Episode 37. Chapter 5. Flower Farm (7)
Yuriel hesitated for a moment, then followed Butler Sheldon into the white corridor.
She noticed his troubled expression, but her curiosity was stronger.
If he had truly insisted she couldn’t go inside, she wouldn’t have argued. But since he didn’t, she stepped forward.
At the end of the short corridor, the room she entered was far larger than she had expected.
Inside were countless portraits and family paintings, arranged neatly by year.
“The one on the far left is of the second Grand Duke. The first Duke’s portrait was lost long ago,” Sheldon explained.
Yuriel admired the paintings one by one as he guided her.
Many had been damaged or destroyed over the centuries, but the closer they came to the right side of the hall, the more complete the portraits became—clear and intact.
At last, they reached the end of the room.
“And here are the previous Grand Duke and Grand Duchess.”
Two portraits hung side by side.
So these are Akron’s parents…
Yuriel gazed up at them.
Both figures were strikingly beautiful, like sculptures, but their expressions were cold and emotionless—almost chilling. Yet when she looked closely, she could see faint resemblances to Akron of Veiharz.
They had died long before Yuriel ever came to the West. She knew they had passed away, but not how.
There will never be a portrait of me here, she thought quietly.
Her picture would never hang on this wall. Instinctively, she placed her hands over her stomach.
But the child would be different. The child she bore would grow and one day become a member of the Veiharz family.
That thought eased her heart a little.
Yuriel turned to continue viewing the remaining portraits—
“…?”
Where a family painting should have been, the wall was completely bare.
It was empty.
There should have been a portrait of Akron as a boy, but it was missing.
Looking further, she found only one more painting—a golden-framed portrait of Akron as he was now, drawn with a stern and icy face.
“Is this the only one?” she asked.
“Yes, my lord dislikes leaving portraits behind,” Sheldon replied instantly.
But both of them knew the explanation was incomplete.
“I see. Thank you, Sheldon. Let’s leave now,” Yuriel said with a smile. She did not press the matter.
Sheldon, walking her out, felt relieved that she hadn’t asked more questions, yet at the same time worried—what if she found it strange?
“Then, I’ll take my leave,” Yuriel said.
“Yes. Please rest well, my lady,” he replied.
The door closed, leaving Yuriel alone in her bedroom.
She sat on the bed, but memories of the portrait hall lingered in her mind, making her uneasy.
Past Grand Dukes almost always had at least one childhood portrait preserved, unless destroyed.
So Akron’s missing childhood portrait couldn’t be explained simply by saying Veiharz’s children grew up quickly.
And the missing family painting, too… why was it gone?
What happened in his past?
The thought weighed on her. It felt as if she had stumbled upon something she was not meant to see.
A short distance from Veiharz Castle stood the Council of Elders.
Once a year, a formal assembly was held there, which the head of House Veiharz was required to attend to review the issues raised.
The council consisted of twelve elders. Dressed in identical robes, they sat in their seats, their stern expressions unhidden.
“Head of House.”
Clouded eyes gleamed from a wrinkled face. The man was clearly aged and frail, yet his voice carried power.
Though all were elders, there was still a hierarchy among them.
At the top sat Revon Armand, representative of the council. He had long served the previous Grand Duke and had been a loyal retainer of the Veiharz family.
“What is all this noise?”
At the high seat sat Akron of Veiharz himself, looking irritated, as though the gathering were a burden.
Both he and the elders knew well why they had convened—though their opinions were opposed.
Finally, Revon spoke the words directly:
“You dared to take a central woman as your consort.”
Akron’s face turned icy at those words, but Revon did not flinch.
This matter was too grave.
Though their authority had weakened over time, the elders still held the right to call an emergency assembly. Revon had even declared that if Akron did not attend, he would go directly to the castle.
Thus, Akron had been forced to appear.
The Grand Duke had married a woman from the central empire, after centuries of severed ties with the West.
“She is from the same empire. Is there any law that forbids a central woman from becoming Grand Duchess?” Akron scoffed.
He already had proof—the Emperor’s signed approval, and the marriage consecrated by the temple.
He had arranged everything in the central empire precisely because he expected resistance like this.
The elders murmured, for they too had seen the imperial seal.
Nobles of the West often resented the central empire. The current Emperor was friendly to Veiharz, but historically most emperors had been hostile—treating the West as a shield while envying its strength.
Still, as long as the empire remained united under one crown, the nobles could not openly voice their hatred.
“There is no law forbidding it because such a thing has never happened, my lord,” Revon countered quietly.
To him, it was as absurd as writing a law that required people to breathe.
Many central women had admired past Grand Dukes, but it was only ever a romantic fantasy.
To become Grand Duchess meant severing all family ties and moving alone to the monster-ridden West. No central noblewoman had ever truly desired that fate.
Some fancied themselves heroines of a romance story, but never had such a union succeeded.
But the surface reasons were not the real ones. The truth was deeper.
“Only by marrying someone with an ability can a strong heir be born,” Revon said firmly.
Akron’s face twisted in anger.
Yet other elders raised their voices in support:
“Lady Helia Torhisa is still perfectly suitable.”
“Children born to a woman with strong power will inherit greater strength.”
What they meant by “power” was the curse.
No one knew when it began. Curses appeared among nobles, stealing something precious from their victims in exchange for great strength.
At first, cursed ones were feared and despised. But as time passed, curses were renamed “abilities,” and their power was admired.
Now, those with curses were celebrated. Nobles even sought to increase the chance of cursed heirs by marrying only among the cursed.
Whispers of doubt remained, but the results were undeniable—new and powerful abilities were indeed being born.
Thus, marriages between the cursed became a fixed custom. Even Veiharz followed this logic: to protect the West, they needed ever greater power.
“Besides, can an ordinary woman even bear the blood of Veiharz…?”
“Enough.”
Akron snapped, unable to endure further.
The blood of Veiharz was rare and precious. But cursed women had higher chances of conceiving children—another reason the elders insisted Helia was the right match.
“You want me to marry a woman who never grew to adulthood?” Akron growled.
It was he himself who had broken the engagement with Helia Torhisa.
Helia had the rare ability to manipulate surrounding vibrations into destructive force. But as the mark of her curse, her body had stopped growing.
The elders knew this, but still argued—if she could conceive, her appearance didn’t matter.
Helia’s ability was so powerful and unique that many coveted it. Combined with the dragon’s bloodline of Veiharz, it could produce even greater power—or so they claimed.
“That is not an ability—it is a curse,” Akron spat. “And you know it well.”
Abilities only emerged when the Black Dragon’s curse stole something precious.
The curse could take anything—something visible, or even deep within the mind. It was a demon’s bargain, stealing without consent and leaving behind unwanted power.
No one knew this truth better than Akron of Veiharz.
“Still—”
The elders refused to quiet down.
“To withstand the Black Lands and the monsters, a stronger power is needed.”
“Yes, only stronger bloodlines can protect the West.”
Revon Armand held firm, and the others followed, their voices heavy with reproach.
“Revon Armand.”
The murmuring ceased at once at Akron’s chilling voice.
