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Chapter 13
He shouldn’t have been able to see her—but Caron’s blood-red eyes kept locking with hers, sharp and deadly.
The moment he entered the ballroom, he’d started prowling through the crowd as if searching for someone.
Leon whispered to her from behind a flowerpot.
“The invisibility spell lasts thirty minutes.”
Jeril nodded, and Leon gave her a pitiful look before heading off to join his friends.
I’ll slip out quietly once the main guests—the Crown Prince and the Saint—arrive.
That was the plan.
But Jeril had overlooked one thing.
Grrrgle—
Her stomach let out a monstrous growl. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning.
The sound was loud enough to echo through the ballroom.
“What was that noise?”
“Oh my, how improper…”
Her face went up in flames. And of course, Caron turned his head toward her.
He wore a sleek black suit, the color of her own hair, and gloves embossed with the Leferte ducal crest. The faint smell of gunpowder clung to him, and his blood-red eyes—like a lake of crimson—completed the aura of danger.
He was a man who drew every gaze in the room just by existing.
People who hated him and those who admired him alike couldn’t look away.
Oh, come on. Why are you coming this way?!
Jeril was on the verge of panic. The scent of smoke and metal—his presence—was getting closer.
Clang!
Startled, she knocked a plate off the table.
“Why did that fall on its own?”
“Someone’s playing a trick?”
The suspicious looks in the nobles’ eyes soon turned into certainty. A smooth, dangerous smile curved Caron’s lips.
His gaze met hers—right through the invisibility spell.
“Found you—”
Just as his hand reached for her arm, the ballroom doors swung open.
“His Highness Crown Prince Jerafel de Kirsch and Lady Muriel the Saint are entering!”
The gloved hand stopped.
Seizing the chance, Jeril slipped away while everyone clapped to welcome the royal pair.
Caron’s crimson eyes followed her fleeing figure, but she didn’t notice.
Phew, that was close.
Soon, the Crown Prince began his speech, and Jeril finally saw the protagonists of the original story.
With that, Jeril’s hypothesis was confirmed.
I can’t see the karma values of people who appear in the original story.
It was a problem.
She could always take another chance to observe Caron, but she couldn’t exactly smack the story’s main characters over the head to check what was floating above them.
Still, they do make a good-looking couple.
The Crown Prince resembled Caron somewhat—faded black hair, light red eyes.
But unlike Caron’s oppressive, cold demeanor, the prince had a gentle, almost disarming expression—the kind that could slip into your weaknesses with a smile.
In short, the classic “charming prince” type.
He’s handsome, sure… but somehow, not very likable.
Maybe it was just her petty extra resentment speaking.
As for Saint Muriel, she looked every bit the holy figure her title implied.
When a soft breeze lifted her silver-threaded hair, gasps of admiration rippled through the room. Her lake-blue eyes carried a serene, cool glow.
…Cool?
Jeril tilted her head.
In the original story, Muriel had been described as a warmer, softer beauty.
Am I imagining things?
As she pondered the discrepancy, the speech drew to a close.
“…Based on the achievements from the Mekel region…”
At the mention of “Mekel,” the nobles nearby began to whisper.
“How shameless. My maid’s cousin died in that disaster.”
“They say it wasn’t monsters who destroyed the town.”
“Then who was it?”
Jeril wasn’t eavesdropping out of nosiness—she was genuinely curious.
Suddenly, she recalled the old woman who’d tried to scam her while calling herself the “prophet of Mekel.”
If that old woman really was a prophet, how could she not have foreseen the disaster that struck Mekel?
Prophets from Mekel were renowned for predicting both demonic and natural disasters. There was only one kind of catastrophe they couldn’t foresee—
A tragedy caused by humans.
Jeril’s expression hardened as she moved closer to hear the nobles’ murmurs.
“They say madness is spreading.”
“What? Isn’t that something only dark sorcerers suffer from?”
“Yes, but apparently there’s a way to induce it artificially…”
She was frowning in concentration when something cold brushed the side of her neck.
Before she could turn, another hand covered her mouth.
What the—?!
Jeril flailed, but the assailant dragged her effortlessly to the back of the ballroom—and then spoke in an annoyingly calm tone.
“Hello, Jeril. Don’t scream. It’s me, Chelsea Rebellin.”
“….”
“Oh, right. I’m still covering your mouth.”
The hand released her, and Jeril gasped for air. She’d been listening to something important!
She hissed under her breath,
“Chelsea! What are you doing?! How did you even find me?”
“Every time I walked past you, I felt happy.”
“…What?”
“So I knew. You must’ve cast an invisibility spell and were hiding somewhere.”
Great. Another one with supernatural instincts. Must be a dark mage thing.
“But why drag me over here? Those nobles were talking about something suspicious!”
“What they said matches my findings. My information is more valuable.”
“You finished investigating already?”
Chelsea nodded. Her usually impassive face was alive with animation.
Having overthrown her incompetent brothers to become sub-marchioness of House Rebellin, she was known as a cold-blooded ruler.
But the face before Jeril was nothing like the rumors—it was bright and eager.
Because of the invisibility spell, though, she was talking to thin air, so Jeril had to grab her chin and tilt it down to make eye contact.
Now their gazes finally aligned—Chelsea’s red eyes blinking in curiosity.
“You’re shorter than I thought, Jeril.”
“…You’re over 178 centimeters tall. Maybe you’re just big.”
Jeril stuck out her tongue, slightly offended.
Chelsea didn’t notice and continued serenely.
“The escaped prisoner who used you as a hostage was from the Mekel region.”
“And the assassins from Sekia Alley?”
“The same.”
So, all the people with dangerously high karma scores—including that old scammer—were from Mekel.
Too many coincidences for comfort.
“As those nobles said, the village massacre wasn’t the work of monsters. But it wasn’t madness, either.”
“Then what was it?”
“It started with blue spots. Right after a prophet shouted that something sinister was coming, people began developing marks on their bodies.”
On stage, the Crown Prince took the Saint’s hand and descended. The dancing was about to begin.
“…Did you just say blue spots?”
“Thirty minutes later, people began killing each other.”
“What?”
Laughter and music filled the ballroom as nobles congratulated the royal couple.
“In an instant, the whole village was annihilated. I heard the prince’s expedition team didn’t arrive until much later.”
“…”
“There was one survivor. That person likely knows what really happened.”
Chelsea stopped speaking. Not by choice—something had caught her attention.
Her eyes moved past Jeril’s shoulder.
Lost in thought, Jeril didn’t notice the change in her friend’s expression.
…I might have to go to Mekel myself.
If it truly was a man-made disaster—and if the Crown Prince was involved as Chelsea hinted—then it could happen again at any time.
By now, Leon’s thirty-minute limit was up.
The faint shimmer of her invisibility spell began to fade from her light-blue dress.
“Found you.”
A cold hand gripped Jeril’s shoulder.
