🔊 TTS Settings
Episode 3 : The Man in the Dream
‘Is this… a dream? Or a prophetic dream?’
Even in the middle of the haze, what he could feel was the texture of an opaque curtain wrapping around him.
It felt as if I were submerged in water.
There was also a floating sensation, as if I were drifting in empty space.
One thing was certain. Whether this was a dream or a prophetic dream, there was no room for Rose will to interfere.
Since the prophetic dream that led from Empress to Deposed Empress, there had never again been a case where the cause and result were so clear.
Moreover, there were many times when it was hard to tell where a dream ended and a prophetic dream began.
‘So today, is it a prophetic dream? Or just a dream? I’m exhausted, so hurry up and show me already.’
While thinking so carelessly and looking around, Rose’s face slowly began to burn red.
‘That… what is that?’
There was a man.
And of all things, a completely naked man.
Rose’s expression twisted.
What reason could there possibly be for a god to show her such a dream?
What angered her the most was that she couldn’t avoid it.
She couldn’t close her eyes, and she couldn’t turn her head.
Even though this wasn’t her choice and was simply how this place was made, it was unbearably embarrassing.
Not knowing what to do, Rose could only desperately hope that he would hurry and put on some clothes.
‘Are you insane? Have you lost your mind, prophetic dream?! What kind of nonsense is this?!’
Then, unexpectedly, the man tried to turn his body.
Still naked.
Rose turned pale and struggled desperately to wake up. At that moment, the dream shook violently, and her body began to be pulled outward.
Relieved at the thought of waking up, Rose let out a breath—
Then she felt a chill and looked straight ahead.
The man was lifting his head toward the ceiling where she was.
His black eyes looked as if they were staring directly at her.
“Ugh!”
The moment she opened her eyes, the scene from the dream resurfaced vividly.
Heat rushed up and spread throughout her entire body.
Pushing her messy hair aside, Rose lifted her head and muttered blankly,
“What the hell… was that dream.”
It absolutely could not be a prophetic dream.
Just imagining herself seeing something like that made her face burn red.
“But if it’s not a prophetic dream, then that means I’m sexually frustrated…”
Rose wanted to grab that tormenting prophetic dream by the collar and shake it violently.
However, she didn’t yet know how persistent this dream would be.
She was already sick of counting how many times it had happened.
Dragged into the middle of a battlefield, Rose looked at the place filled with slaughter and screams.
It was so horrifying it made her feel sick, but she didn’t faint or cry.
She had been through worse things. She had seen worse things.
Rose deliberately avoided looking at the mutilated corpses and the people screaming in agony.
No matter how much she screamed, they wouldn’t hear her anyway. This was only a dream.
In this dream, she was nothing more than a powerless intruder.
Just like her relationship with the prophetic dreams that had suddenly appeared one day.
With a bitter smile, Rose watched the cruel dream that didn’t even allow her to close her eyes.
Then—
「Kill them.」
In the rain of blood, a voice suddenly pierced through all the noise, making her skin crawl.
Before she could even look, she was already pulled next to a man standing alone.
Rough breathing, the smell of sweat, and the stench of blood filled the battlefield—but only this man stood alone.
Dark red blood flowed from his entire body, soaking his armor and dripping onto the ground.
Every time his sword swung, hot blood from his enemies sprayed over him like a fountain.
Covered in dark red blood, the man didn’t care and continued cutting down his enemies.
Even his allies followed him with faces filled with awe and fear.
Yet the man blocking the enemy advance stared at the battlefield and death with dull, empty eyes.
He feared nothing. No death shook him as he moved forward.
Sometimes he looked like a killing demon. Sometimes he looked like someone unaware he was even killing people.
Rose watched him fight through the endless war until the blood dried on him like skin.
His strength left a deep impression on her.
His sword cut enemies without hesitation. If it meant opening a path for his allies, he ignored even his own life.
He always fought at the very front and swung his sword with full force every single moment, no matter who he was killing.
He never seemed tired, and he always showed his allies a clear direction.
Without realizing it, Rose quietly watched him slaughter his enemies and frowned whenever danger came close to him.
Finally, when the man lowered his sword, a sudden silence fell.
The field was piled with corpses, and the green land was so soaked in blood that its original color could no longer be recognized.
When he stopped, the people who had been killing and dying froze, not knowing what to do.
White breath rose from his mouth and scattered around his face. Only then did the allies realize there were no enemies left.
Someone shouted.
The soldiers laughed, patted each other’s shoulders, and celebrated surviving.
But no one approached the man who had led them to victory.
