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Chapter 12
“So rumors about your marriage being quite poor have reached even me. Isn’t that why Aileen still can’t let go of you?”
As if ordering him to make Clarissa pregnant immediately, Duke Raktin frowned irritably.
“I-I will do my best.”
“The sooner heirs are born, the better. Since you plan to raise them as merchants anyway, wouldn’t having five or six early on simply mean more workers?”
“……Yes.”
“Attend the engagement eve party with Clarissa. Make sure you appear affectionate together. I believe I’ve said everything I needed to, so you may leave now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Deamon rose to his feet. Remaining seated any longer was unbearable. His stomach churned, and suppressing his anger gave him a headache.
“Oh, and on your way, kill Priest Hexa and make it look like suicide.”
As casually as asking someone to throw out trash on the way home, Duke Raktin ordered the murder of a priest.
“Understood.”
“You don’t even ask why he must die?”
“Your Grace’s commands require no reason.”
“Then perhaps ten months from now, there will be a child born between you and Clarissa. My congratulations in advance. Off you go.”
Clicking his tongue, the Duke waved him away dismissively.
The moment Deamon left the study, his body trembled with rising fury.
‘Why order Hexa killed and then talk about me having a child with Clarissa?’
He felt as though he had been treated like livestock. Deamon brushed off his perfectly clean cloak, though it did nothing to rid him of the disgusting feeling.
“Why kill Hexa? Because he’s outlived his usefulness, obviously.”
Priest Hexa had spent years disguising the Duke’s crimes as divine will and had committed countless atrocities himself. Now, with Aileen’s engagement ceremony approaching, Hexa had likely demanded money in exchange for his silence.
Hexa kept several mistresses and lived extravagantly, so naturally he constantly needed money.
Perhaps Duke Raktin intended to erase all traces of his past crimes by killing Hexa. Either way, killing a scoundrel required no hesitation.
As Deamon exited the estate and prepared to mount his black horse, unbearable exhaustion washed over him. Not physical exhaustion—his heart felt starved. He was simply sick of everything.
“Hyah!”
Riding toward the temple, Deamon suddenly paused at the distant sight of lights glowing from the Middletown estate.
Clarissa’s image flashed through his mind—her forehead bleeding while Aileen dragged her by the hair. His already troubled mood darkened further.
‘Clarissa… how did you endure entering and leaving the Duke’s estate all this time?’
In that horrific place where murder plots unfolded daily, under a father who faithfully served as Duke Raktin’s hunting dog, every single day must have felt like hell.
That was probably why she had clung to him, begging him to marry her even after he promised her no love.
Still, thanks to her advice, he had managed to tighten the Duke’s financial lifeline. He supposed she deserved compensation.
A jeweled necklace should suffice. Though perhaps that would be excessive attention.
After suffering bruises all over her body from the carriage incident, Clarissa had spent two full days bedridden. Even now, with her body still aching stiffly, she prepared to go out.
The magic sword was probably finished by now, so she had to visit the remote village. Just thinking about traveling that far made her hips throb painfully.
“Let’s go, Miranda. Did you pack the lunchbox for the old man?”
“Yes, Madam.”
Miranda followed behind carrying an extravagant lunchbox—a bribe for the elderly designer who created the magic dolls.
As they passed through the lobby and approached the carriage, Milon hurried over after just arriving at the estate himself.
“Madam, the master sent you a gift.”
“Really?”
Without much thought, I accepted the box from Milon and climbed into the carriage.
“Miranda, could you throw this away for me? Or keep it if you want. But whatever is inside, please make sure I never see it.”
I disliked even looking at the box in Miranda’s hands, so I shut my eyes and tried to sleep.
If I slept until reaching the remote village, perhaps I wouldn’t feel the constant aches and pains in my body.
A while later, after finally arriving at the remote village with great difficulty, I burst out angrily:
“I distinctly told you to make the design different!”
Holding the magic doll created by the elderly designer, I trembled furiously.
The magic doll looked exactly like Deamon except for the hair and eye color.
Just days earlier, I had personally visited and even handed the old designer gold coins while repeatedly begging him to create something completely different from his usual dolls.
I had carefully described Valentine’s appearance and body proportions in detail because the doll was meant to be an engagement gift. Naturally, it was supposed to resemble Valentine.
No bulky muscles. No thick arms. A somewhat slim figure, but with soft cheeks and a gentle appearance.
And most importantly—that thing attached to every single doll! Th-that! That thing! I had specifically emphasized removing it. Yet I could clearly feel something enormous there.
Why in the world would he attach that to a doll too?
What if Valentine misunderstood after receiving it? If he thought I was some vulgar woman, it would be disastrous.
“This is practically deceiving me. And you’re smiling after doing something like this? Are you truly insane?”
