TLDWAE 13

Chapter 13

Karia stared at the ring with a grave expression, unable to take her eyes off it.

Alcard couldn’t tell whether she liked the gift or found it burdensome.

As he waited anxiously for her reply, he quietly slipped out the magical words that usually made her cave in.

“Father sent it. It’s okay for you to accept.”

“What about last year? Did he send me a gift then as well?”

But instead of the answer Alcard was expecting, Karia asked something strange. She didn’t seem to acknowledge his efforts at all, and so he pouted, replying curtly.

“Why are you so forgetful for someone so young? Last year it was a necklace. I went everywhere looking for one to match the earrings he sent the year before.”

“You said earlier… that whenever you came to see me, I always made excuses that I was sick. When exactly did you come?”

“When? Uh… let’s see…”

Six months ago, for Father’s birthday. At the New Year, to see her briefly. On the day of the hunting competition, when he handed out wolf pelts. Alcard kept digging through his memories.

He recalled sending her medicine to restore her health, since she always claimed to be ill, and admitted he was hurt that she never even sent back a line in reply.

But not a single one of those things had ever reached Karia.

“…Hah.”

“What? What’s wrong? Is there some problem?”

She couldn’t hold back the mocking laugh that escaped.

Where had all those gifts Alcard spoke of gone? This wasn’t something she could brush off as just another inconvenience.

“So, who’s really lowborn here?”

Just minutes ago, Karia had been planning to expose the truth about the Grand Lady and then cut ties with this household entirely.

She could understand, if not forgive, the human instinct of clinging to what one already possessed. That much was natural. So she had decided to throw it all away and leave, telling herself they could continue running their oh-so-precious old family however they liked.

But if they had dared to take what was hers—something that did not belong to them—then the matter changed completely.

“How dare they… lay hands on what’s mine.”

Karia was an alchemist through and through, one who lived by the principle of equivalent exchange. To her, the most unforgivable crime was not lies, nor disdain, nor even being slapped across the face. It was theft.

Whether it had been greed, or a way to isolate her, or simply to torment her—she didn’t know.

But this, she would not tolerate.

“Go back.”

“Already? We only just met…”

“Go back and tell His Grace the Archduke that I will come visit him this evening.”

“This evening? Today? So suddenly?”

Alcard’s eyes widened, asking again and again if she really meant today. And no wonder—since marrying, Karia had not once visited the Archducal estate.

“Is that a problem?”

“—No, not a problem, but…”

What had made her suddenly decide to go? It wasn’t a bad thing, but he couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.

Still, Alcard was not the master of the Archducal estate, nor did he have any desire to stop his younger sister from finally returning home.

So he simply nodded lightly and turned to leave without regret. If he was to deliver the news that she would arrive by evening, he had to hurry.

“It’ll be quite the long-awaited visit to your family home. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Indeed.”

Just as he nodded casually and prepared to leave, Alcard suddenly froze and looked back in shock.

What sorcery was this? Karia was smiling—radiantly.

She had always been the type to only give the faintest, shyest smile, even when delighted. And even those were rare enough to be counted on one hand throughout her whole life.

“…Are you really that happy?”

“Of course. It’s been so long.”

Watching her quietly, Alcard noticed something else surprising: unlike before, his sister never once looked away from his gaze.

‘I’ll have to find out what happened.’

He was no longer the naive eight-year-old who thought a smile only ever meant joy.

2. Should I make an Elixir

“Why is she acting like this?”

Rubidov Pandeon had spent the entire night without sleep, pondering why his wife had changed, but he found no answer.

And how could he? Until now, he had never doubted that his marriage was a smooth one.

‘My Lord, welcome home. You look tired.’

Whenever he returned home, she would greet him with a warm smile. She never once complained about his busy schedule, nor about the meager allowance for household dignity compared to what she would have had at the Archducal house.

‘My Lord, no matter how busy you are, don’t skip meals. It’s bad for your health.’

