TLDWAE 14

Chapter 14

“—Damn it.”

She had once again been cursing Jurin Baltos, her husband’s ever-heartless vassal, when she leaned over the fountain to wipe the sweat from her face. That was when she noticed the familiar crimson blotch blooming beneath her collarbone.

Fiery, vivid—burning. A mark of the curse that set her very blood aflame.

“Looks like I’ll have to wear clothes that cover my neck from now on. …By tonight, perhaps?”

Karia Pandeon had contracted the hereditary disease passed down through the imperial bloodline. Strange black patches would flare across the body, bringing pain like fire searing through the veins. The attacks grew shorter and shorter in interval, and inevitably ended in death.

No one who had ever manifested the disease had survived.

And in truth—its origin was the curse she herself had crafted in her previous life, sacrificing her own existence to complete it.

“Honestly, I never thought it would still linger after all this time…”

Asmoof had permitted the blood of Ruval to remain in two sons. Ruval’s firstborn son became the second emperor and had children of his own, but when the balance shifted, the curse was triggered and he perished.

Later, Ruval’s younger son ascended as the third emperor. He had only one child, and after many years had passed, only once the daughter of the second emperor died did the third emperor dare to welcome grandchildren.

The Castaros royals carefully, carefully diluted Ruval’s bloodline like that.

Now, about eight centuries had passed since the curse began. The once singular empire of Castaros had been divided into three, the alchemists had disappeared, and the current emperor, Ilgenes Reval Castaros, was already the eighteenth of his line.

“Ruval’s blood should’ve been so watered down by now. And yet the curse is still this strong…”

Perhaps because of this “hereditary disease,” the Castaros empire kept meticulous records of anyone with even the faintest trace of royal blood, from direct heirs to the most distant branches.

Their number was about four thousand, with only seven direct royals remaining. Even if that seemed plenty, considering the degree to which the blood had been diluted across eighteen generations, the curse’s continued manifestation made no sense.

“Maybe someone tampered with it… or perhaps festering hatred has rotted into something twisted.”

Back then, she had lost her reason in her fury. In such a state, she had recklessly magnified her emotions to fuel her magic—of course the spell could not have been flawless.

“But even so, I can’t undo it now.”

If anyone in the world could lift the curse, it would be her. But she had no intention of doing so.

She had cast it as the price of Ruval’s betrayal, and countless people had since suffered and died in agony because of it.

Their only “sin” was that they had been born with the blood of the First Emperor. And that same blood ran in her own veins as well.

Now that her turn had come, who was she to claim it unjust?

“But this time, I don’t want to forget.”

The beautiful, precious memories of long ago. Her achievements, the faces of her family. She did not want to once again live on as someone else, with everything erased.

“—Perhaps I should make an Elixir.”

The Elixir. The legendary medicine said to grant immortality, now only a myth from the past. In truth, it was her greatest masterpiece, created after six years of research.

Unlike ordinary remedies made from herbs to heal illness, the Elixir was something else entirely. In fact, whether it should even be called a “medicine” was debatable.

It was made from rare plants suffused with dense mana, combined in exact amounts and at precise times to form a single, perfected spell.

The result was a concentration of magic that no mediocre mage could ever reproduce. To swallow it was to become part of magic itself—an eternal, inescapable part.

But the ingredients were so rare and difficult to obtain that completing the Elixir had sparked fierce clashes with the forest-dwelling races.

“Especially those ‘big-eared bastards’ who thought the forest belonged to them—their persistence was maddening. They even stole my failed batches.”

The elves had always been in conflict with humans over land. Gifted with innate, nature-bound magic, they were constantly overshadowed by human mages’ relentless research and innovation.

Thus, they coveted the Elixir as a weapon of immense magical power.

Not just the elves—any greedy warmonger yearning for war sought it as well.

Her “friend,” the First Emperor Ludvalt, had opposed her dangerous work on the Elixir. Yet she had begged him on her knees:

Once she had made enough for her loved ones, she would erase the formula from existence. Just once, she pleaded, look away.

