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Chapter 12
I wanted to keep my expression blank, but my eyes widened on their own.
‘Isn’t this way too different from the original?’
The story hasn’t even properly begun yet, and the plot is already twisted beyond recognition. Kellian and now Shabiyan.
According to the original novel, those two should be in the Bahart Imperial Palace right now—not here!
“Ha.”
A hollow laugh slipped out of me in disbelief. Two pairs of eyes immediately fixed on me.
What? Why are you staring like that?
“How disappointing.”
Kellian raised one eyebrow.
“My words didn’t change your expression at all.”
“……”
“But the moment another man’s name comes up, it changes instantly?”
It wasn’t his name. They said ‘the 8th Prince.’
I wanted to correct him, but Kellian’s eyes were too red, so I kept my mouth shut.
At a flick of Kellian’s fingers, the knight beside him immediately bent at the waist.
“Find that child and drag him back.”
Kellian spoke quietly to the knight.
But his gaze remained fixed on me.
“Break his legs if you must.”
Break his legs?
My brow nearly furrowed—then smoothed out.
Kellian’s eyes were scrutinizing my expression relentlessly.
“Or kill him.”
Kill him?
That made my expression crack on instinct.
Kellian caught it and sneered.
“Duke. It’s rude to eavesdrop on others’ conversations.”
He tilted his head casually at me.
‘I wasn’t trying to listen—I just heard it!’
I have good hearing. I’m a Swordmaster.
And why does he always jump straight to killing…?
“Your Highness. That is precisely why I cannot become your knight.”
A fissure appeared in Kellian’s expression.
“What?”
“A knight must respect and revere his lord. The reason I respect His Majesty the Emperor, my liege, is because of his gentle nature—”
“Hahaha!”
As if it were utterly absurd, Kellian clutched his stomach and laughed.
“Your Emperor? Gentle?”
His eyes were slowly returning to black.
What’s wrong with our Lesius?
“Either you’re truly naïve, or your Emperor is thorough beyond belief.”
Resting his chin on his hand, Kellian nodded.
As his head moved, his eyes flickered red again, like fresh blood.
Do they only turn red when he looks at people? What is he, a traffic light? Why do they keep changing?
“Very well. I’ll try it your way. Like your Emperor.”
Why does that feel like there’s something unsaid?
‘From now on, I’ll kill without you knowing.’ That feels like the omitted part.
“I’ll revise my order.”
The knight who had been standing quietly stepped closer again.
Kellian said playfully,
“Just don’t kill him.”
There were surely many omitted details in that statement. Don’t kill him—but crippling injuries are fine.
“……We’ve delayed long enough. Let us begin the treaty negotiations.”
My mood plummeted. Shabiyan must not die.
‘If Shabiyan dies, the world ends.’
What if he’s gravely injured and suffers complications?
“First, the demands of the Hylen Empire are—”
Kellian interrupted me.
“Duke. My apologies, but due to a minor error on our side, it will be difficult to conclude the treaty today.”
Of course it would be. The 8th Prince ran away. They have bigger problems.
“Still, I hope we meet again soon.”
Rubbing his thick brows in mock regret, Kellian smiled faintly.
“Then I shall see you when the time is suitable.”
Before he could detain me, I bowed crisply and left the tent without hesitation.
“Your Grace.”
“The treaty has been postponed.”
I informed my knights and advisors who followed me out.
Their expressions clearly said, We expected as much.
“That’s Bahart’s level for you.”
“I never expected much!”
Naturally, the reaction was: Our Duke did nothing wrong—it’s Kellian’s fault!
And over there, the Bahart side wore expressions that read: His Highness caused trouble again.
“Shall we return to the castle?”
One knight asked out of courtesy, assuming I would head back.
In my heart, I really wanted to—but…
“There’s someone we must find. Gather the knights.”
There was still work to do.
If Shabiyan is caught by Kellian and seriously injured, I won’t even get the chance to start seducing him—or anything else—and the world will end.
He is beloved by the god of this world. The chosen one.
“Small and pale…”
I recited Shabiyan’s description that Rosaline had drilled into me.
“Fine silver hair like threads, clear and transparent blue eyes. Skin so pale it’s never seen sunlight. Smooth hands and feet. Find a man like that.”
The knight’s eyes turned strange.
Did that sound perverted?
“The person we are searching for is the 8th Prince of the Bahart Empire. Escort him carefully.”
At that, the knight’s expression shifted to understanding.
Shabiyan’s beauty was famous across the continent.
‘According to Rosaline’s plan…’
Shabiyan and I are not supposed to meet here.
We are meant to meet in the Imperial Palace, by the beautiful lake steeped in legend—a fated encounter.
So I’d rather avoid meeting him here. But it felt awkward to just give orders and hide inside.
‘Let’s just pretend to search.’
There are so many Berwen knights. Surely he won’t end up in my hands?
“Hmm.”
After deciding, I weighed two options.
If not for the military camp on the plains, the scenery before the castle walls might have been charming.