She was considerate. On days when he was home, she would make sure he ate. Of course, the servants could have handled it, but having someone worry about him wasn’t unpleasant.

‘My Lord, the flowers in the garden have bloomed beautifully. How about a stroll to clear your head?’

The only thing that weighed on him was failing to grant her little requests: sometimes she would hesitantly ask to walk together, drink tea, or stay with her a while longer.

He would have liked to, but he was always too busy to idle at the estate with his wife. So he asked for her understanding. He thought they had both accepted it.

“—Is this because I wasn’t there when she was sick?”

How childish, at a time like this!

Did she even realize how busy things were? Rubidov should have left for his domain days ago. But because Karia had been injured—right in front of his eyes—he had delayed, deciding he couldn’t leave until she woke.

And yet, when she finally regained consciousness, she was so changed he had to wonder if she was really the same wife. She left the mansion without a word and even stayed out overnight. She caused trouble again and again, and even went so far as to lock up the family elder in a shocking display.

“So she’s no different from those arrogant royals who rely on blood and wealth.”

He had never voiced it except to his two closest friends, but Rubidov bore no small grudge toward the royal family.

The Pandeon dukedom had served the imperial family loyally since the founding of the Kastaroth Empire. Even when the empire split into three, they had remained faithful to their homeland.

But when war ravaged his domain, when brigands dispossessed of their homes plundered his people, what had the royals done?

They sent token aid, barely enough to notice, without any real solution.

The once-prosperous land, famed as the City of Winter where tourists flocked, now struggled every autumn just to survive the coming cold.

The recession that had persisted since his ancestor’s ancestor’s time had burst in his father’s generation, and when Rubidov inherited the dukedom, he too spent his days desperately trying to patch things together.

While others pitied or mocked him, while perfumed nobles clutched their purses and refused to part with even a single gold coin, he had to smile, flatter, and endure.

“—Could she have learned of that? Impossible.”

A jolt of dread shot through his tangled thoughts.

No, it couldn’t be. That night was just a drunken mistake.

And surely, if that woman had any sense, she wouldn’t spread something that could tarnish both their honors.

“…Right?”

Even trying to convince himself, Rubidov felt no certainty. Pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead, he called for his steward, voice urgent enough that the man rushed in, out of breath.

“Huff, huff… You called, Master!”

“Steward, has the Duchess been acting strangely lately? Not today, but about a month ago.”

“Well, I… I’m not sure.”

The steward had always attended more to the Grand Lady than to Karia. Except for her days of volunteer work, Karia usually stayed at home—in her room, at that—so he hadn’t seen reason to watch closely.

Rubidov scowled at the unsatisfactory answer.

“Oh, now that I think of it—some said they saw her quarrel with the physician recently. They claimed she feigned illness when nothing was wrong. And she often buried herself in the study, skipping meals.”

“And when she refused to eat, you just left her be?”

The steward, who had been racking his brain to be helpful, shrank at the scolding. He had spoken only because asked, but ended up the target of misplaced anger.

“The signs are strange. Surely not…”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“What is the Duchess doing right now?”

“Ah, at present she is—”

Just then, their conversation was cut off by the distant sound of neighing. Horses? But the riding grounds weren’t this way. Who was riding out front? Rising abruptly, Rubidov looked out the window—and was struck speechless.

“It seems… she’s going out.”

It seemed his wife’s “eccentricities” knew no limits.

Karia, her neck and back damp with sweat from the vigorous ride, stopped at the city square where the fountain stood.

She had chosen to take the horse today because she had to travel along crowded roads where she couldn’t secretly use magic to aid her steps. But that decision was a mistake.

In the old days, she had thought nothing of riding horses across battlefields. But this body—one that had never exercised beyond the occasional stroll—tired far too quickly.

After all, hadn’t she always traveled by carriage until now? An unadorned, shabby, little carriage without even the Pandeon crest, under the pretense of avoiding bandits or ambushes.