MCFPM 29

“Has this woman gone mad…?!”

Ren slammed the iron bars and ground his teeth.

He had no idea how she’d managed to find a way to escape the prison, but one thing was certain — Lea Marcel was indeed a skilled assassin.

Ren glanced at the shadows cast by the torchlight in the hallway. Many people had fled already, but a few servants still remained in the prison. If Lea Marcel set fire to the place, they would all die of suffocation — Ren included.

He couldn’t die here.

As a last resort, Ren bit into his thumb. Blood streamed down. Kneeling on the ground, he hastily drew a simple magic circle and opened a pocket dimension.

Creak, screech, shriek—! Horrid cries of monsters echoed from within the space. Swallowing dryly, Ren thrust his hand into it.

“Kh—!”

It felt as if his hand were burning alive. A biting pain, like insects gnawing into his flesh, surged through him. Before the damage grew worse, Ren quickly pulled out what he was looking for.

From his blood-soaked fist came a small axe and a vial filled with a greenish liquid.

Ren downed the potion first. His vision blurred for a moment, but his veins bulged and his muscles swelled. Gripping the axe tightly, he began striking the iron door’s hinges.

Creak—clang—creak—KWAANG—! After dozens of strikes, the door finally began to shake. Wiping the sweat that poured like rain, Ren rammed it with his shoulder. The door gave way, and his body was flung into the corridor.

I did it…!

Ren’s lips curled into a triumphant grin.

The reason he hadn’t used this method earlier was because, at the time, there had still been people staying on this floor — and it was meant as an absolute last resort. But now, with Lea Marcel about to burn him alive, he had nothing left to lose.

He realized then that Lea wasn’t just setting fires to escape.

Lea Marcel has more magic potions than I do.

That woman would no doubt use one of the remaining female servants as a decoy.

She’ll pour an illusion potion on the victim to make her look like herself — then destroy the body in the fire…!

And the most likely target would be Cecile.

They’re both from Palermade. Cecile’s a snake beastkin, but she’s female too — similar build, similar frame.

Cecile’s body would be disfigured by the flames and potion, and Lea Marcel would use that to fake her death.

He could never allow Lea to get away like that — to live while he died in vain!

Gritting his teeth, Ren pried open the red-hot iron door handle with a metal bar.

But then, he hesitated.

No, wait… does someone like her even deserve to die that way?

Cecile wasn’t someone who should die at the hands of a monster like Lea Marcel. And Lea wasn’t the one who deserved to escape.

If anyone did… it should be him.

With that, Ren opened the door and rushed upstairs.

He had to reach Cecile.

Once on the upper floor, Ren strained his ears. A faint moan of pain echoed nearby. He sprinted toward it.

Sure enough — there she was. Cecile, locked behind bars.

Ren’s expression twisted at the sight of her. Bruised head to toe, she looked utterly broken — there was no other word for it. Rage toward Chartreuse flared in his chest.

“Miss Cecile.”

“Ughh…”

“Are you all right?”

Thankfully, Lea hadn’t arrived yet. Ren untied her bindings. But as he lifted her onto his back—

“Why… why are you carrying me?”

“…What?”

“…”

Cecile’s eyes, wet with blood and tears, stared at him.

…Wait. Why was he helping her?

He didn’t need to. He’d only come to stop Lea Marcel, not to save anyone. He wasn’t planning to escape with her.

Ren frowned, puzzled, but reasoned it away. He sat Cecile back down just as a familiar murderous aura entered his senses.

“…Who the hell are you?”

It was Lea Marcel.

Ren swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his axe. Her face was twisted into a demonic snarl.

“You set the whole place on fire like a lunatic — what, you want to play the hero now?”

…Wait, what?

“Why are you talking like I started the fire? You’re the one holding the lantern—!”

Ren pointed at the lamp in her hand. Lea drew her longsword from its sheath and hurled the lantern.

“I was about to start the fire!”

Ren’s eyes widened.

Then the flames he’d seen licking the hallway earlier—

In that instant, the corridor walls seemed to pull back, receding far away. The narrow prison expanded until it was dozens of times larger — like a vast indoor training hall.

The fire had vanished.