Even if he fled, he’d likely head toward where people are. So then!
I turned my gaze to the opposite direction—the desolate desert.
‘He wouldn’t have gone into the desert, right?’
And so, slowly riding my black horse, I headed toward the sands.
Long after Lewin left, Kellian still had his wrist covering his eyes.
“Your Highness.”
A dark mage approached Kellian, who was slouched deep in his chair, one arm hanging loosely.
“You’ve come.”
The hem of the dark mage’s robe dragged along the ground.
“It’s becoming impossible to control.”
Kellian lowered his wrist, revealing his eyes.
The red hue in his irises gradually faded, returning to complete black.
“Do not attempt to control that power. You carry a noble bloodline.”
Noble? Demon blood? Kellian scoffed.
“Control is for weak humans. Your Highness can possess anything you desire.”
If you become a demon, that is. The dark mage looked at him with regret.
Kellian rejected his demonic bloodline and restrained himself.
The dark mage had witnessed firsthand the terrifying power Kellian wielded when he lost control.
“You need only follow your desires. If you want something, break it, crush it, and take it.”
“Perhaps… But it’s strange.”
I want to possess him—but I don’t want him broken. Kellian swallowed the rest of the thought, merely toying with the letter on the desk.
“By the way, Your Highness. Did you not notice?”
“Notice what?”
Kellian’s fingers traced the part of the paper the Duke had touched.
“I sensed demonic energy from the Duke.”
Demonic energy.
Kellian’s own aura was so strong that he could not easily perceive others’.
Could that noble Duke be a demon like him? Or else—
“Dark magic.”
Dark magic originates from demonic energy. If not a demon, then the Duke was under dark magic.
“Dark magic? Hahaha.”
No one would dare cast a curse-like dark spell on a Swordmaster.
Nor would the Duke leave such a person alive.
Which meant, for some reason, the Duke had willingly accepted dark magic.
Covering his face with the letter, Kellian threw his head back and laughed.
“Haha. He’s incredibly amusing. Don’t you think?”
Lowering the letter slightly, one exposed crimson eye gleamed.
‘That!’
The dark mage widened his eyes at the sight of Kellian’s red iris.
It was rare to see those eyes. Kellian usually suppressed them well.
‘Duke of Berwen.’
The dark mage recalled the one who had just left the tent.
Ever since seeing the Duke, Kellian had been frighteningly close to losing control.
And the dark mage realized—
He had found the one who could make Kellian the true heir of his bloodline.
At that same moment.
“My leg is broken.”
Under the blazing sun, Shabiyan limped forward.
His feet sank into the sand, pushing him to his limits.
He couldn’t even feel the scorching grains against his injured left leg.
He had been hurt when he fell from the carriage.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come this way.’
The day he saw the Duke of Berwen’s prowess from the cliff—he couldn’t jump down after him and quietly returned to camp.
Kellian’s men hadn’t guarded Shabiyan closely for a reason. There had been no escape route.
‘His Highness the Crown Prince has captured the 2nd Prince and moved camps! We must move as well. Load the 8th Prince onto the supply wagon.’
But then an opportunity arose.
Loaded onto a supply wagon, Shabiyan opened the door and threw himself out.
And now the result was this—being chased in the desert.
“It hurts so much.”
It hurt. He was hungry. Exhausted. On the verge of collapse.
Because of his luxurious clothing and eye-catching face, he thought it best to head somewhere deserted.
‘But the desert…’
Would he dry up and die walking like this?
Shabiyan looked enviously at the birds soaring in the sky. At least they could die freely. Should he be grateful for that?
“There he is!”
A voice that did not belong in the silent desert pierced the wind.
The continental tongue with a Bahart accent.
“Catch him! It’s the 8th Prince!”
Kellian’s subordinates.
They rode on horseback, holding hooks used to capture cattle or slaves.
If they weren’t careful, his neck would snap.
‘I don’t want to live like a slave anymore.’
Shabiyan neither ran nor turned his head.
A slave of noble blood.
He did not want to live as a puppet controlled by others. Being captured meant falling into someone’s hands again.
He closed his eyes and lifted his chin.
‘Yes… better to—’
Let his neck snap on that hook. Perhaps that would be the most peaceful death.
Better than returning to Kellian. Better than living such a filthy life.
At that moment—
Clang! A sharp metallic sound sliced through the desert air.
Several slicing sounds followed, thick with the scent of blood. Something struck the ground with dull thuds.
“Are you alright?”
Shabiyan opened his eyes.
Under the blazing sun, among men collapsed and bleeding from torn ligaments and ankles, stood a black-armored knight.
‘This person is…’
Through the heat haze of the desert, like a mirage—
The Duke of Berwen.
“Ah.”
Clad in black armor that revealed not a patch of skin, standing with flawless posture, imposing and unyielding—
Yet the moment Shabiyan saw him, relief washed over him.
And just like that, he lost consciousness in the Duke’s arms.
And—
‘Why me of all people?!’
Lewin was utterly flustered by this situation.
Very much so.
