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Chapter 1
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
So—this situation right now was…
“How does it feel to finally see the face of the man you’ve been desperately avoiding?”
“…Why you of all people—why are you the ‘Duke of Refert’?”
It was one of those cliché moments straight out of a romcom:
“The blind date I’ve been running from for a month turns out to be someone I already know.”
“They call this fate, don’t they?”
His crimson eyes, as sharp as his temper, curved faintly.
When I flinched in surprise, his finger brushed the whipped cream off the tip of my nose—ticklish as hell.
The same lunatic who had just done that then grabbed a tissue and rubbed his own hand as if I had dirtied him, before opening his mouth again.
“Well, things have come this far. I suppose there’s no helping it.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
The spring breeze made his black hair flutter against my cheek.
For the record, my hair was silver.
Which meant—yes, that lunatic was standing right in front of me.
Close enough that I could feel his breath, the novel’s ultimate villain, Caron Refert, whispered playfully:
“Let’s go greet the Marquis’ household right away.”
“…What?”
“If we’re to hold the ceremony in May, the schedule will be tight.”
Because today is the last day of April, you psychopath!
How the hell did things end up like this?
I was supposed to be just a disposable extra who drops dead after one failed blind date.
“No, wait—since we don’t need guests, should I just find a priest for the ceremony first?”
His mischievous red eyes gleamed.
He hadn’t drawn a sword the moment we sat down—so maybe I’d dodged death for now—but the real problem was that this man was pure darkness inside.
What’s the point of avoiding death flags if I’m stuck next to someone who’s a walking death flag himself?!
Because in the original story, Caron Refert was an infamous murderer.
A lunatic who’d kill family or friends alike if they so much as irritated him.
And with all that, he was ridiculously powerful—the final boss who always blocked the protagonist’s path.
“Jeryl Rubian. What do you think?”
His gleaming red eyes pinned me in place. The last excuse I’d been saving just blurted out on instinct.
“I—I already have someone I’m seeing!”
“…What?”
If I’d known what would follow, I’d never have said those words.
“Milady, another letter has arrived.”
“Burn it! Wait, no—bring it here. I’ll burn it myself!”
“But… it has the official seal of the Duke of Refert’s household…”
Jeryl was on the brink of losing her mind. It had already been a month since she’d refused the blind date with Duke Caron Refert—the villain of this world’s story.
“If you don’t reply this time either, he might actually storm the mansion. You should just meet him once. They say His Grace’s face is as breathtaking as his temper.”
That temper is exactly the problem…
‘Jeryl Rubian’ was just a background extra in The Saint’s Blade Points to the Crown Prince.
I’d read the novel twenty years ago.
It started with a saint vowing revenge against the emperor who killed her twin sister—but ended in a mess once she fell in love with his son, the crown prince.
According to the author, “In the end, love triumphs over hate.”
Yeah, tell that to the dead twin.
But right now, Jeryl couldn’t care less about the saint or the main characters.
“Don’t worry too much, milady. It’s not like the Duke would actually kill you, right?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh, you’re so funny, milady.”
I’m not joking!
The Duke of Refert—the story’s villain—was known to suffer from madness and occasionally kill people.
And because of that madness, Jeryl was supposed to die at that blind date.
‘I nearly fainted when I realized that.’
When I first woke up in a baby’s body, I’d hoped it was a cute “child-raising” type of transmigration.
Instead, I was an abandoned orphan fated to die young.
Still, survival is a basic human instinct.
And driven by that instinct, I’d spent weeks dodging that blind date—only to now be bombarded by letters that bordered on terrorism.
‘Normally, when you say “I can’t make it,” people just say “Oh, I understand” and move on!’
But not this guy.
He kept pressing for a reason.
Over and over again.
“Bell, until what age do royals have to be married?”
“I believe it’s twenty-seven, milady.”
“And how old is Duke Refert?”
“Twenty-six, miss. Come to think of it, if he stays single next year, he’ll lose his royal title.”
Damn imperial laws.
