ILBTD 18

Chapter 18

The atmosphere between mother and son was so frosty that one would think they were estranged—but seeing him so shaken at the mention of her injury, perhaps that wasn’t quite the case after all.
Even so, Castian, unaware of Elysia’s subtle shift in expression, remained stiff and formal in his tone.
“I’ve recovered now. Lydia and the Wandering Sage aided me.”
“If the injury was that serious, you should have told me. It would have been better to postpone the expedition than let it fail.”

It was a remark that straddled the line between chastisement and concern.
Was she implying that had she known of his injury, she would have personally intervened to delay the expedition? Or was she blaming him for its failure?
Apparently believing it to be the latter, Castian calmly acknowledged his fault.
“I intended to rejoin the expedition as soon as possible. The judgment was mine, and I was mistaken.”
“If a mere fortnight without you was enough to doom the entire unit, your presence would not have changed the outcome.”

Yet again, a cryptic statement. Was she criticizing the expedition party for its incompetence—or defending her son, saying the failure wasn’t his fault?
“I’ll ensure the next campaign is prepared without shortcomings,” Castian replied, maintaining the demeanor of a soldier reporting to a superior.

With that, Elysia said no more, and picked up her teacup once again.

From where I sat, the mother-son dynamic was infuriating to watch.
Why was he speaking to his mother like that? And why did she speak so cryptically?
But it wasn’t my place to insert myself into family matters.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—the topic shifted from the failed expedition to me.
“I owe Lydia my life.”

For the first time, Elysia’s amber eyes softened as they turned to me.
“I see. Thank you. You’ve become an honored friend to House Bernstein.”
“Oh, not at all, Madam. I didn’t do anything so grand.”

To a necromancer, soul-summoning was hardly a monumental feat.
I waved my hands awkwardly and gave a sheepish laugh.
“House Bernstein never forgets a favor. If there’s anything you want, say the word.”

If I started listing all the things I wanted, I could go on for two hours without taking a breath.
If returning to my original world was impossible, then a career change would be top priority.
Stable income, a modest amount of capital, and—if possible—real estate with good future value.
Still, I was raised to be humble in moments like these.
“Oh no, I never did it expecting anything in return.”

In fact, I’d already received my reward.
The deal had been clear: keep Castian’s soul tethered and I’d be spared. And here I was—alive.
Possessing the body of one of the black mages who tried to kill him and now sipping tea with the grand matron of House Bernstein… Who owed whom again?

I was just saying whatever came to mind, but Elysia seemed pleased by the answer.
“Such talent, and yet so humble. A remarkable woman indeed.”

Flustered by the grand compliment, I lifted my teacup to hide my face.
But the moment I took a sip, Castian dropped a bombshell.
“Lydia is also the woman to whom I’ve given my heart.”

**PFFT—**

The tea erupted from my mouth like a geyser hitting a puddle at full speed.
It was practically a reverse waterfall.
And sitting directly in front of me was none other than the grand matron of House Bernstein.

When the fine mist of fragrant tea finally cleared, the madam—now glistening with droplets—sat frozen like a rain-drenched statue.
“I—I’m so sorry! Cough, cough! Madam, I’m truly, truly sorry!”

My hands flailed helplessly in panic while Castian, calm as ever, pulled out a handkerchief.
And then—**he gave it to me.**
What was I supposed to do with this? Look at your mother, man!

Nearly in tears, I offered the handkerchief to Elysia, who dabbed her forehead and cheeks with surprising composure.
And then, without so much as a twitch, she said,
“I see.”

…What? What do you see?
Only after thinking for a moment did I understand—
She was replying to *that*. To Castian’s bombshell.

I had assumed he was merely tactless, but it seemed his grasp of social cues was severely lacking.
Still completely unshaken, Castian added,
“At the moment, the feeling is mine alone.”
“I understand,” Elysia replied, just as calmly.

**What is with this mother and son?** Terrifying.

And with that, the conversation ended.
Elysia was the first to leave, and I flopped onto the sofa, my mind a blank slate.
“Lydia, are you all right?”
“How could I be? I just sprayed tea in the grand matron’s face!”
“It was an accident. There’s no reason to be so distraught.”

Clearly, Castian didn’t understand that some mistakes are more forgivable than others.
A necromancer dousing the grand matron of House Bernstein with tea? That was the unforgivable kind.
I was doomed. My life was over.

As I began to tear at my hair, Castian gently smoothed it down and said,
“My mother is not one to dwell on mistakes. You have nothing to fear.”
“Really? You’re sure she’s not upset?”
“Of course.”

He seemed so certain—maybe I should believe him?
Then again, what choice did I have? The tea had already been sprayed.

I reluctantly sat back up. Castian offered me his hand with a warm smile.
I took it as I stood, grumbling,
“This is all your fault. What possessed you to say something like that in front of your mother?”
“A lie, you think…?”
“Isn’t it?”
“What if it’s not?”

“…What?”

I blinked at him, taken aback.
But Castian simply stared at me, saying nothing.

I studied his face in return.
His eyes were clear, his features absurdly handsome—but his thoughts were unreadable.

Back at the safehouse, he’d said we should pretend to be lovers, since the soul-binding spell required proximity.
I had assumed this was simply an extension of that pretense.
So when he lied to his mother, I was shocked—but still believed it was just a ruse.

But now he says—*“What if it’s not?”*
Not a lie…? Then does that mean Castian truly has feelings for me?

Ridiculous.
Just days ago, he didn’t even trust me.
Am I supposed to believe that seeing me risk my life for him, nose bleeding and all, made him fall in love?
Please.

Sure, every transmigration story follows the trope: *“The transmigrator and the male lead fall in love.”*
But this was too much.
The man had literally threatened to kill me two weeks ago. He’d only started smiling at me a few days back.
And knowing Castian’s impulsive nature, if he *had* fallen for me, he’d have confessed immediately.

See? Even now, he’s just staring at me with that unreadable expression, not saying a word.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”
Still silent, Castian gently released my hand and took a few steps back.
“I’ll show you to your room.”

There was something distant in his tone.
Just like the first day I arrived at this estate, I followed him down the long hallway, staring at his back.

The silence between us stretched, and a strange feeling settled over me.
It felt like I’d hurt myself with my own conclusion.
I had told myself he couldn’t possibly like me—but somewhere deep down, maybe I’d hoped otherwise.

To Castian, I might be nothing more than an unknown necromancer.
But to me… he was my favorite.
And a fangirl’s dream was always to be loved by their favorite. I couldn’t help it.
Especially because in person, he was surprisingly kind. Even kinder than I’d imagined from the novel.

“This is your room,” Castian said, stopping in front of a grand door.

I was so lost in thought I nearly walked right into his back.
“My room is right next door. If the soul-binding spell becomes unstable, don’t hesitate to come find me.”
“If it’s just next door, I should be fine. The tether can hold even at a greater distance.”
“…I’ll assign Ethan to you. If you need anything, let him know.”
“Thank you.”

Avoiding his gaze, I slipped quickly into the room.
My face must’ve looked strange—I’d just been thinking all sorts of strange things.

Leaning back against the closed door, I let out a deep sigh and finally looked around.
Unlike Castian’s stately and refined room, this one was opulent to the point of intimidation.
The extravagance of the furniture reminded me, all over again, that Castian was a duke.

And I was reminded of my place as well.
If I were at least a commoner, I could dare to dream of class revolution—but this…

A necromancer, scorned by the world, and the second most powerful man in the empire?
This wasn’t just difficult.
It was damn near impossible.

And yet—

**I liked him more than ever.**