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Chapter 37
The moment the attendants standing on either side pulled away the red cloth, a wave of gasps spread through the room.
It was a bust of the goddess Enix, carved from granite.
Despite its modest size, the goddess’s form—rendered in delicate, flowing curves—glimmered softly beneath the chandelier’s light.
“How beautiful.”
“It truly deserves the rumors that it was blessed by the divine. An outstanding piece.”
The nobles eagerly offered their admiration of the sculpture, and just as Duke Rescian had intended, their praise soon turned toward him as well.
“As expected, Your Grace has an exceptional eye.”
“Haha, you flatter me.”
Despite his words, his tone carried not a hint of embarrassment—only pride.
While everyone else was busy marveling, Isel stood alone in silence, staring straight ahead. Her eyelids blinked slowly.
Am I seeing things?
She wondered if she was mistaken and looked again at the sculpture. But at its base, her signature—“El”—was clearly engraved.
It was undeniably her work.
Which meant, unbelievably, that the sculptor everyone was raving about… was none other than Isel Blisha herself.
When she had received payment for selling the sculpture to her master, she had thought—perhaps—her work might be somewhat popular.
But to this extent?
Meanwhile, buoyed by the nobles’ flattery, Duke Rescian continued with a satisfied expression.
“I plan to send someone soon to invite the sculptor to my estate.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. We happen to be personally acquainted. Though it’s a bit embarrassing, I’m thinking of commissioning a portrait sculpture of myself next.”
Isel nearly spat out the food in her mouth.
What?
Forcing herself to swallow her shock, she stared at the duke.
With a joking tone, Duke Rescian began boasting about how close he was with the sculptor. The nobles, excited, bombarded him with questions.
“I heard no one knows what he looks like. How did you meet him?”
At the question, the duke rolled his eyes slightly.
“It just so happened that our connections overlapped.”
“What does he look like?”
“He looked like a true artist. A man with a long beard and a leisurely demeanor.”
At his plausible description, the nobles nodded along, speculating that he must be quite seasoned, perhaps even a refugee from the Roska Empire.
Listening to all this, Isel felt her mind drifting so far away it might as well have been traveling the world.
The duke was telling outright lies.
Granted, Isel and Duke Rescian did have a connection—but more accurately, he was the father of the obsessive lunatic fixated on her.
The reason he could spout such nonsense so confidently was simple: he was certain that “El” could not possibly be here.
“…right?”
Lost in watching his outrageous performance, Isel failed to catch what Celine had just said to her.
“Pardon?”
“Isn’t it truly beautiful? It looks as if it might come alive at any moment…”
Celine’s eyes were fixed on the sculpture.
At her dreamy, trailing voice, Isel blinked.
A soft, swelling warmth bloomed deep within her chest.
“…Do you think so?”
“Yes. It feels as though the sculptor must have seen the goddess in person. Otherwise, how could they capture such beauty and serenity?”
At Celine’s words, Isel’s cheeks flushed faintly.
Her heart pounded uncontrollably. Trying to hide it, she lowered her head slightly and curled inward.
Lahan, seated beside her, immediately leaned close and whispered into her ear.
“Isel, are you alright?”
His gentle, low voice tickled her ear, and she startled, lifting her head.
She nodded quickly, as if someone were chasing her.
“I’m glad,” Lahan said softly, smiling.
“…By the way, how did the two of you come together?”
At Celine’s question, both Lahan and Isel turned to look at her.
The curious gazes of the surrounding nobles, who had been chatting in fragments, all converged on them.
Lahan briefly glanced at Cezar—who was glaring at him with burning eyes—then turned back to Isel.
She seemed unsure how to answer.
Lahan spoke calmly.
“As for the young lady… I am currently the one pursuing her in marriage.”
Though his voice wasn’t loud, it was enough for everyone at the table to hear.
Someone dropped their fork, but no one looked.
“Marriage… proposal?”
Celine’s trembling voice asked again, as if she had misheard.
“Yes.”
His composed reply settled heavily over the silent dining hall. Not even the clink of utensils could be heard.
Celine, her lips parting, whispered to Isel.
“Is that true, my lady?”
“Well…”
As Isel searched for words, her eyes met Cezar’s.
His pupils were wide with disbelief.