They admired and feared his swordsmanship, but they did not see him as the same kind of human.
Standing alone among those gazes, the man lifted his head toward the sky.
Dark clouds quietly released rain.
As the blood washed away, Rose finally noticed his bronze skin burned by the sun and his black eyes.
It was strange she hadn’t noticed earlier.
Black eyes. Black hair.
Not common, but not impossible either—yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
After that, Rose dreamed of that man many times.
On those nights, she slept deeply for the first time in her life.
Was it because his fearless eyes looked as safe as an unbreakable fortress?
With each repeated dream, Rose slowly began to feel a pure curiosity toward him.
But that feeling didn’t last long.
Reality was always crueler than dreams—and it always demanded more.
Always neat in a suit, Gray looked unusually disheveled that day, and Rose felt a bad premonition.
“Say it again.”
The head of the trading company narrowed his blue-gray eyes and repeated bitterly.
“Duke Aitan is dead.”
“Why?”
“As far as we could find out… old age.”
A result too pathetic to be believed.
Rose stared at the “Guardian Contract” before her.
If she glared, she could almost feel as if the duke might come back to life.
“Miss Rose, even if you look at it that way, nothing will change,” Gray tried to console her.
But he knew very well this wasn’t something that could be given up easily.
The duke of Aitan, who had planned to assign a guardian in exchange for solving the domain issue, had died suddenly of old age.
A sword master, no less!
Just one week before the contract was to be completed!
Rose cursed the heavens.
She wanted to grab the prophetic dream by the collar and shake it.
The Aitan duke she had finally reached for slipped through her fingers like sand.
She closed her eyes tightly and looked at Gray.
“And the heir?”
“Apparently, he went to get approval from the emperor. But…”
“Say it.”
“No one has seen him. Even the spies tried several times, but they could not catch him.”
Rose sighed.
“The Aitan family are sword masters.
I heard that no previous duke of Aitan failed to see the tip of a sword.
How could this man be stopped by a few spies? Better leave sleeping lions alone. Be careful.”
“Yes.”
Rose closed her eyes tightly.
“Gray.”
“Yes, madam.”
“The new duke of Aitan… how old is he?”
“Thirty.”
“What are the chances he’s interested in women?”
“…None, I guess?”
“Like Duke Klaus, the heir might have no interest in women, right?”
Gray narrowed his blue-gray eyes and smiled bitterly.
“Well… information about the new heir is too little to be sure.
Even if he isn’t interested in women, a young duke of marriageable age won’t live alone forever.”
“Punches straight to the bone.”
Gray just smiled, said nothing more.
He never liked this plan, probably hoping she’d change her mind.
But she wouldn’t.
Considering not just herself, but Chaos Trading Company, countless connected families, and branches like a web, she had no choice.
Prophetic dreams had never been wrong, and as their leader, she had to prepare.
In that sense, Duke Aitan and Duke Klaus were perfect puzzle pieces.
But the person himself was already dead.
All she had was a tiny bit of information about the heir she had never seen.
“Ha!”
Cursing God or fate, Rose said, closing her eyes.
“Gray, we must go to Aitan.”
“I will prepare.”
Rose gripped the contract on the desk.
‘Damn it.’
Terran North , Aitan Domain
The new Duke of Aitan wore black formal clothes, signaling his upper-middle status.
Kahn, a man with rare black hair and eyes, sat on a sofa, watching the snow fall outside the window.
Having spent his life fighting wars on the plains, his burnt face and weary, alluring features made him look bored.
Butler Jack sighed, observing his young master who did not even seem like a proper heir.
Jack had a strict expression from a lifetime of vigilance, yet before Kahn, he showed a soft face and quietly approached.
Old Jack placed hot tea and cautiously spoke.
“How is the North after eighteen years, sir?”
“Just the same.”
The duke’s cold, inhuman tone stung Jack’s old heart.
He feared the young master would become like Duke Klaus—emotionless and hardened.
“If the late duke… had seen you grown so tall, he would have been glad. Though he never showed it, being his only grandson, he must have missed you.”
Jack didn’t know the truth himself.
Duke Klaus had handed a sword to his eight-year-old grandson and sent him to the battlefield.
‘But he, too, was a victim of the family…’
Kahn’s black eyes fixed on Jack, who was remembering the past.
“You speak well, even lie well,” Kahn said.
His voice was rough, rusty, as if unused to speaking for so long, but still seductive.
Jack smiled quietly and poured more tea into Kahn’s empty cup.
“Did you spend all your time on the battlefield? Your speech has changed. Subjects are often omitted, you must have struggled to adapt.”
