🔊 TTS Settings
chapter 22
“Lady Yuri, are you all right?”
“Ah—yeah. And you? Bilrod hit you, right? Let me see.”
“Please don’t worry about me. I am fi—urgh!”
Yurian grabbed Sol by the collar and straightened his disheveled clothes, then reached out to gently touch his cheek, which had swollen from Bilrod’s punches. But the moment her fingertips brushed his cheek—
What?! Why are you glowing now?!
The X-shaped brand on Sol’s forehead flashed brightly. He reflexively stepped back, and the light faded just as quickly—but his brows tightened as if he were in pain.
Yurian’s surprise lasted only an instant. She stepped forward again with a worried expression. Sol was the type who almost never showed pain. Even as a child, he wouldn’t admit he was hurt. She had scolded him so many times to speak up when he was injured, yet he once trained for an entire month with a torn wrist ligament before they found out.
For him to let out a groan meant the pain was far from ordinary. Did Bilrod hit him hard enough to tear something inside his mouth? Or, God forbid, his teeth? Yurian reached out again to examine him properly, but Sol stepped back once more and her hand sliced through empty air.
“Why—why are you avoiding me? Are you hurt somewhere?”
“I am not hurt. It’s just… your hand—”
“My hand? What about my hand?”
Startled, Yurian snatched her hand back and checked it to see if something had gotten on it—or if it smelled strange. Sol quickly opened his mouth as if to say it wasn’t that, but when their eyes met he abruptly bowed his head and sealed his lips shut.
“I—I’ll go check the surroundings in case something dangerous is nearby. It’s late, so please get some rest.”
“Huh? Right now?”
Really? That? At this exact moment?
Sol escaped Yurian’s rising question marks with a quick bow. It was a clean, neat escape that left her no time to stop him.
“—Why did he run away?”
Yurian felt a little deflated. She had thought Sol, at least, was on her side. Even without dividing things childishly into your side and my side, they were in the same situation—shouldn’t they share information when there were clues? She didn’t recall the oracle saying repentance was on a first-come, first-served basis.
Arms folded, Yurian paced in circles as she pondered. Would it be better to share this “glowing brand” phenomenon with the other sinners? Maybe it was a clue related to the sins they supposedly committed. If others had experienced something similar, collecting examples might reveal a pattern. But the real question was whether those people would actually cooperate…
“Huh? What’s this now?”
Like a hamster running on a wheel, Yurian had circled so many times she felt dizzy. Suddenly, something bumped against her foot. She looked down. Something dirty lay at her feet. Assuming it was trash someone dropped, she bent down absentmindedly—then froze, a chill running up her back.
That ragged, torn pouch—half trash, half rag—was the very wallet belonging to the Tower Master she had returned earlier that day.
* * *
“Checkmate.”
The bishop slid across the elegant ebony chessboard with sharp precision. The white king was cornered, unable to move in any direction. Its owner finally raised a hand to shoulder height and surrendered. Those aged, knotted fingers belonged to none other than the Emperor of Latem—the richest empire on the continent.
“My, I truly can’t compete with you.”
“Your Majesty went easy on me. Even if it was a gifted victory, I accept it gratefully.”
“Haha, you always have a pleasant way with words. I’ve had such a headache because of the Crown Prince, but speaking with you brings some peace to my mind.”
The one who crushed the emperor without mercy—even refusing to yield a single move—was his old friend and loyal vassal, Duke Baph. The two had been close since the age of five, and aside from the years the duke spent studying abroad, they had shared nearly forty years together—closer than family.
Of course, once one became Emperor and the other a Duke, it became harder to behave like carefree childhood friends. Still, they remained each other’s strongest allies and unwavering supporters—a bond no one could intrude upon.
Or so it appeared.
“By the way, I heard that child appeared at the Temple. Duke, you heard too, yes?”
“When you say ‘that child,’ you mean…?”
“Yurian.”
At the mention of his daughter’s name, the duke’s hands stiffened over the chess pieces. The emperor continued speaking casually, though his sharp eyes betrayed his true intent.
“I thought she was as delicate as a lily, but it seems she was more resilient than expected. How did she manage to survive all alone, I wonder.”
He meant it.
In the emperor’s mind, Yurian—his friend’s daughter and once his own son’s fiancée—had always seemed like a glass doll. She wasn’t tenacious or adaptable; she didn’t seek affection or desire anything for herself. Quiet, obedient, never once causing trouble.
Unfortunately, society was no place for such a child.
I hoped she’d learn to face hardship, command subordinates, and distinguish allies… but to crumble so quickly…
The emperor knew better than anyone that Yurian wasn’t the villain the rumors painted her to be. But she had lost public favor too easily. She had been far too foolish in letting things slip from her grasp. And with no one dependable to help her when things grew dangerous, she had never been fit to be an empress.
So he let her go. His own son was lacking as well, but that only meant his partner needed to be wise. He loved his son in his own flawed way.
“Duke, I can yield every chess victory to you—but there are things I cannot yield as Emperor. I’m sure my loyal friend understands.”
“…Your Majesty.”
“That child cannot return to Latem. My decision will not change.”
The emperor didn’t care how Yurian had survived until now. Nor how she would live—or die—from this point on. She simply must never return to his country. Her presence now would only bring chaos.
“You may return for today. Tomorrow we’ll play a different game instead of chess.”
The emperor clicked his tongue silently as he looked at his old friend’s face—pale to the point of pity. How absurd, he thought. When he should have protected the girl, he let the nobles sway him and blamed her. And now, he regretted it?
The emperor watched with a sympathetic gaze as the half-dazed duke left the room.
Yet he was certain that, as always, the duke would never make a choice harmful to the crown or his own house.
“Shadow.”
But the emperor had failed to see that the duke’s eyes were already far from sane.
The moment Duke Baph stepped out of the emperor’s private chamber, he called for the “Shadow,” the covert operative serving the ducal family. At his soft command, a man dressed head-to-toe in black appeared silently behind him.
“You summoned me, my lord.”
“Find out whether it’s true that Yurian appeared at the Grand Temple. Right now.”
The duke anxiously bit his nails.
Three years ago, when Yurian’s exile was ordered, he had planned to intercept her during transport and hide her in a remote villa. After a few years—once public interest faded—he would adopt her as a vassal’s daughter, cleanse her identity, and marry her to a decent young man.
But the emperor gave no time for such plans. He exiled Yurian beyond the borders immediately—even using expensive teleportation magic. It was a rushed trial utterly unlike the treatment of other criminals.
After forty years of loyal service, the emperor had stabbed him in the back.
The emperor would never understand how much blood the duke had swallowed alone after losing Yurian.
“Don’t trust rumors. Go see for yourself. Confirm whether it’s truly her, someone who resembles her, or someone impersonating her.”