But he had refused, and their positions never aligned.

And in the end, by the time she finally perfected the Elixir—everyone she had hoped to share eternity with was already dead.

“What’s the point of living forever alone?”

Karia gave a bitter little laugh at the memory.

Neigh!

The horse, drinking from the fountain, suddenly reared and thrashed, stung in the face by a bee. The iron railings straining to hold it shook, threatening to give way.

Karia gathered her skirts and rushed forward, but before she could, a small child appeared and calmed the animal with surprising skill.

“Whoa, whoa—easy.”

At the child’s tiny hands, the horse settled down. Karia arrived a moment later and accepted the reins from him.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

The boy, perhaps six years old, with hair black as night, gave her a bright smile. Having just spent hours dealing with another child throwing a tantrum at home, the sight of this boy felt almost angelic.

“But you seem troubled, lady.”

“—Hm?”

“Do you have worries? A beautiful lady shouldn’t wear such a sad face.”

The child’s wide eyes sparkled as he spoke words far too mature for his age. What an imitation of adulthood was this? Karia stroked her chin thoughtfully as she studied him.

When she gave no reply, the boy only grinned and rummaged in his clothes, pulling out a flimsy paper pamphlet. He handed it to her, and despite herself, Karia laughed out loud when she read it.

[★ Call us, we’ll come running! ★Across the entire capital, every district! ★Strong mercenaries always on standby! ★We do anything—just leave it to us! ★]

In crooked handwriting, a doodle in the corner attempted to depict a broad-shouldered man with a triangular torso… though it could just as well have been a squid.

As she laughed so hard her ears reddened, the boy beamed and eagerly began promoting the “Black Night Mercenary Corps.”

“If you’re worried about something, you should go see them. They’ll solve anything for you. Of course, for a fee.”

“Did you make this?”

“Not me—my big brother did.”

His brother, then—still only a child, surely. But if he knew words like “every district” and “always on standby,” perhaps ten years old? How admirable of them both.

Karia promised she would visit if she had the time, and parted ways with the boy. After all, since he’d helped her, it was only fair to give his business a little support.

“First, I’ll need to buy a carriage.”

She mounted her horse again, her thighs aching, and rode off. Whether she made the Elixir or filed for divorce, what she needed most right now was transportation.

“Good day, Your Grace.”

“You’ve come.”

He said “you’ve come,” but in truth, Karia had already arrived at the Duke’s estate quite some time ago.

Though the grandeur of the ducal mansion remained unchanged from when she had left, the butler who greeted her had grown much older.

When she requested an audience, the butler guided her to the guest salon. She had been served tea and sweets, and left waiting for nearly two hours before the Duke finally arrived.

“I sent word to Alcard that I would be visiting, but it seems he didn’t pass the message along.”

The Duke, about to sit nonchalantly on the sofa, paused at her reproach. His brows furrowed, and after a short hesitation, he replied in a calm voice.

“I was detained by urgent matters.”

“Of course, work always comes first. I’m only ever the one waiting for Your Grace, so naturally you should attend to your priorities first.”

Don’t you agree? She smiled brightly—but within that smile was clear mockery, a cheap jab.

The Duke neither rebuked her rudeness nor apologized for his tardiness. He merely paused, then shifted the subject.

“You’ve returned after so long. Did you look around the estate?”

“No, the ride left my legs aching.”

“You should have rested in a chamber, then.”

“No, I wanted to see Your Grace.”

“…Is there something you wish to say to me?”

Still smiling, Karia answered swiftly. But it was not a gentle smile—it brimmed with bitterness. She looked furious.

Three years ago, the last time he had seen her, she had stood by her husband’s side, too timid to even meet his eyes before fleeing. Yet here she was now, filled with venom.

When he had heard she was returning after six years, he hadn’t expected it was merely homesickness. But he never imagined she would change like this.

Was this truly his daughter sitting before him? He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Your Grace, something grave happened to me recently.”

“…Grave?”

“I fell down the stairs and lost consciousness for five days. I very nearly died.”