“W-what…?” I stammered.

“It’s all my fault,” the Duke of Venomain said softly, kneeling on the ground. “After the naming ceremony, I realized what happened. The mouse I thought was alive… its bones had been dissolved by the hidden poison. Only the tail was left.”

I felt like I was in a dream. It seemed unreal.

“Irine, as you said, you are the true Venomain,” he continued. My blood, once cold, began boiling again inside me.

“Now it doesn’t matter. I’m here to apologize—please, come back.”

“Do you really think I’d believe you now?” Edmund’s voice boomed with genuine anger. “Stop this. People already see Irine as Wolfgang. Your desperate act is useless.”

“Shut up! You used my daughter as a tool,” the Duke shouted, pointing at me. “Listen to me, Irine! He’s the one pretending to care for you, whispering sweet lies! He’ll betray you like everyone else!”

He pleaded urgently, “You’re already a Silver Named—you wanted to be Countess! If you return, I’ll give that to you!”

Edmund stepped forward to push me inside. “Irine, come in. Contact the organizers and guards. Don’t go out again.”

“No,” I shook my head at Edmund. I couldn’t leave him to face five of them alone. I lowered my guarding blade a little and spoke firmly.

“Let me talk,” I said coldly. The tension in the garden cut through the air.

“…Irine,” Edmund whispered, stunned. I touched the bonding mark on my neck—only bonded people can share thoughts—and thought, Trust me. The mark glowed faintly, and Edmund’s expression softened.

I turned to the Duke. Whenever I think of him, something old and empty sinks in. Sometimes, rage wells up like black anger.

“You said Wolfgang would abandon me and betray me, didn’t you?” I said, and he paused. “Duke? You’re not my father. You never were. You denied me because I had no ability. You said a powerless person couldn’t belong to Venomain.”

The silence that followed was heavy. He looked pale, like his heartbeat had stopped.

“You said so at the naming ceremony,” I reminded him. Edmund’s grip tightened—he was angry.

“Irine, I… I was out of my mind then. I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“Duke,” I cut him off as my hair slowly turned purple, a fire burning inside me. “I don’t care even if the Wolfgangs betray me.”

My voice shook because of the weight of everything I’d endured. “I’m used to being discarded.”

He didn’t respond, merely stared sadly. I continued: “Tell me—why should I ever return to Venomain?”

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, confused and angry. “You once wanted Venomain more than anything. If you come back now, everything could be yours!”

“But not as long as you’re alive,” I said.

He shouted, “Return! You misunderstand—the real enemy isn’t Wolfgang, it’s the Wolfgangs you must overthrow to become Golden Named!”

Edmund finally could not contain himself. Half-wolf, his blue eyes ignited fierce fire. “We are the ones who hurt Irine the most!”

“I’ll never go back to those inhuman monsters,” Edmund roared. His presence and fury made the Duke’s guards tremble.

“Master! Please step back—”

“I’m not stepping aside for a petty brat,” the Duke hissed. He glared at me and yelled, “Irine! Return! It’s a moment of insanity that’s ruining everything!”

That cut deeper than any wound. A moment of insanity? For ten years, I was locked in a closet, injected with poisons, forced to relearn my body. He summed it all up as moments of foolishness? Finally, it struck me: they never needed me—only my power.

“Father!” I drew my blade in one swift motion, and blood spurted. My skin, wounded, bled a black, oily poison that started eating the ground. The guards scrambled back, terrified. The Duke’s eyes gleamed in madness—he finally understood.

“Oh Irine… You were thinking of returning?”

“No,” I replied firmly. The black poison spread, dissolving stone beneath me. “I will never return.”

“What?” His face froze.

“You think I didn’t?”

His mouth opened, but I spoke again: “I know why you want me back.” I forced a trembling smile. “You want my blood.”

After a moment, he commanded, “Prepare a vial.”

He wouldn’t even deny it—he wanted my blood, not me.

I shook my head. “No.”

I held my bleeding arm out, the molten poison draining black and thick onto the ground. The Duke stared at it, unsettled.

“Then you must take it yourself,” I said softly—and that cold final line echoed through the garden.