s bad habit—he couldn’t help getting the last word in.
Harris shot him a look, but Rahan didn’t flinch. The monk’s watery eyes went from teary to angry, narrowing into triangles.
His gaze said, “Like I wanted Eryshi to marry a guy like you?”
And honestly, he probably wasn’t wrong.
“Better than some balding middle-aged monk. So why don’t you pack up the rope and get going.”
Rahan turned his back with a sneer.
“Apologies,” Harris said, hastily bowing and following after him.
“Seriously?”
“What? She picked us over some creepy monk. She has to deal with the consequences. I’m the one getting dragged into this out of nowhere.”
Rahan muttered as he entered the crumbling gray bell tower.
He wasn’t wrong. It had only been two years since the war ended. He had just started sleeping comfortably again—when suddenly some noble family showed up, demanding he marry their lost daughter.
Who would be thrilled about that?
“Well, maybe don’t live like a mad dog next time. You earned that reputation.”
Harris clicked his tongue as they climbed.
Rahan shrugged. “I didn’t exactly plan for this.”
Harris sighed. He couldn’t really blame his superior—being abandoned at birth, it was hardly a surprise that Rahan lived his life that way.
Before long, they reached the top of the tower.
“Poor girl,” Harris muttered.
“If you’re not marrying her, keep your thoughts to yourself.”
Rahan had no intention of stalling. He threw open the door.
Just as he expected—
“!”
A young woman in a veil stood inside, startled and unsteady.
Her shimmering silver hair was just as described. Still, he had to confirm. Rahan strode up and spoke.
“Eryshi Ahen?”
“…That’s me…”
A small, timid voice responded. Rahan snorted.
“Let me see your face.”
Traditionally, only the groom could lift the bride’s veil. Rahan didn’t care.
Because—damn it—he was the groom.
He reached out and lifted the veil—and froze.
“Ah.”
Eryshi Ahen, daughter of Licht Ahen.
Her cheeks were red like ripe apples, her silver hair cascading like waves—but what caught him most were her eyes. Soft and green, like the first sprout of spring.
There, in her gaze—
Spring had arrived.
No matter how you look at it, carrying a full-grown woman down a cliff was absolutely insane.
Rahan and Harris, panting, finally lowered the sack they’d been hauling.
Thud.
“Ah…” came a quiet groan from inside.
Harris shot Rahan a look.
“Could’ve handled her more gently.”
“You were holding her too.”
“Apologies, miss. My superior lacks basic manners.”
Harris chuckled as he apologized to the sack. Just as Rahan glared at him—
“I’m fine…”
Neither had expected a response. The breathless voice from the sack surprised them both. They exchanged awkward chuckles.
They’d just arrived at Vandel, a small village not far from the monastery.
Their destination: the largest inn in the village.
The innkeeper eyed them warily. Two men dragging a sack in the middle of the afternoon—it screamed “Are they carrying a body?”
Still, they had been staying in the inn’s best room for days. The innkeeper wasn’t about to kick them out, but he definitely didn’t trust them.
Harris fanned himself.
“Ugh, it’s hot. Can we open a window?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Even the “best room” wasn’t much—it was a countryside inn, after all. Add two sweaty men and the air quickly turned stale.
Rahan waved his hand as he fidgeted with his shirt collar.
“Open the sack.”
“Yes, sir. Alright, miss. You’ve had a rough trip.”
Harris quickly undid the thick rope.
The sack had been rough, built for carrying a person down a cliff—it wasn’t a comfortable ride. There’s no way the girl inside was unharmed.
“Here we go.”
With a small voice, a delicate arm slipped out first.