But why was he so fixated on me?
If it was just about keeping his title, he could marry anyone.
‘Oh no… is this that cliché? “You’re the first woman who’s ever rejected me”?’
Except in this case, it’d be more like, “You’re the first woman who’s ever rejected me—now die.”
Jeryl pouted and picked up the bundle of letters that her loyal maid Bell had organized by date.
To Lady Rubian,
I heard you refused the match arranged by my house.
It must have been a sudden proposal, but I wish to meet again tomorrow at 1 p.m., at the café by the square.
Of course, she didn’t go.
At that point, she’d still had a shred of politeness left, so she’d sent a reply.
To His Grace, Duke of Refert,
I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well and must decline.
I hope you find a good lady who suits you.
And the next day, this came back:
To Lady Rubian,
So that’s your excuse.
But my faithful butler happened to see you trotting around town like a colt, so perhaps you should drop the act.
The villainous duke must’ve spent all his patience on that very first letter.
That’s when it began—the letter onslaught.
To Lady Rubian,
It’s been days without a reply. I’m starting to wonder if you’ve broken all your fingers…
To Lady Rubian…
To Lady Rubi…
To Lady…
…
How long do you intend to ignore me?
By now, the polite tone was long gone.
The last few letters didn’t even have her name on them.
She was starting to worry she was creating new death flags instead of avoiding them—but it was far too late for that.
If I’m going to die either way, I’ll just die as late as possible!
Just as she made that vow, the letters stopped.
That was three days ago.
‘So why the hell is there another one today?!’
Trembling with both fear and anger, she reached out to Bell.
“…Let me see the letter that came today.”
Her pale blue eyes looked dim, sunlight reflecting off her silvery hair like a tragic heroine.
Jeryl opened the slightly scorched envelope.
“Did he lose his temper and accidentally burn it? Well, he is a red mage, so that tracks… As long as he doesn’t roast me, I’ll call that lucky.”
In this world, magic was divided into three types: general, red, and blue.
General mages could use many spells, though weakly.
Red and blue mages, on the other hand, specialized in power far beyond human limits.
Red mages excelled at destruction—and were infamous for their tempers.
Right… that temper’s the reason I die in the original story.
Shivering at the thought of being grilled alive, Jeryl unfolded the letter.
It wasn’t long. In fact, the shortness almost made her relax—until she read it.
After two weeks of ignoring him and three days of silence, the message finally arrived.
Hey.
No greeting. No signature. Just one word.
I’m screwed.
A tear glimmered briefly in Jeryl’s eye.
No matter how miserable life gets, it still goes on.
So even standing at the crossroads of life and death, Jeryl still had to go to work.
While she was ruining the poor lawn waiting for her carriage, a familiar voice called out overhead.
“Hey, you’re off to the children’s clinic again?”
“Yeah…”
“I’ll never understand why you keep going there when they don’t even pay you.”
“I have… karma to cleanse.”
“You say that every time. Why do you look so down? You take your medicine?”
The handsome young man squinted his crimson eyes.
Behind that gentle face was a bratty devil—Leon, her younger brother, and the Marquis of Rubian’s only blood heir.
Thankfully, Jeryl wasn’t the abused adopted child she’d been before transmigrating.
She’d grown up without affection or cruelty—just pure indifference.
Though there was a reason they adopted me, of course.
But that wasn’t important right now.
She didn’t crave familial love.
Life is solo. Survival is DIY.
That thought made her sigh even deeper.
“Don’t overdo it like last time and pass out again. Go easy, alright?”
“…Okay.”
“You burn your own life force to use magic, and yet you’re too damn kind for your own good.”
Muttering under his breath, Leon didn’t notice her zoning out—until another voice cut in.
“Watch your mouth, Leon.”
It was the Marquis himself. Jeryl bowed lightly.
His ruby-red eyes, like his family name, cast a cold glance her way.
The contrast between his soft features and chilling gaze always made her shrink back.
She was the only one here with blue eyes.
