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Chapter 43
My father had wanted a son who would become his double.
Ironically, the dukes of our house had always drawn great power from forbidden books.
But my father could not. Most of those books had been sealed away and confiscated by the imperial family before he could ever use them.
So, he resorted to forbidden arts to grant his child that same power—the power that once brought glory to our house.
It would have been better if it ended there.
[“My lord, you may no longer be able to have children.”]
Having lost the ability to sire another child, my father grew desperate.
He summoned a sorcerer and layered a new spell over me—already marked by a forbidden book in my mother’s womb.
He wished for me to be born as a boy.
In the end, he half-succeeded, half-failed.
“Go. Kill that sorcerer. Leave no kin alive. Erase them all.”
I was born with the rare talents of both swordsman and mage, just as he desired—
But I was not the son he had so desperately wanted.
“A heart defect? Hah! How useless can a child be.”
No, perhaps it was closer to complete failure.
I was sentenced to a short life from the moment I was born.
Without medicine, I could not survive my seizures.
They said it was a side effect of the overlapping curse and forbidden book.
My world was darkness, from beginning to end.
Even so, I could not die. I lived on, bruised and bloodied, desperate to be acknowledged by my father during that brief span of life.
Though I learned to speak, I became nearly mute from being unable to communicate with anyone.
And I thought that was natural.
Even when told I would not live past twenty, even when warned I would seize until my final breath, I felt no sadness.
My nanny cried in my place.
I hated to see her cry, so I would cling to her tightly whenever she was near.
I was a child who knew neither sorrow nor joy.
How absurd, that a child like me—born from the sacrifices of others—could live as though I were whole.
Why?
Why did I cling to the very hand that dragged me deeper into the abyss?
A swordmage—that was what I was.
Ordinarily, one was born with a talent for either sword or magic, never both.
But rarely, a miracle occurred, and someone inherited both gifts.
People called such beings miracles.
My father wanted that miracle.
And so he reached for forbidden, filthy powers to make it so.
Even if that power twisted one’s insides until they bled,
its foulness could not be concealed.
“You are my greatest failure.”
In the end, he obtained that blasphemous miracle.
But not in the way he had wanted.
“Father…”
I knelt at his feet, tears dripping onto the ground.
His cruel words gouged my insides raw.
“Well, you may not be entirely useless.”
Even if this body was hideous, even if I was the symbol of corruption—
Even if I was destined to crumble easily like a candle’s flame in the wind—
None of it mattered.
Because look—Father was smiling at me.
“Show me your worth, Inerea.”
Ah.
What a wretched, beastly childhood I had.
Even when handed a sword, I clung only to his smile, nodding like a fool.
The truth was… I never believed I had the right to pity myself—
Born of countless children’s tears, what right had I to cry?
“You can do it, can’t you?”
I thought refusing my father’s command was arrogance.
After all, I was a failure from the moment of birth.
But now I know the truth.
I was—
“I can do anything, Father!”
—just a child, desperate to be loved.
✦ ✦ ✦
I dragged my body up from a heavy sleep.
It felt like forcing my way up from beneath tangled, wet weeds, breaking chains with sheer will.
When I opened my eyes, it was like tearing open wounds.
An unfamiliar ceiling came into view, and I frowned.
The smell of cigars.
A harsh, smoky scent filled the room.
I barely managed to raise my aching body.
“Urgh…”
The pain of torn flesh burned through me.
That pain reminded me—it was all real.
Not a dream.
My heart clenched violently. Cold sweat drenched me.
Or it would have, if not for the figure that filled my blurred vision.
In a shabby hut with faint light filtering through—
There sat…
“Eshidwa?”
“Ah, damn.”
That low, sticky voice I remembered so well.
“You’re already awake.”
The man bit down on a cigar and exhaled a smile as thick as the smoke.
“Did you sleep well?”
✦ ✦ ✦
My body felt heavy, like soaked cotton.
The sound of wind scraping at the walls pierced my ears.
I tilted my head with effort.
Beyond the window, a raging blizzard painted the world white.
A chill crushed me flat.
I gasped.
Where am I?
Before I could think, pain surged like a tidal wave, drowning me.
“Haah!”
I tried to sit up but collapsed immediately.
My organs twisted; my heart shredded.
