PLMYP 58

Please Let Marriage Be Your Payment!,

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Chapter 58 —

“Uh… why are you asking that?”

Sellen’s eyes filled with a little suspicion as he looked at Leonard. Leonard quickly raised both hands as if he meant no harm.

“I was just curious. I wondered if she had ever been exposed to another poison made by an alchemist, like now.”

“Ah, you meant it that way?”

Sellen thought for a moment.

Should I tell him? Well, it should be fine. After thinking it over, his answer wasn’t much.

“I don’t know. The Lady never told me that much. But…”

“But?”

“I was curious too, so I once asked Wood about it.”

Whether he was threatened, or whether it was intentional or not, the poison Wood created was used to kill people.

Normally, he should have been dealt with along with the rest of the Silent Swamp guild members. But he survived—he was the only one who did.

Even though his movements were limited, he still lived comfortably, freely conducting the research he wanted.

The only reason he could live like that was one thing: Irenea’s request.

So it was natural that Wood saw Irenea as his savior. But the opposite—the fact that Irenea valued him—was something even Wood couldn’t understand.

“He said he couldn’t figure it out himself, so he told the Lady he must be mistaken. That he wasn’t the right person.”

“And even then, Lin said he was the right one?”

“Yes. Then she gave him a recipe for a medicine.”

Wood was surprised—because the recipe was indeed one of his own.

How could she possibly know a recipe he had never released publicly? When he asked, Irenea just answered, “It’s a secret.”

There were other strange things too. That medicine had been made a few times and sold, but it was never something that would leave the backstreets, nor was it the kind of medicine Irenea herself would take.

The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Still, since Irenea insisted he was the right person, Wood finally gave up trying to understand.

He just thought—Maybe I really did help her once, somehow.

And since Irenea had shown him kindness, he decided he would repay it with all his effort in the future.

“So what kind of medicine was it?” Leonard asked.

“I don’t know that part. She kept her mouth shut, saying she absolutely couldn’t tell anyone. From the way she acted… I’d guess it was some kind of dangerous medicine, probably connected to the Lady.”

Sellen guessed it might have been poison. But Leonard stayed silent, lost in thought.

After a while, he finally opened his heavy mouth. He spoke of the request he had wanted to give Sellen.

“I want you to investigate dreams.”

“Dreams? What kind of dreams?” Sellen asked, completely clueless.

Leonard hesitated, not sure how to explain.

“In the dreams, someone I know appears—but in a form completely different from reality. Yet, strangely, parts of the dream connect to real life.”

“Just hearing that, it doesn’t sound weird. Aren’t all dreams like that?”

“I normally don’t dream at all. But recently, my dreams keep continuing, like they’re connected.”

Not every dream followed in perfect order. Sometimes he dreamed of events from the past, other times of things that seemed far in the future.

But when he put the dreams together in the order of the events, they all connected seamlessly.

For example—Janice being dragged away by Harry Miles because she couldn’t repay her debt, being abused and killed, and Leonard taking revenge on Harry Miles.

Or punishing a noble who refused to pay after a job was done, and instead of money, bringing away his wife.

“Hm, that is strange. So what exactly do you dream of?”

“Well…”

Leonard thought back to the dream he had just a few nights ago.

It was the night he first slept with Irenea in his arms. That night, he had a dream unlike any he had ever had before.

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‘Don’t look!’

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At balls, women’s dresses usually exposed the back without hesitation.

But in the dream, the woman was different. If someone saw her while bathing, most women would cover the front—but she desperately tried to cover her back.

Probably because of the scars covering it.

In the dream, the woman said she had no value as a woman. The scars on her back were the final proof of her brainwashing.

And so…

“Marquis?”

“Ah.”

Leonard came back to himself at Sellen’s call, shaking off the traces of the dream. But his fingertips still remembered the tremble.

Before coming here, in bed—half-asleep, lost in dreams—Irenea had flinched in shock when his hand touched her back.

Because he had shared a bed with her for several days, Leonard was sure of it now.

