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Chapter 23
Since it was still spring, the sun disappeared behind the mountains early.
As darkness fell over the Imperial Palace, people began hurrying to leave for the day.
Most palace staff returned home before evening.
Those who remained either had already eaten or brought food with them.
Clois was one of those people.
Technically, as the emperor, he didn’t need to care about mealtimes inside the palace.
If he wished, he could be served not just a quick meal but a grand feast at any moment.
However, Clois didn’t care much for such meals.
People assumed he avoided extravagance because of lingering habits from wartime or simply because he wasn’t fond of luxury.
But the real reason he avoided the main palace dining room was different.
“It’s too big.”
He thought of the vast dining hall while eating a simple meal brought in by the attendants.
In the past, he had always dined there.
Back then, many members of the imperial family were still alive.
The previous emperor and empress, their seven sons and four daughters, and even some of their children who had already married.
Regardless of their relationships, the dining room had always been bustling.
So the dining hall in Clois’s memory was always filled with people.
But now, he was the only one left to sit at that enormous table.
No other members of the imperial family remained.
When he sat alone in that dining room, it truly hit him that he was the last of the royal line.
And that no one else would ever sit beside him again.
That’s why he began eating more and more often in his office with simple meals.
Reflecting on the past, Clois lifted the lid off a dish placed on the cart.
Perhaps the physician had expressed concern over his diet—today’s meal was particularly well-prepared and appetizing.
But Clois’s expression remained flat.
As if he had lost all appetite.
After inspecting the dishes on the cart, he thought for a moment before picking up a sandwich from the center tray.
Though it was packed with various ingredients, it was still the simplest among the offerings.
Clois didn’t mind and took only that plate back to the table.
Before eating, he removed his gloves.
On the back of his exposed hand was a complex pattern, like a tattoo.
It was the mark of a direct descendant of the royal bloodline.
When the first emperor founded the nation, mysterious beings had aided him—and this was the mark they left behind.
Those born with the mark held mysterious powers, though not quite magic.
In the first emperor’s time, this power was strong enough to deflect arrows.
But now, such strength had faded.
“There may be a faint trace of power left…”
It was more of a subtle instinct—like sensing danger and naturally avoiding it.
Even then, only those with strong manifestations like Clois could feel it.
So he didn’t think much of his mark.
The days of powerful abilities were long past. Even among the emperor’s children, many were born without the mark.
And lacking the mark didn’t mean lacking talent.
Clois’s grandfather had no mark either, yet was remembered as a wise and capable ruler.
Still, perhaps due to shock, the previous emperor had been obsessed with the mark’s disappearance.
When the mark didn’t appear on his own children—including the former emperor himself—he gradually erased records about it.
After all, it wasn’t widely known outside the palace.
It had become something like an old myth.
Now, decades later, only the imperial archives and a few portraits preserved its memory.
“But that obsession didn’t end.”
The previous emperor had seven children, including Clois.
Among them, Clois was the only one born with the mark.
Naturally, the emperor had favored him.
Clois also happened to be the most talented of the emperor’s children.
He flexed his hand slightly.
Then a thought struck him.
“If Evevien had lived…”
Would the mark have appeared?
The child’s body he had recovered had already begun decaying, so it had been impossible to tell.
“If she was born with it, it would’ve shown clearly by now.”
The mark usually manifested fully by age five or six.
It might disappear briefly with heavy use of power, but as a royal child, she would’ve faced no danger—it would have remained visible.
Then an image passed through his mind: a child holding a slightly messy flower crown.
Did that child’s hand… have the mark?
“…!”
Suddenly realizing whom he had recalled, Clois jumped to his feet.
“Damn…”
He rubbed his face with both hands.
Without realizing it, he had imagined a grown Evevien with the face of the child he had met yesterday—Ebi.
Ridiculous.
He had seen many children of that age before.
But never had he thought of any of them as Evevien.
Yet here he was, projecting the image of his lost daughter onto that small, thin child he had just met.
Clois closed his eyes.
Apparently, meeting that child in front of Lillian and Evevien’s graves yesterday had affected him more than he realized.
After standing still for a long while, he lowered his hands and walked to the window.
He recalled Ebi bowing to him politely earlier in the day.
“She must be exhausted.”
He remembered the schedule he had glimpsed in the documents—today was the young prodigies’ tour of the palace.
She must have walked all over the palace today. That would be tiring for a child.
By now, she must’ve returned to the dormitory to rest.
As he was lost in thought, a loud commotion erupted outside.
Hurried footsteps, flustered attendants, voices raised in confusion.
No one had been scheduled to visit at this hour.
“But I don’t hear the knights shouting either…”
So it must be someone with permission to enter freely.
Still, most such people would arrive calmly and respectfully.
Who would show up making such a ruckus?
“Your Majesty! I’m here! I’m coming in!”
“Lady Seraphina! You can’t barge in like this!”
Clois sighed, unsurprised as he heard the head attendant’s voice outside the door.
Just from the voice, he could tell it was Seraphina.
Even without the voice, he would’ve known.
Who else but Seraphina would dare act so rudely in front of the emperor’s office?
“Come in.”
He returned to his seat and spoke.
The door immediately burst open.
“Your Majesty’s most loyal servant, huff, Seraphina, huff, reporting in!”
Seeing her gasping for breath, clearly having rushed over, Clois felt a headache coming on.
But he let it go.
After all, it was he who had begged Seraphina—who had been throwing a tantrum about retiring—to take the position of principal at the gifted academy.
“Enough. What do you want that you came running like this?”
“Please lend me the royal mana stone!”
At that, Clois’s brow furrowed.
“Are you planning to rebel today, finally?”
“Why would I do something so exhausting? Even if I succeeded, I’d have to work like Your Majesty does—and that’s not the life I want!”
She even shuddered as if the thought horrified her.
His headache worsened.
Only Seraphina could casually mention rebellion to his face like this.
It wasn’t just that she was a powerful mage—she had also saved Clois’s life multiple times during the succession war.
“And I need permission to cast large-scale magic within the palace.”
“You’re casting magic inside the palace?”
His eyes sharpened.
At first, he thought she’d come to spout nonsense again. But now, it was clear something serious had happened.
“What on earth happened?”
Seraphina straightened up, dropping her playful tone at his cold voice.
“During the gifted students’ palace tour today, one child went missing. As the head of the academy, I wish to use magic to track them. I humbly request Your Majesty’s permission.”
“A student… went missing?”
A strange sense of dread settled over him.
“What is the child’s name?”
Seraphina, looking equally surprised by his question, answered:
“Ebi Elden. A seven-year-old girl.”
The moment he heard the name, Clois shot to his feet without thinking.
“I grant permission to use magic in the palace. Find her imme