…It’s been so long since I felt this.
That raw agony, the kind I endured whenever I had no medicine.
Sweat blurred my eyes.
And through that haze, a voice—
familiar, yet unbearably foreign—spoke calmly.
“I was startled when you collapsed. I hadn’t expected this either.”
“Ugh…”
“Do you want some water?”
Eshidwa stubbed out his cigar, his sapphire eyes glinting coldly.
Once I thought them filled with freshness—
Now they were colder than winter skies.
My heart plummeted.
He moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His long fingers tapped lightly at my cheek.
“You’re clever, aren’t you?”
“…”
But I hadn’t realized.
I had been lulled by his sweetness, convinced by the image he showed me.
Perhaps… perhaps I had known, in some corner of my heart.
But I was the one who denied it.
Eshidwa rose, wiping his hands with a handkerchief.
“Where is this…?”
“The blizzard was too strong, so I brought you to my mountain lodge.”
“…”
“You looked like you were about to die. What else could I do?”
He smiled faintly, eyes boring into mine.
“Everything you need is here. You’ll be comfortable enough.”
I could not speak.
“Of course, you don’t have a choice in your condition. But do try to relax.”
His smile carried no warmth.
“You can behave, can’t you?”
Though his words were gentle, his frozen eyes crushed me.
You knew. His kindness was only magic’s illusion.
And yet, that gaze cut deeper than any blade.
I needed medicine.
But the pills I had were ground beneath his heel.
Ah, Kistchel…
A cough tore from my chest.
I thought of Kistchel, reaching habitually for my ear—
Only to remember the comm-stone was broken.
He must be worried…
“How pitiful. I’ll give you medicine soon, but first…”
“Kistchel…”
I clenched my teeth and endured.
I’d grown used to pain.
Eshidwa’s touch lifted me without warmth.
“When did you break my spell?”
“After you left the capital. Simple enough, isn’t it?”
My mind spun.
“And how did you know I could wield a sword?”
My gaze flicked to his waist. Not a mark. Not a wound.
I laughed bitterly. I had danced in his palm all along.
“I’ve held you often enough. A body unlike any ordinary lady’s—I could feel it.”
I curled in pain, clenching my fists.
“The sweet Eshidwa you knew is long gone. So your sorrow is wasted.”
He lifted my chin, forcing my eyes up.
“Still, you need medicine.”
He poured potion against my lips. I gagged and spat it out.
He only opened another vial.
“If this is the comfort you want, then so be it.”
His fingers pressed my lower lip—
and he kissed me, forcing the potion down.
My mind went blank at the bitter taste and his scent.
I gasped, choking.
“Cough—cough!”
When he pulled back, he licked the remnants from his lips with chilling detachment.
“Inerea.”
His cold voice called my name as he seized my shoulders, lifting me up.
“But first—let’s be clear.”
He kissed beneath my eye, smiling gently—
but those frigid eyes hurt more than the seizures.
“Sadly, the game of lovers is over.”
Those words pierced deeper than any pain.
“You’ll obey, won’t you? Hmm?”
My trembling voice could pass for weakness.
“What… what will you do with me?”
“Good question. Let’s see.”
I reached for him, clutching his collar with shaking hands.
“Please… spare me.”
“Hm?”
He set me down and moved to the table, lifting a teacup.
“I didn’t think a noble lady would beg like that.”
I couldn’t read his thoughts.
“So, what do you want?”
Was he amused?
That kiss—his warmth was gone as if it had never been.
A strange, unfamiliar ache tightened my chest.
“I deceived you. I used you. I even killed my parents. I know. I understand.
Take my fortune, take the dukedom, if you want. Just… don’t kill me.”
I prayed it would reach him.
He tapped my chin lightly.
Then he leaned close, smiling faintly.
“Surely you don’t think I’d kill a beauty like you?”
The thick scent of cigars filled the air.
“I told you before, didn’t I?”
His voice was gentle, refined—yet forceful, undeniable.
“If you behave, I’ll adore you.”
He set down the spoon, propping his chin on his hand, and reached out.
His fingers slid along my neck.
Hot as fire, though devoid of warmth.
“But what can I do? You’re beautiful even when you just sit there.”
…And yet, his eyes held no affection at all.