Now it looked like an arena, with a first floor for combat and a second floor gallery overlooking it.

Ren slowly raised his gaze.

And there—

“As I thought.”

—stood the Grand Duke of Chartreuse.

Ren’s face contorted in disbelief.

He’d been completely deceived. …But how?

The Grand Duke tilted her head slightly, gazing down at him with an unreadable expression. When he glared up, she spoke.

“You seem very curious about how this came to be.”

“…Wouldn’t you be?”

Ren bared his teeth in a crooked grin.

His identity was already exposed. Whether he was tortured or executed, his fate was sealed. Hiding his turmoil, he looked at Lea Marcel and replied coolly:

“‘We’ don’t fall for illusion magic.”

That bastard— Lea cursed under her breath, realizing Ren was trying to drag her down with him.

The moment the illusion faded, she sheathed her sword. Thinking the Grand Duke might not yet know everything, she pressed a trembling hand to her chest — but then Sherylote added calmly,

“Lea Marcel. Don’t worry. I’ve seen everything you’ve done.”

Lea’s face went pale. She spun around, trying to seize Cecile as a hostage, but the head guard was already standing behind her.

They were trapped — two rats cornered in a cage.

Watching them both, Sherylote continued,

“I didn’t cast magic on you.”

“Then how—”

“I cast it on the environment itself.”

“…”

Ren’s eyes widened in shock.

You mean the entire prison was wrapped in illusion? Is that even possible for a human?!

A massive hologram — all just to catch a poisoner?

“I am an artisan,” Sherylote said simply.

Artisans didn’t just craft small magical tools; they also designed and constructed refined magic stones and enchanted materials for architecture.

She had discovered traces of her parents’ work in the underground prison — and restored one of them.

“…Ha. Hahaha.”

Ren laughed hollowly, his mouth twisting with bitter fury.

“So what now? You’ve had your fun toying with us — feel satisfied?”

“Well.”

“What?”

Ren froze. The Grand Duke merely gazed at him, making no move to punish or capture him.

Her eyes — they were full of pity.

…Pity? For him?

Grinding his teeth, Ren hissed,

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“What?”

“I asked — where does that hatred come from?”

Ren’s voice caught in his throat. But then, deciding he had nothing to lose, he shouted,

“Ten years ago, when the Red Dragon invaded — your father abandoned my family!”

“What?”

“We were dying, but he refused to come! Said our village was too high up the cliff to reach! He left us to die!”

“…”

“Is it so strange that I’d hate a family like yours?!”

At that, Sherylote lowered her head slightly. Her voice was quiet but certain.

“No. The late Duke did go.”

“What?”

“He went to rescue your village.”

Ren’s eyes widened.

“But when he arrived, someone had already ravaged the place — and it wasn’t a dragon.”

The Grand Duke pulled a recording orb from her cloak.

“If you want, I’ll show you the proof.”

It was a record left by the late Grand Duke Richard Chartreuse, during his dragon subjugation campaign. Even the tightest security spell yielded easily to Sherylote’s hand.

Ping! The image projected onto the stone wall.

—Today is November 2nd, Year 194. I, Richard Chartreuse, Grand Duke, record this for the archives.

Then came a weary male voice and the devastation of a familiar village.

—After receiving reports of the Red Dragon Phosphadel’s attack, I have arrived in Wart.

His breathing was rough — exhaustion clear in every word.

—Time from departure to arrival: thirty minutes. Survivors… none.

“…”

—…How could this be?

The view panned slowly, stopping at a half-collapsed house.

Ren’s eyebrow twitched.

That was his family’s home. His fists trembled.

The Duke stepped inside, searching through the ruins, until he found a secret cellar.

—The smell of blood is thick…

He descended.

And there —

—A dead family.

His family, lying as if asleep.

At first glance, they seemed to have been slain by dragon claws — torn and slashed apart — but it was staged. The Duke hurried to their bodies, examining their necks.

—…Poison?

Tiny puncture marks, like needle stings.

Ren’s breathing grew ragged as sweat slicked his skin.

No. No, that can’t be true.

But denial changed nothing.

—That damned owl bastard…!

His family… had been killed by their master.