Irenea wasn’t startled by his touch itself. She was startled because his hand had touched her back—at a time when she couldn’t tell dream from reality.

“Maybe it’s just my imagination…”

But when did these dreams first begin? Leonard remembered exactly.

“They feel like… dreams of what might have happened if I had never met Lin.”

Yes—ever since he met Irenea. That was when the dreams began.

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“The Marquis of Wayndal has returned!”

From the high watchtower, a soldier spotted the Wayndal banner and blew a horn to announce his lord’s return.

The thick gates, built to keep out ancient beasts, slowly opened.

The number of knights entering through the gate was nearly a third less than the number who had marched out a month ago.

But despite their exhaustion, the face of the Marquis of Wayndal, who led the column at the front, showed no trace of gloom.

Gloom and fear spread faster than a cold. As defenders of the castle and its people, knights had to control their emotions as well as their swords.

So the Marquis and his knights kept their steps strong and dignified under the gaze of their people.

“Welcome back, my lord. Were you injured anywhere?”

“I’m fine. More importantly—was there any reply from El?”

“No, not yet… but the messenger should be here soon.”

“I see.”

The Marquis’s face darkened with disappointment. The steward quickly tried to comfort him.

“This morning, my lady sent a letter.”

“Really? Where is it? Did you place it in the study?”

“Yes, my lord. You can read it as soon as you finish washing.”

Though he wanted to read his wife’s words right away, the steward was right—he needed to wash first.

After scrubbing away blood and dirt, he sat neatly at his desk and opened the letter.

‘Still no improvement…’

His wife, the Marchioness, was staying at a villa on the northern border of the Wayndal lands, near the Beln Mountains, together with their son Flint, who had suddenly fallen ill.

‘If only we knew the cause of the illness…’

Flint Wayndal was one of the strongest, most skilled knights of his generation.

Born large and healthy, taller than most boys his age, he had never even caught a cold.

Even when beaten with wooden swords, he would never fall ill. He always rose early the next morning to train, full of energy.

And yet now—this same son had suddenly grown weak and bedridden. The Marquis still couldn’t believe it.

‘If only we had an alchemist… No, I must not think such dangerous thoughts.’

Though he had pledged loyalty to the Crown Princess by offering her the Keltenaha relic, the Emperor still kept him under close watch. Until the Princess ascended the throne, that surveillance would never end.

So even the slightest contact with an alchemist—even if it was for his son’s illness—would destroy the Wayndal family. Even his sister, the Empress, could be endangered.

‘Why did she ever reach for the Emperor out of all men…’

The Marquis let out a long sigh.

If his sister had simply coveted the marquisate, he wouldn’t have found it so absurd.

But all she wanted was the Emperor’s love.

Reaching for the warmth of the sun would only burn her in the end.

Though the Marquis had tried to stop her, his sister ignored him and gave up everything—even asking her brother to yield and give up his share.

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‘Have I ever asked you for anything before? Not once. I never even dared to covet what was rightfully yours. So just this once—only once—please help me.’

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If a child with Wayndal blood was born from the Emperor’s womb, their house would forever be under the Emperor’s suspicion.

She knew this, and yet she wept, begging for help. Begging him to let her truly become family with the Emperor.

‘But has she ever been happy?’

To prove she had no hidden ambition, she even cut ties with the Wayndal house.

So despite sharing blood, their official relationship was as if they were strangers.

They didn’t exchange letters as siblings. The only news he received was through polite greetings his wife sent to the Empress, sometimes with small details of her situation.

Had his sister truly found happiness, throwing away her family, bowing low, clinging desperately to the Emperor so she wouldn’t be abandoned?

The Marquis couldn’t understand it. But what could he do? It was her choice.

“Pardon the interruption, my lord.”

The steward entered, pushing a trolley, and poured his master a drink.

The Marquis downed the strong liquor in one gulp before the ice even had time to chill it.

The steward didn’t stop him—he only refilled the glass and gently asked:

“Have you finished reading the letter?”