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Chapter 33
“A curse?”
Bellakshina spoke with a somewhat cynical tone.
“Of course. A wicked woman who sold her soul to a demon wouldn’t possibly not believe in curses.”
“I’m not joking. And I’m not trying to pick a fight either.”
At Abalkin’s serious voice, Bellakshina raised an eyebrow.
Surely this man wasn’t the type to still believe in fairy-tale nonsense after turning thirty? It didn’t match the image she had of him until now.
And perhaps because it felt so unlike him, the absurd word curse carried a strange weight of credibility.
“You’re serious?”
Abalkin nodded heavily and began explaining a little-known secret of his family.
“Did you know the Ishtvan–Zigsmund line was born from the union of two houses?”
“To be honest, not really.”
Abalkin understood. Bellakshina had lived at the center of power; there was no reason she would care about the surname of some impoverished lord from the frontier.
“This dates back to when the Europa continent was divided into the Eastern and Western Empires.”
Hundreds of years ago.
The Europa continent was ruled by two empires, one kingdom, one holy nation, and two tribal states.
Among them, the Eastern Empire—the foundation of the present Kalhorn Empire—held influence over the northern Kingdom of Ishtvan. That region was what was now known as Yeshken.
“The Kingdom of Ishtvan was a nation of beastfolk. A mere few dozen beastfolk stood against millions of demonic beasts and claimed dominion over this land.”
“Just a few dozen against millions? That has to be an exaggeration.”
Abalkin shook his head.
“The monster waves of centuries ago were dozens of times more powerful than they are now. For the Kingdom of Ishtvan to survive under those conditions, that sort of exchange ratio would have been the bare minimum… so no, it probably wasn’t exaggerated.”
It truly sounded like a legend.
Fewer than a hundred individuals fighting millions of monsters.
“That was only possible because each beastfolk possessed overwhelming power as individuals,” Abalkin added.
Nowadays, beastfolk were simply one of many powerful races surpassing the limits of humans and animals. But centuries ago, when their bloodlines were still strong, they had supposedly possessed mythical, primal power—something close to demigods.
“And when the Kingdom of Ishtvan merged with the imperial House of Count Zigsmund, they demanded one condition.”
The Kingdom of Ishtvan was a nation of beastfolk.
And among them, only unicorn beastfolk were qualified to inherit the throne.
“Unicorn beastfolk are the strongest race, but only males are born. And they can reproduce only through a human woman’s first experience. Unlike other beastfolk, their blood never weakens through generations.”
“…Then you too?”
Abalkin’s face darkened.
Part of Bellakshina worried that he might feel like some kind of monster if she said it aloud. But hiding the truth would be worse. After all, she too would have to endure the consequences of all this.
Thinking that, Abalkin nodded.
“Yes. Me too. According to legend, it’s a curse placed on us for challenging the gods.”
“So that’s why you brought up curses.”
Bellakshina still felt oddly detached from the conversation.
“Are you very shocked?”
Abalkin sensed unease—or something similarly fragile—in Bellakshina’s expression. But she was far less shaken than he expected.
“Not really, considering your hair color.”
Abalkin’s hair was basically silver, but depending on the light it reflected a range of colors, almost like an aurora. It was hard to imagine such fantastical hair on an ordinary human.
But for a beastfolk—especially a unicorn beastfolk—it made sense.
“Anyway, I get it now. Why you had to go through such a complicated process to find a wife. There were simply too many conditions for one person to satisfy.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
Abalkin frowned. It made him sound like some shallow man exhausting everyone around him because of impossibly high standards.
“To preserve the title of Margrave Zigsmund, I had to marry a woman with a title. And to inherit the throne of the Kingdom of Ishtvan… I needed a woman who met certain conditions. It was simply difficult to find someone who fulfilled both.”
“Hm. Sounds like the same thing to me.”
“I’m not choosing marriage partners based on personal preference. It’s purely a matter of necessity. Naturally, I have no desire to keep mistresses either.”
It wasn’t surprising.
Bellakshina snorted.
“You really think of marriage only as duty, don’t you?”
“No. Beyond duty, there’s responsibility, loyalty, trust—”
“Everything except love, right? You don’t need to continue.”
Bellakshina threw up both hands at Abalkin’s rigid perfectionism.
She genuinely couldn’t understand why he became especially stiff when it came to women.
Then again, maybe that was only natural for the heir of some bizarre unicorn beastfolk race obsessed with virgins—
“You’re making a very rude face right now.”
“I’m not.”
Bellakshina denied it immediately.
“Anyway, I suppose I owe you an apology. I brought you out today because I wanted to make some pleasant memories.”
“The day’s not over yet.”