Without looking away, she opened her lips—not to Celine, but as if answering him.
“Yes. It’s true.”
A faint tremor passed through Cezar’s eyes.
Unable to contain the boiling anger within him, he ground his teeth audibly.
After steadying his breath, he called out to her.
“Lady Blisha. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Pardon?”
“Were you not to marry me? Our families have already discussed it.”
Before the tension at the table could ease, Cezar dropped another bomb.
The sound of people sharply inhaling was unmistakable.
Thud.
Her heart sank heavily.
If this had been elsewhere, Cezar wouldn’t have gone this far.
But this was Duke Rescian’s estate—meaning most people here would side with him.
Unlike Isel, Cezar had plenty of allies.
As her expression hardened, he curled his lips into a sly smile.
“There’s no need to be so shy.”
The tension in his jaw was visible even from across the table. Ugly emotions clouded his eyes.
I want to run away.
Isel truly thought so.
The disgust and fear creeping up her neck and ears made her want to push back her chair and flee.
Hidden beneath the table, her hands had long since turned ice-cold, trembling uncontrollably.
At that moment, a hand gently rested over hers.
Startled, Isel looked at its owner.
It was Lahan.
His long, large hand completely enveloped hers—firm, slightly rough, yet warm.
Without a word, he shared his warmth until her trembling subsided.
As his fingers softly brushed over the back of her hand, it felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
The fear that had been consuming her melted away.
In the past, she would have stayed silent in the face of Cezar’s words.
But now, Lahan sat beside her.
His presence—holding her hand as if promising everything would be alright—gave her courage.
Turning to Cezar, she spoke.
“Shy? I was simply surprised.”
At her words, Cezar raised an eyebrow.
“I believed I had made my intentions clear… It seems my subtlety caused a misunderstanding.”
“What do you—”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot accept your proposal.”
Her voice was calm and gentle, yet firm.
Then, as if placing a decisive period at the end of her sentence, she added:
“There is already someone I hold in my heart.”
She met Cezar’s stunned expression without hesitation.
There was not a trace of falsehood in her words.
She would not marry him.
And the one she had held in her heart for so long…
From the depths of her memory, a face slowly surfaced.
A boy she could never forget.
A smile bright as sunlight, a clear laugh—like a small spark lighting her once-cold heart.
That boy… was “El.”
Cezar’s eyes widened before he barely managed to compose himself.
His throat moved as he swallowed his rising fury.
“That… remains to be seen.”
His low murmur carried a dangerous edge.
His clenched fist trembled with rage.
At that moment, the Grand Duke of Canox, who had been silently observing, spoke.
“This has become quite a predicament. I had no idea you had also proposed to Lady Blisha.”
“….”
“Shall we settle it with a duel?”
“A duel…?”
“As tradition dictates.”
It was an old imperial custom—two men dueling over a woman, with the victor earning the right to propose.
The mention of a duel stiffened the air.
The nobles held their breath, watching.
Cezar frowned.
What is he trying to pull…?
There was no need to discuss the Grand Duke’s swordsmanship.
Even if he now lived quietly in the capital, just a month ago he had been called a butcher of the battlefield.
Compared to him, Cezar was little more than a novice.
The outcome was obvious.
He was certain the Grand Duke was mocking him.
Forcing a strained smile, Cezar replied:
“There’s no need for that, Your Grace. Such traditions have long since faded.”
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully hide the defensiveness in his voice.
The Grand Duke smiled lightly.
“Well, if you’re unwilling, it can’t be helped.”
As a few nobles whispered among themselves, Cezar’s fists trembled.
His father’s words echoed faintly in his mind—only to be swallowed by his rising anger.
He wanted to tear apart the man before him who seemed to be mocking him.
If only that man weren’t here, everything would have gone smoothly.
“…Unwilling, you say?”
“Perhaps you’re reluctant to cross swords with me in front of so many witnesses?”
The Grand Duke shrugged, as if understanding.
Cezar’s pride crumbled into something dark and ugly.
Grinding his teeth, he finally snapped.
“Fine.”
Though he didn’t specify, his meaning was clear.
The nobles gasped.
From the head of the table, Duke Rescian scowled sharply at him.
With a loud clatter, Cezar threw down his fork and declared:
“I accept the duel.”