“There is no need to speak much when killing people,” Kahn said.
Jack froze, then carefully asked.
“Have you been to the grave?”
“It’s just clothes for people to see. No need to go. You know we don’t leave bodies behind.”
“But…”
Seeing the heir feel nothing despite losing his only family, Jack was pitiful.
He hesitated but asked anyway.
“And your heart? Has it ever raced quickly?”
“Still fine.”
Jack felt real relief.
“Good to hear.”
“What’s good about it?”
Jack realized he had touched on a sensitive topic and stepped back.
“Sorry.”
Kahn’s cold gaze made him sweat.
Instead of punishing Jack, the duke asked one thing:
“How are the spies you sent?”
“All accounted for.
We are tracking the backers, but they haven’t revealed anything.
Likely local lords or Duke Ducan in the capital were involved.
None infiltrated your quarters… or, uh, the bathroom, sir.”
Jack reported, embarrassed, while watching Kahn’s reaction.
Even when spies failed, Kahn surprisingly accepted it quietly.
“Good. Makes sense.”
Kahn turned back to the snowy window, losing his temporary interest.
Jack knew this was the “dismissal” signal.
He paused while leaving the study, worried about the master who leaned on the sofa, eyes closed.
Having left so young, receiving no warmth or teaching, Jack watched the master grow before him.
‘Sir… I will protect you. Please live long.’
Jack lowered his eyes, closed the study door firmly.
Kahn opened his eyes at the sound of the closing door.
He sat silently for a moment.
Although many things must have changed over the years, the North was still the same.
The wind was biting cold, and snow fell endlessly.
He slowly rose and moved a few books on the desk.
When his hand touched the desk, a round, glowing blue magic circle appeared and wrapped around his wrist.
He stared at it for a moment, then touched the wall behind him.
A dark red door appeared as if bleeding, but Kahn turned the handle without hesitation.
Inside was so dark and eerie it sent chills.
Still, he walked in without hesitation.
No tools to illuminate. No magic. Just moving forward—but his steps were steady.
‘Kahn, this is a tomb. Soon I will be buried here, and someday you will too.’
The voice of his grandfather came to mind, but he paused only briefly, then kept walking.
His grandfather had revealed everything about the family and lived only for it.
Kahn only wondered one thing.
‘Were you satisfied then?’
Through a long, tedious tunnel, Kahn finally reached the grand library.
The ancestral record room of the family.
He looked up at the ceiling, where mirrors reflected light to brighten the room, the old method.
No one had changed it. Typical of Aitan.
He walked between stone-carved bookshelves.
Countless ancestors’ names were recorded in books.
Finally, he found the person he was looking for.
[Claus von Aitan.]
He took out his grandfather’s diary.
The leather cover, smooth as human skin, had the name stamped in red.
Opening the first page, Kahn read the diary written in the familiar handwriting of his grandfather.
Almost no mention of other people.
The diary, dry and logical, focused solely on “Duke Claus.”
Reaching the last pages, Kahn’s eyes trembled.
[My heart beats slower.
Even as a Sword Master, I sensed that accelerated aging had finally reached its end.
Foolishly, only at the edge of death did I begin to feel fragments of emotion.
Thinking of my son’s madness, my daughter-in-law who died because of it, and my grandson, deprived of emotions like me, I felt for him for the first time.
Yes.
For the first time, as my grandson rather than as the heir preserving the family, I thought of Kahn.
I could not understand what this emotion was.
Still, thinking of him made my heart ache.
It hurt as if my life was ending. Sometimes I couldn’t even eat because of him.
I worried I might die from it.
Though unpleasant, it was far better than feeling nothing at all.
So I decided to think less of him.]
Dedicated to the family but essentially selfish like an Aitan, his grandfather returned to writing about himself.
[My decisions to preserve the family were correct, but my life as a human failed.
Being born human and feeling no affection is no different from being dead.]
Kahn read, standing, until the very last page.
[At eighty, I finally could end my dull, boring life.
Though my life had no mistakes, if I could choose again, I would… rather go mad like my son.
After all, my life leaves nothing but diaries. Let the heart-sealing be damned.]
Kahn turned the diary pages, half expecting more, but that was it.
He smirked, impudently.
The grandfather who demanded restraint and control ended with regret.
Kahn’s black eyes gradually gained life.
He had all the answers he wanted.
And he decided.
No matter how terrible the result, he would try loving someone.
Kahn looked at his grandfather’s diary and said:
“Until then, I will fulfill my duty as you wished.”
But he had no idea how that duty would arrive.
