SBWCM

Chapter 01

“I can finally kill you.”

Edah’s body, collapsed and crumpled on the floor, throbbed with pain. She struggled to look up.

Deep eyebrows, large cat-like eyes, bright red lips curving into a brilliant smile—a stunningly beautiful face met her eyes.

A figure of voluptuous curves was encased in suffocatingly tight black clothing.

If she weren’t the very person who had just beaten Edah like a madwoman and was currently trampling her face with her shoe, Edah might have quite liked this beautiful woman.

Ingrid Ascota.

As the true power in the Archducal Castle and the daughter of a prominent family, it went without saying that no one would stop her.

No, even before that, no one would take the side of a humble barbarian like Edah anyway.

That was just how the world was.

It had always labeled Edah as the weak one, naturally handing down all manner of violence and contempt—as if her very existence were a sin.

So Ingrid has finally decided to kill me.

Foreseeing her end, Edah considered begging this woman for a moment. Though it was a valueless life stripped of all hope, Edah still wanted to live.

As Ingrid watched Edah prostrated servilely before her, her purplish eyes curved into a gentle crescent.

“My, my, Edah.”

Whenever those eyes sparkled with light, only cruel things followed for Edah.

“Aren’t you even going to ask why?”

There was no need for a reason. Wives sharing the same husband—wasn’t that reason enough to die?

Yet Ingrid seemed unsatisfied. She grabbed Edah by the hair, dragging her up and tilting her chin upward.

“Ugh.”

Ingrid softly wiped the corner of Edah’s mouth, where her burst lips were bleeding.

“Our stupid Edah really knows nothing, does she?”

“……”

“Our husband is dead.”

“……!”

“Your husband and mine. Ivar, that son of a bitch, died. They say he died while riding a horse.”

At those words, Edah almost let out a scream despite herself. She knew all too well what it meant for her husband to die.

“Since neither of us has a son, his younger brother, Astaldo, will become king.”

She giggled softly.

“You know what happens when the successor ascends the throne, don’t you?”

Yes, Edah knew. It was just as Ingrid said. She would die soon.

Edah was the daughter of the Duke of Mahina, a house derogatorily called ‘barbarians.’

It was enough to make even a passing dog laugh.

Mahina and Duke. What an ill-fitting combination! Even being called a Duke was laughable.

About a hundred years ago, through the assimilation policy of Emperor Bohgor—a descendant of the noble Sun Clan—the chieftain of the Mahina tribe united minor tribes, received a title, and became a noble.

A castle and a title had been handed to those who were only accustomed to tribal life.

The Duke of Mahina lacked the power to rule his domain, nor did he possess any strength to defend his land against the seasoned wolves eyeing his territory.

Consequently, they barely maintained their house by marrying off the family’s women into other lineages.

In short, they survived by selling their women.

Fortunately, every member of the Mahina bloodline possessed striking beauty.

Was that all?

Everyone born of their blood was blessed with a remarkably robust physique. In other words, they were exceptionally functional as ‘studs’ to carry on a lineage.

The special ability said to be a blessing from the ‘Sun Clan’ was a privilege among privileges.

Because of this, Edah was able to enter the Wesselwolf Archduchy as the ‘Archduchess.’

Ivar, the Archduke of Wesselwolf, had high expectations. Yet, instead of the beautiful daughter of the Mahina Duchy, only a gaunt, withered woman standing like a dried twig met his eyes.

She was by no means attractive. Edah’s silver hair was dull and dry, and her face was pale and bloodless.

When Edah lowered her eyes, she looked like a lowly creature rather than a noble.

Enraged by the sight, Ivar poured countless insults onto Edah. Among them, only one phrase remained vividly in her memory:

“A wench not even worth sharing a bed with!”

It was the first time she had ever heard such words—a insult so vile and humiliating. Yet, Edah had to adapt and survive here.

“Edah, I need your help.”

Because it was the plea of her beloved brother, Risonel.

Risonel was the only person who had shown kindness to Edah after she lost her mother and sister.

Edah’s mother had engaged in an affair with the Duke during his excursion while she was already pregnant with another child, giving birth to Edah.

For some reason, her mother had wandered from place to place with her older sister and Edah, eventually meeting her end on the cold streets.