“But Leon’s not wrong. If they find out about your ability, things will get complicated.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Always remember—you are a blue mage, a race thought to have vanished long ago.”
After those words, he turned away.
Leon clicked his tongue.
“You hear that? If the imperial family finds out, you’ll end up a healing machine for life—or worse, a lab rat. Don’t you ever get scared?”
“The kid was dying. I couldn’t just stand there.”
“Saint Jeryl, huh? What kind of blue mage wastes their life like this…”
It was overkill for an extra character.
Unlike red mages, blue mages specialized in healing.
But both red and blue mages suffered bouts of madness—and had supposedly died out a thousand years ago.
If I get exposed, life’s gonna get complicated.
That’s why Jeryl lived disguised as a simple healer.
Of course, that wasn’t her only cheat skill.
She squinted at something glowing faintly above Leon’s head.
“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
[Karma: 25]
It’s higher than yesterday. What did this brat do now?
Jeryl could see people’s karma scores.
She had no idea why.
If it were a love meter, she could at least use it to strategize.
Still, it helped her stay out of trouble.
Anyone with a karma score over 50—she avoided.
And if it ever hit 100…
“You even listening to me?”
She was lost in thought when Leon snapped his fingers in front of her face.
“Oh no! I’m gonna be late for the clinic! Bye!”
“Hey! Don’t overwork yourself! You hear me?!”
She waved vaguely and hopped onto the arriving carriage.
Whether Leon hated her or worried about her, she couldn’t tell.
But the warmth of his concern helped her forget the uneasy chill that had brushed her mind moments ago.
“Good work today, Miss Jeryl.”
“Not many sick kids today. That’s a relief. I’ll head home, then.”
“Oh, and be careful! There’s a serial killer on the loose—the city’s been on edge lately!”
“This is the capital. I’ll be fine.”
Humming cheerfully, she stepped out of the clinic.
She worked there because she wanted kids to live long, healthy lives—just as her motto said: Live long, live quietly.
Kids really are the best.
Way better than the twisted adults of the world.
Like, say, Duke Caron Refert. The villain. The psycho.
She was mid-hum when—
Aaaahhh!
A scream echoed from down the street.
The clerk’s words flashed through her mind.
“A serial killer escaped from prison…”
No way.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that that line had just triggered a death flag.
And sure enough—screech—she turned her head.
A man with a bloodstained knife was charging straight toward her.
You’ve got to be kidding me…
There were plenty of people around, but his eyes locked only on her.
He was running—straight for her.
[Karma: 99]
The number flashed before her eyes.
99? What kind of atrocities did he commit to reach ninety-nine?!
Most criminals had between 50 and 80 karma points.
Which meant this guy was absolute scum.
Her body moved on instinct. She had to run.
If that number hit 100—
“Don’t move! If you move, you die!”
Too late.
The metallic tang of blood brushed her nose, and a knife pressed against her neck.
“No…”
She glared at the air above his head, praying desperately.
[Karma: +1]
[Karma: 100]
<System Over>
But no amount of praying could stop it. The karma was complete.
BANG!
A gunshot rang out.
The man’s body jerked violently.
Warm liquid splashed across her legs, and then—she was yanked into someone’s solid chest.
“Stay with me.”
The acrid scent of gunpowder—or was it something burning?—filled her nose.
When a person’s karma hits 100, they die.
“Hah… why is it always in front of me…”
A large hand shook her shoulders.
“Hey!”
The man’s voice was sharp, his grip hot and rough—so intense it snapped her out of her daze.
‘What…?’
Crimson eyes, deep and fierce, stared straight into hers.
It felt like facing a black beast—wild and overwhelming.
Dark, tousled hair fell over those burning eyes.
A sharp, handsome face, a dangerous air, and hands that could crush her whole shoulder.
Jeryl thought, absurdly, that he might bite her neck next.
“If you’ve calmed down, stop blocking my way.”
And the scent that completed his wild aura was—
Gunpowder.
The exact same scent that had clung to his letters.
