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Chapter 05
The Prince of the Tower
“Leave that dress here. I will fix the measurements so you can wear it to another event.”
At that moment, a dull clapping sound was heard.
The head of the family, Sorvan Etranger, was smiling while clapping his hands.
“Splendid, Anastasia.”
Anastasia did not answer. She simply looked straight at her father.
She did not know what he would say, but he was like an old raccoon. Always hiding a knife inside while covering his tongue with honey.
“There is just one thing that is not so splendid.”
Sorvan’s smile was not one of joy.
“Esteban Hawsongel always receives proper payment, no matter what— even from the royal bloodline. Is that not right, Sir Hawsongel?”
Sir Hawsongel brushed back his white hair and nodded.
“That is correct, but…?”
“But what can I do? I did not come here today to buy anything. I only stopped by because my wife and children insisted I come along to look.”
“Then that means…”
“I do not have any gold coins with me, Sir Hawsongel.”
He could not pay.
But Sir Hawsongel could not simply refuse payment.
Because this was a long-standing tradition.
The former king, praised as a wise ruler, believed that failing to pay proper value for art was an insult to something sacred.
And the current king believed the same.
The idea that one must pay fairly for the value of Esteban Hawsongel’s work was, in a way, a message from the royal family itself.
The king’s respect for art representing the nation—
that was not something a mere knight could casually discard.
“…Princess.”
Anastasia was smiling. Sorvan was taken aback. The girl in that tower should have nothing.
Not a single gold coin. Not even a single copper coin.
So why was she smiling?
“From my emptiness.”
Anastasia softly began a spell.
Magic was like a song or a prayer offered to the universe. Those who used magic were born with beautiful voices and a talent for song.
All eyes were drawn to her, filled with admiration.
“With the devil’s hand in mine.”
Sorvan realized even he could not deny that deep beauty—and shook his head in disbelief.
That girl… was a witch.
But Anastasia’s chant did not end.
“With a desire that seeks what lies beyond.”
Her right hand sliced through the air. A thin crack like the eyes of a beast split open space itself, and she willingly reached her pale hand inside.
“That… that is… the magic of goldwood…”
Magic had disappeared a generation ago.
The young ladies and gentlemen gathered here had never seen real magic.
Only strange, powerful artifacts passed down through noble families.
Anastasia pulled out a handful of gold dust.
It sparkled brilliantly under the lights as she placed it into the wrinkled hands of the old knight.
“Would this be enough, Sir Hawsongel?”
The pocket dimension had traveled with her through time, and within it she had prepared many precious materials for great magic at Aquila Castle.
Among them were pure precious metals.
Sir Hawsongel smiled.
In that moment, he saw the future of the Etranger family.
Greed would disappear.
Strength would come.
“Yes, Princess. This is sufficient.”
Anastasia returned to the black carriage she had arrived in, escorted by Sir Hawsongel and watched by her family with cold gazes.
Not just them.
Everyone in Esteban Hawsongel’s shop was watching her.
Diana was restless, while Enoch was half enjoying the situation.
“Let’s go, Enoch.”
Sorvan’s tightly closed lips clearly held twisted anger—but Anastasia actually felt relieved.
Back to the tower.
Back to her cold, high tower.
“Did you close the door properly, Princess?”
Enoch asked casually, and Diana answered for her.
“Yes. Please leave quickly… If I keep looking at those eyes, I feel like I’ll burn up.”
Enoch laughed and pulled the reins. The black carriage jolted forward again.
But Anastasia felt at ease.
With this, she had declared it.
To the world—she would stand tall.
At the very top of the tower.
Anastasia Etranger’s small room.
Someone was sitting on her bed.
Through the wooden window, the red glow of sunset filled the sky and reflected off his armor.
A distorted silver armor.
Black hair flowing from beneath the helmet.
A long, elegant sword strapped to his back.
In his hand was a cloak—too small for him, pierced and stained with blood.
The same cloak Anastasia wore when she first met him.
The giant, over two meters tall, was bent over. Her room was too small for him to stand upright.
But as the sun set and moonlight poured through the bars…
The curse binding him began to melt like bread in boiling soup.
His twisted, gaunt body returned to its original form. He understood his condition better than anyone.
The monster of Aquila Castle.
He sat calmly on the bed, waiting for the girl he could never forget— even after returning from the edge of death.
He followed her scent lingering on the cloak all the way here.
The wait was not long.
The sound of footsteps on the railing. She must have come without using the stairs.
Creak.
The door opened.
“…Ah.”
The fragile figure froze the moment she looked inside. Her deep blue eyes trembled.
