~Chapter 71~
When she finally saw the Grand Duke’s fiancée—
‘What, it’s Bella?’
Instead of a noble lady fitting for the Grand Duchess, she realized it was a weak opponent, and so she raised the level of insult more than she had first planned.
After being chased from the East and trying to adapt in the capital, Dora’s suppressed nature had finally burst out.
Dora knew. She was the one who picked the fight first. She was the one who glanced and spoke loudly enough for Bella to hear—it had all been intentional.
But still!
“Did he have to drive me out in front of so many people?! And in such a way!”
If she had only read the words on the paper, it would have been one thing. But hearing the shop worker tell her, “Please leave,” in front of others—that moment was unbearable.
With the noble ladies beside her, the humiliation only grew.
‘What must those women think of me?’
She had pretended to be connected to Marquis Blansia, acting like a queen among foolish women. But now, having been thrown out of the Grand Duke’s shop…
They would no longer echo her words or flatter her. Even if they acted the same outwardly, their thoughts would be different.
Just like she herself had done in the past.
The thought made her grind her teeth.
“For someone like that to be a Grand Duke… His Majesty must truly have many worries—Marquis?”
Dora froze. She had been turning her shame into anger, speaking ill of Armin, when she noticed the Marquis staring into the distance.
“Wasn’t it supposed to be something light?”
“Uh…?”
“So it was that serious.”
The Marquis’s murmuring scared her. The aura of a madman—someone who might do anything—was not something a noblewoman, whose greatest hardship had been “social isolation,” could handle.
As Dora sat stiffly, eyes darting—
“We’ll speak later, Madam.”
“Y-yes, that’s better.”
Dora hurriedly left.
The Marquis, left alone, let out a long sigh.
Feeling strangely tired, he closed his eyes, and the face of Empress Isabel came to him like an afterimage.
Specifically, their childhood, when they first met.
Isabel was one of the candidates for the next Emperor. He, as the son of a prestigious family, was naturally considered a possible marriage partner.
Their families arranged for them to meet often from an early age.
He had no particular feelings for Isabel. He didn’t welcome marriage to her, but he didn’t oppose it either.
To him, marriage—or anything in life—was something inevitable, something that didn’t matter who it was with.
He had no desires, no goals. There was nothing he wanted badly enough to resist.
Life was dull, filled with nothing but ordinary things.
But Isabel began to stand out.
Or rather, she began to irritate him.
[Why are you trying so hard? Not every effort is rewarded. No matter how desperate you are, a weak body won’t become strong.]
[“I know.”]
Covered in sweat from running in the training yard, Isabel still smiled through her heavy breathing.
[But I don’t see why that matters. Everyone struggles to survive. See that servant carrying a bucket? He steps carefully so he won’t lose his job. His struggle and mine aren’t so different.]
That plain face.
[And I don’t hate this body, because it gave me this perspective.]
That smile engraved itself deeply in him.
[Isn’t the ability to care for everyone the very virtue of an Emperor?]
And so he began to dream.
A dream of living through Isabel’s reign.
Of seeing how beautiful and ideal the world would be with her as Emperor.
[…At most, five years. After that, I’ll have no excuse to keep you.]
But dreams don’t last. They shattered.
[Let’s break the engagement, Axion. You deserve a better lady.]
Even now, reality was slowly eating away at his dream.
It was all because of the late Empress Dowager. She couldn’t bear to see someone not of her blood become Emperor, and her malice remained in Isabel’s body.
Her wish lived on, even after her death.
Isabel could not bear an heir. In a few years, she would die. And Armin would become Emperor.
That future couldn’t be stopped.
‘You cannot be happy.’
He quietly clenched his fist.
‘If your happiness is built on Isabel’s blood, then all the more so—you must not.’
Now that Isabel’s death seemed certain, he resolved:
He would ruin Armin’s life.
Lian was in the underground training hall.
It kept constant temperature and humidity, a place where mages practiced “true magic.”
He had locked himself inside for over a week.
At the tip of his staff, mana spilled and spread across the floor, forming lines and circles.
“Haa…”
He wiped the sweat off his forehead.
He was drawing a magic circle to summon a guardian spirit of the ancient gods. The one who had taught him this was none other than Marquis Blansia.
The man had come to him after hearing about the recent event in the garden.
[I too lacked talent, unable to walk the mage’s path. Do you think I can’t understand you? There are things effort cannot overcome, and in magic, talent is everything.]
[But certain magic—completed through circles—is different. They require time and effort to activate. Isn’t true magic the very essence of effort?]
[And here is a spell. A difficult one. A chance to prove how much effort you’ve put in to earn your badge. Don’t you want that?]
Normally, Lian would have spotted the flaws immediately.
Using circle magic wouldn’t erase the fact he lost to a novice mage.
But his mind was consumed with inferiority toward Bella, and so he accepted the old book the Marquis gave him.
The book wasn’t perfect—time had blurred parts of it.
So Lian filled in the missing spaces on his own.
The circle glowed yellow. It meant something was ready to be summoned.
“No matter how much of a genius she is…”
“She won’t be able to do this.”
Lian’s smile twisted.
Circle magic required study. Ancient languages, drawing techniques—it wasn’t something even a genius could skip.
He himself had been called a prodigy, yet learning one spell took weeks, even months. At Bella’s age, the number of spells he knew could be counted on one hand.
That’s why he underestimated her. He thought her official mage title was only thanks to her backers.
But he had been wrong.
[KWA-BOOM!]
With a single gesture, Bella had nearly destroyed the entire training yard.
Lian had felt it—the overwhelming difference in talent.
‘What did I do wrong?’
For a moment, he only felt wronged.
‘Then I’ll make up for it with effort!’
Next came stubbornness.
“Damn, you actually drew the whole thing. You’re insane.”
At the stairs stood Ganesha, clicking his tongue.
“Shut up.”
“You’re seriously going to activate that?”
“Why else would I draw it?”
“I get it, but… you said the Marquis gave you that book? Can you really trust him? I think this is dangerous.”
The terror of summoning circles was simple—if you failed, you didn’t know what would come out.
Lian scoffed.
“If you’re scared, back off. I’ll take the credit.”
“You idiot. You think I’m here for credit?”
Lian might not notice, but to Ganesha, he wasn’t normal anymore.
All day he muttered the newcomer’s name under his breath, seething with resentment.
Ganesha thought he’d tire himself out eventually. His pride must’ve been badly wounded.
That’s why Ganesha let it slide, even brought him meals. But Lian only grew worse.
‘No, I need to stop him now.’
He grabbed Lian’s hand.
It was thinner than before, though Ganesha had fed him. That hand still clutched the staff stubbornly.
“Enough. Let it go.”
“Soon, I will.”
Lian poured mana into the circle.
“It’s ready—”
Ker-r-r-r-r…
And then, what emerged was a black monster’s claw.
“Ready, my ass—you’re insane!”
Ganesha smacked him hard on the back.