At my accusation, the old designer nodded enthusiastically.
“Everyone calls me crazy. For you to only realize it now, Lady Clarissa, your eye for people is rather poor.”
“W-what? Ha! Truly, I’ve never met someone like you in all my life.”
“That is correct. I dislike things that are identical to others. Trying to live like everyone else is the worst thing imaginable. It’s merely copying another person’s life.”
“Then why do you design the same dolls every single day?”
“Because the model is perfectly flawless. Just look at him—how beautiful isn’t he?”
The old designer gazed dreamily at his sketch of the magic doll.
His eyes were filled with unmistakable love for Deamon, the model for all the dolls.
‘This old man truly has an absurd worldview.’
With his white hair and plump build, the designer gave off a warm and generous impression. He also seemed stubborn enough to steadily complete whatever task he was assigned.
But who knew he would be this shameless?
It didn’t even seem like laziness about creating a new design. Judging from his innocent smile, he genuinely believed he had done nothing wrong.
‘Why is he looking at Deamon’s portrait-like sketch with such warmth?’
There was even a strange pride visible in the old man’s expression.
Deamon wasn’t even his child, so why look at him with such eyes?
W-wait… wait a minute! C-could this man be Murray Craig? Deamon’s adoptive father, Murray Craig?
That couldn’t be possible. Baron Murray Craig was dead.
Before Clarissa married Deamon, Murray Craig had drunkenly fallen into a swamp and died, and a funeral had even been held.
Of course, Clarissa herself had never attended it.
Deamon had never invited her to the funeral, and the Craig barony lay at the far western edge of the empire, a dangerous land filled with swamps and crocodiles.
‘Dead people don’t come back to life.’
Shaking my head firmly at the absurd thought, I turned back to the old man.
“Your name was Monde, correct? Monde, I won’t question you further about the magic dolls, so please take me to where the magic sword is being forged. Lead the way.”
The forge was guarded heavily, so approaching it without old Monde was impossible.
Last time, I had visited the magic sword refinery together with him as well.
At the time, they were still removing impurities from the magic stone, so I hadn’t even been able to see the sword’s form.
But today the sword should be nearly complete, and before it reached Deamon’s hands, I needed to stain it with my blood.
A magic sword’s master was determined through a blood ritual. Only then would the sword never harm its owner under any circumstance.
‘Only after the blood ritual does one become the true owner of a magic sword. I absolutely must stain it with my blood today.’
“Why are you only smiling? Hurry and lead the way.”
“The impurity purification process ended two days ago, so the magic sword was moved to the blacksmith’s workshop. They are now sharpening the blade and setting gemstones into it.”
“Then take me to the workshop.”
“It’s very far from here. It’s located within the Craig barony.”
“W-what? That’s impossible. Even riding nonstop to the barony would take over a week. The promised day to present the completed magic sword to Crown Prince Valentine is the day before the engagement ceremony.”
“Indeed. You know that quite well.”
Old Monde merely smiled as though nothing was wrong.
“That makes no sense! Just transporting the sword to the Craig barony and back would take two weeks. D-don’t tell me…!”
Teleportation magic?
If someone could magically transport distant objects instantly, it would explain everything.
And since Deamon had learned magic from the great mage Baron Murray Craig, using teleportation magic was entirely possible for him.
“So my husband Deamon must have sent the magic sword to the Craig barony. Then when the completed sword is retrieved, it won’t even pass through here again—it’ll go directly to him.”
I collapsed weakly into a chair.
There would be no chance to stain the sword with my blood before Deamon gifted it to Valentine.
‘This is bad. If Valentine becomes the sword’s master like this, he’ll eventually go mad.’
But sneaking into Deamon’s bedroom or study to steal the sword was impossible.
“What should I do…”
As I buried my face in my hands, old Monde asked worriedly:
“Lady Clarissa, what’s wrong? Are you really so devastated about not seeing the magic sword? No, why? Tell me. I simply cannot tolerate unanswered curiosity.”
Since he clearly thought Deamon was the most beautiful being in existence, I had to choose my words carefully.
“Because I love my husband.”
“Ahh. Then you definitely shouldn’t steal the magic sword.”
I snapped my head up and glared at him.
“I’m not trying to steal it. If you lied to me about the sword being in the Craig barony, then you must tell me where it really is immediately. I have to save my husband.”
“Save the Baron? Who would dare threaten the Baron? As far as I know, there is absolutely no one in the empire capable of defeating him. He is truly extraordinary. Whoever raised him deserves immense admiration.”
“What exactly is extraordinary about someone slowly tightening a noose around his own neck through his own schemes? Hm? If Murray Craig—the one who raised Deamon like that—were alive, I’d have a few words to say to him.”
“W-what did you say?”