Anastasia recognized him at once. He was slightly smaller now… but she could never forget that twisted silver armor and that sharp sword.
The moment he pierced her chest was etched into her memory.
The scar still remained—thin and long—near her chest.
“…Do you remember me?”
There was no way she wouldn’t.
And in his hand was the same cloak she wore when she first met him.
“Did you come… to kill me?”
Anastasia realized he had also returned.
And the intruder of the tower confirmed that she, too, had transcended death and time.
“No.”
The blue glow behind his helmet was gone. That was different from before.
He had no reason to lie.
Quietly, Anastasia hung the cloak on a nail on the wall.
“Then why are you here?”
He stood up slowly. A small table in the corner held tea leaves and a teapot.
There was even a small stove with firewood.
“Would you like some tea?”
The same words he said when they first met.
“…Yes.”
“Good.”
Even while wearing full silver armor, his hands were steady as he took a flame from the fireplace and lit the stove.
Anastasia pulled a chair and sat down. Soon, the sound of boiling water filled the room.
He was skilled at making tea. It showed he was of noble blood.
“…What did you do… before you died?”
Curiosity overcame her, and she asked first.
“I was a prince.”
“…What?”
Steam rose gently from the tea.
He removed the helmet he had once seemed destined never to take off.
Dark blue eyes—like the deep sea—met hers.
“How much do you know about the Chantreer Kingdom?”
She froze as she reached for the tea.
The origin of magic. Those who once learned magic from dragons and led human civilization.
They were the Chantreer.
“…About 200 years ago, they performed forbidden great magic, were cursed, and the entire royal bloodline died. After that, the Yanpots royal family replaced them.”
“That is what they teach.”
His lips twisted bitterly.
“…That is not true.”
“I am Artorius Chantreer. The last Chantreer. The survivor of that time. It was not us who brought disaster upon the kingdom with forbidden magic.”
“Then who did?”
Artorius pointed far away—through the window.
Beyond the mansion, beyond the forest.
At the distant, towering peak of the royal castle.
“Yanpots.”
Anastasia bit her lip.
“They tried to steal the throne. The dragons who taught us magic warned against awakening the forbidden power— the Abyss.”
“The Abyss…”
A lost branch of magic. Or something beyond magic.
The source of all evil and darkness in the world.
“But they were mere humans. The Yanpots could not control the Abyss, and it went out of control—slaughtering everyone in the palace.”
“And you…?”
“My father, the former king, was old. My mother was not one who bore the dragon’s mark. I was the only one left.”
She put down her teacup.
Records about the Chantreer had mostly vanished over 200 years.
The dragon’s mark—this was the first time she had heard of it.
“I had to bear it.”
“…How?”
“I embraced all the Abyss and hid myself in the long-abandoned Aquila Castle. The dark power within me corrupted the forest and turned beasts into monsters.”
Now she understood why that forest was so terrifying.
“But it was fine. Because no one came near me, and I could harm no one.”
“There must have been many expedition forces sent…”
“Even in the form of a monster, I wanted to live.”
A monster?
Anastasia realized again—this man was a monster.
Then how was he like this now?
“Are you curious?”
“Honestly, yes. It feels like a historian seeing the ruins of a lost civilization.”
Those who use magic are naturally curious.
“And the truth?”
“It is a curse. By day, I become a grotesque monster. By night, I return to my original form.”
She had nothing to say.
“…You still haven’t answered my first question.”
Why he came here.
“Will you change your fate with me?”
“…What do you mean?”
Artorius stood up, looking down at her with deep blue eyes.
Then he knelt before her.
“When I stabbed you in the chest… I felt it. That I wanted to stop. If I had realized sooner, I would have let you kill me… I regret how much pain it must have caused you.”
“That… that is what you’re saying now?”
“I wanted you to live, so I held you during the lightning. And… for reasons I do not understand, I woke up in the Aquila Castle ten years in the past with your belongings.”
She let him take her hand and kiss the back of it.
“…So that’s why I survived until my family arrived.”
Those deep blue eyes looked at her.
“The true nature of the curse lies with Yanpots. Help me. I do not wish to die as a grotesque monster twice. Is that not why the universe brought us here—back through time?”
Chantreer. The mages with the dragon’s mark.
Anastasia closed her eyes and thought for a moment.
“…I have a condition.”
“What is it?”
This was not about revenge.
It was about never bending herself again, never submitting unjustly.
For that, she needed power.
Almost absolute power.
“Become the king.”
“…What?”
“Reclaim the throne.”
She pulled him up by the hand. Her deep blue eyes were fierce, like a raging sea.
“And I will sit beside you. That is my condition.”
Outside the window, beneath the moonlight, lightning struck.