Edah was later tracked down by the Ducal house and dragged away from her wandering life.

In that unfamiliar place, everyone rejected and tormented her. Her own father was no different. But Risonel was different.

His gentleness kept Edah alive.

That was why she had to endure and stay here, even if it cost her life. Even if she broke, and even if she lost her lovely voice to a goblet of poison proffered by someone’s hand.

Though Ivar possessed handsome looks, he was a libertine with a multitude of women.

Daughters of merchants, women from brothels, low-ranking nobles—his tastes were varied, and they all lived together in the Archducal Castle.

Ingrid was one of them. Or rather, to group her with ‘those other women’ was inaccurate; Ingrid was different.

Perhaps because her rank was just beneath the King, or perhaps it was a tradition of Wesselwolf: the Wesselwolf Archduchy allowed for two ‘Main Wives.’ That meant there was another Archduchess.

There was no way Ingrid, holding the exact same rank of Archduchess, would welcome Edah.

Ingrid was a woman who could only be satisfied if she monopolized everything, and unfortunately, Ivar was a womanizer.

The women brought in by Ivar could all fend for themselves. Edah was the only one with no backing whatsoever.

She was the ideal prey. Thus, Ivar turned a blind eye while the fierce-tempered Ingrid took out her rage by tormenting her.

This did not mean Ivar abstained from taking his anger out on her either.

He vented his frustration in all sorts of filthy ways upon his shabby Mahina wife, who had brought him such humiliation.

Recalling ‘that scene,’ Edah shuddered in horror.

And now, that husband was dead.

After Ingrid left, Edah had to put on black attire and attend the funeral.

Clad in black, she stood alongside her husband’s concubines, holding a basket of white flowers.

Edah looked at her husband’s corpse lying inside the open coffin.

They said it was a carriage accident, or a riding accident, or perhaps he was bitten to death by one of the many wolves of Wesselwolf.

Honestly, it didn’t matter. What did it matter when she herself was destined to die in a couple of days?

Her ears rang.

The solemnly playing dirge, the people pretending to be suitably grieved. Her husband’s corpse lying in the coffin, eyes wide open in a grotesque expression.

Edah felt nauseous at the theatricality of the scene.

No matter how much she had endured, she knew the truth.

Wesselwolf was as peculiar a place as Mahina, governed by a brutal law:

Once the successor ascends the throne, all women of the former heir must be put to death—unless they are his birth mother.

It was to eradicate any potential seed of the former heir that might take root in them.

To be precise, they were nominally placed under confinement, but in reality, it was considered a waste of food to feed them, so they were all left to die.

Edah had learned of this fact in the secluded confinement palace, where she had fled to escape the torment of Ingrid and the other women.

The chilling absence of life in that silent atmosphere had sent a cold shudder down her spine.

Furthermore, when she had snuck into the food storage out of hunger, she learned her fate from the whispering servants.

“Do we not need to prepare meals for the Confinement Palace?”

“Why would dead people need to eat?”

“Pardon?”

“There’s no one in the Confinement Palace to begin with. Everyone who goes in there dies. Why would the new Archduke keep those women alive?”

She heard there were two ways to survive.

One was to be the daughter of a powerful family, buying one’s freedom with a massive fortune. But the Duke of Mahina’s house would never rescue Edah.

There was a second way to survive, but it was an absurd notion that had absolutely nothing to do with Edah, so she shook her head to drive the thought away.

Just then, the door opened with a heavy creak, accompanied by the clinking sound of armor.

The funeral dirge ceased, and the grand doors of the banquet hall began to swing open. Even the low sound of the doors opening seemed grand, like a part of the music.

As the doors opened wider, golden sunlight poured inside in a sharp rectangle.

In the middle of it stood the silhouette of a man, tall and straight like a black pillar.

The man, framed against the light, was not wearing funeral garments. Curiously, he held an object wrapped in cloth.

As he stepped forward, thick combat boots, black leather armor, gleaming gauntlets, and a cloak engraved with the face of a roaring wolf came into view.

Astaldo Wesselwolf.

Her husband’s younger brother and the successor. The man who would inherit the title of Archduke.

The moment he stepped inside, Ingrid burst into a dramatic, exaggerated wail of grief.