At Bellakshina’s indifferent reply, Abalkin looked up.
“Don’t think you can gloss over this. No matter what incidents happen, I’m not giving up my share. Delicious food, pretty clothes—you’d better keep your promises.”
“Ha!”
Faced with Bellakshina’s stern warning, Abalkin burst out laughing.
And he nodded gratefully, relieved that the heavy atmosphere had finally lifted.
“Alright. The soup here is decent. I think even you might like it.”
“We’ll see. I’m rather picky.”
The moment she said that, Abalkin could only think back to the month-long carriage journey during which she had survived on nothing but jerky and dry bread. Bellakshina had constantly scolded and insulted Redek, almost as if trying to prove the rumors that she was a vicious villainess true—but she had still eaten every bit of the jerky.
Picky, huh.
During the journey there had been little else to eat, true enough. But there was a strange consistency to Bellakshina’s behavior. Ingrid had once told him that Bellakshina would even grumble loudly while crunching through coarse water biscuits that contained not a single drop of milk.
She complains endlessly… but she always finishes everything.
Abalkin briefly wondered which was truly pickier: someone who politely says, “Yes, it’s excellent,” before leaving the meal untouched—or someone who snaps, “How dare you serve me this garbage? Are you mocking me?!” while still cleaning the plate completely.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
There was no particular reason to hide it, but Abalkin kept the thought to himself. Bellakshina had the sort of personality that instinctively opposed anything he said; if he told her, she would probably refuse to eat on purpose out of sheer spite.
“For now, I recommend trying the stew. Once we go out to look at clothes, it’ll get cold again, so you should eat something warm.”
Bellakshina nodded.
Whatever else might be true, it was wise to listen to Abalkin when it came to surviving the cold.
Of course, blindly obeying him wouldn’t be like her.
“I’m warning you now: if it tastes bad, this doesn’t count. You promised to buy me delicious food—not just any food.”
“Do as you like. If the stew doesn’t suit your taste, I’ll eat both bowls myself and buy you something else.”
Still, Abalkin was certain Bellakshina would lick the bowl clean.
Meanwhile, Bellakshina felt awkward about the very act of ordering food in a “restaurant.” Most nobles employed personal chefs, so this was essentially a commoner experience for her.
“Is something bothering you?”
Instead of snapping, How could I be comfortable sitting on these stiff chairs?!, Bellakshina lowered her voice with unusual unease.
“To be honest… I’m not sure it’s wise to just walk into any random establishment and eat food served by strangers.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Then should I say it loudly? What if they get angry and poison the food?!”
Abalkin shook his head, both amused and dumbfounded by her reasoning.
“Right. We should absolutely stay vigilant. There may be an evil organization hiding in this tiny mountain restaurant in northern Yeshken, waiting to assassinate you.”
“That’s not—!”
“Your meals are here.”
At that moment, two bowls of stew, bread for dipping, and a dish of pickled vegetables were placed before them.
Bellakshina stared curiously at the reddish-brown broth filled with shredded meat and diced vegetables.
“Is this actually meant for humans? It looks like animal feed.”
“Watch your mouth. It’s a traditional Yeshken dish.”
“But when you throw a bunch of ingredients together into some sludgy mess and dump it carelessly into a random bowl, of course it’s going to look that way.”
“Couldn’t you just keep quiet and eat?”
As he scolded her, Abalkin noticed there was no actual malice in Bellakshina’s gaze. Surprisingly, she hadn’t said it with the deliberate intention of being rude.
“…Do people in the south not eat soups often?”
“That’s right. We have braised dishes, but not really things like this. And we don’t use deep bowl-like dishes very often either. Not never, but rarely as tableware.”
Abalkin understood what she meant.
Bellakshina casually said insulting things without thinking, but that didn’t always mean she intended to attack people.
(Though sometimes she absolutely did.)
Of course, that didn’t excuse her tactless personality.
She really was undeniably rude, spoiled, stubborn, and defensive. The kind of classic villainess no one would hesitate to call wicked.
And yet…
If someone taught her things one by one, perhaps she really could change a little.
Feeling oddly calm, Abalkin explained patiently.
“This stew is called flaki. It’s not unique to us, but it’s commonly eaten in the north.”
“I see. That’s an interesting name.”
Watching Bellakshina listen so attentively, Abalkin felt his impression of her soften.
Truthfully, he also had things to learn from Bellakshina.
The negotiation with Mantova earlier that day was something Abalkin could never have accomplished no matter how many times he tried. Perhaps they really could influence each other for the better.
“Yes. And the main ingredient is cow stomach—”
“Wait. You eat intestines?!”
At Bellakshina’s horrified expression, Abalkin finally burst out laughing.
