Three Years Later (1)
Her eyes weren't those of someone who had just woken from sleep. They were clear and alert, as if she had never dozed off in the first place. She lay cradled in Leo's arms, enveloped by his thick, long arm draped over her. Elizabeth carefully lifted his arm away and gazed at him. He was snoring away—kooo—completely oblivious that she was awake. Snuuup… Elizabeth buried her nose in the nape of his neck and inhaled deeply. The scent unique to him invaded her nostrils, muddling her mind. Haa. She pulled her face away and propped herself up on her elbows. Then, very quietly, she slipped a black ring from her pocket. On the surface, it was just an ordinary silver band. Even a cursory probe with mana revealed nothing special about it. So that must be why Dad hadn't noticed it. Even though it was a demon's ring.
"If you have this, you can talk to me. I can teach you magic through it, give you all sorts of advice. Here, take it."
It was a demon's ring. From a demon who, a thousand years ago, had treated humans like slaves and committed unspeakable atrocities. And the one who gave her this ring was none other than Oblivius, the Demon of Memory, one of the most horrific of the Ten Demon Lords. She didn't know what his scheme was, but using the ring was undoubtedly what he wanted.
"…"
Elizabeth held up the ring and raised her other hand. It was exactly the right size for her middle finger. The Founding Emperor had warned her explicitly in his lifetime.
"—Never compromise or make deals with demons. Demons are evil incarnate by their very nature. Their whispers are always sweet, but destruction lurks behind them every time."
"—The moment you give demons what they want, you will lose everything."
The Founding Emperor had learned this through bitter experience paid in blood. That's why he warned his descendants: No matter how desperate the situation, no matter how tempting the offer, never, ever make a deal with a demon.
I know. I know. I know, damn it.
But doesn't it come with that kind of power? The Demon of Memory had manipulated the memories of twenty thousand people. And that wasn't just tampering with memories—it had rewritten world history. That's the kind of power the demon who gave her this ring possessed.
"…"
She cautiously started to slide the ring onto her middle finger. That's when it happened.
"Eli…"
Dad called her name. Elizabeth yanked off the ring that had nearly slipped on and whipped around.
"Sorry…"
"…"
A small voice. But Dad was still asleep. His face twisted in pain as he mumbled on in his sleep. Sorry, sorry… He kept repeating "sorry" over and over.
What do you have to be sorry for? What could you possibly be so sorry to me about?
Elizabeth gazed down at him silently. She'd never seen Dad talk in his sleep like this before.
—Drip.
"…!"
In that moment, a single tear trickled down. Dad was crying as he offered his incomprehensible apology. Hot tears soaked the pillow. Elizabeth stared at him in a daze. What could have broken him like this? He was always so gentle and kind, yet unyieldingly firm as iron when it mattered. The man who had never shed a tear through any hardship—
was crying.
It was something that had never happened in the fifteen years she'd known him since becoming his daughter.
"Sorry, sorry…"
His voice was feeble, as if it might shatter at any moment. Dad was apologizing to Elizabeth. Pitifully, softly, repeating "sorry" again and again. Elizabeth froze, her body turning to ice. Why? Why on earth? Could it be because he kissed another woman in front of me? She shook her head. No, that wasn't it. Elizabeth focused on his pillow. Tear stains. Not from the tears flowing now, but old ones that had dried long ago. Proof that he'd been crying for some time.
"Everything… I'm sorry…"
Dad's apologies tore at her heart with aching pity. She wanted to ask what he had to be so sorry for, but she held back. There was a more important moment ahead. Elizabeth wiped his tears and drank them. Salty. Is this the taste of sorrow? Dad's tears didn't stop. He kept mumbling his meaningless apologies. Elizabeth leaned in close, peering at his face. She could feel his faint breath.
"…Don't be sorry."
Because I'm the one who's sorry. Apologizing inwardly, Elizabeth leaned down further.
Smack.
The soft sound of lips meeting echoed faintly. She could no longer deny it. When Hildegard von Quyrhalstein kissed Dad, she had felt jealousy. Yes, it was jealousy. The jealousy of a woman whose beloved man was stolen away.
Love. I love Dad. Not as a daughter—as a woman.
I know. I know this is wrong. It can never be accepted or forgiven. I'll be branded a filthy whore. Socially ruined. My friends will abandon me. I'll face legal punishment. Everyone will look at me with eyes full of contempt.
But what can I do?
I've already fallen in love with him. I can't give him up. She didn't know exactly when her feelings for him had been overtaken by "love." Sometime around age ten, a different emotion had begun to bud toward Dad. As a child, she hadn't understood it, but as she grew a little older, she started to. She wanted to monopolize his attention. She wanted him to look only at her.
……
The moment their lips touched, the emotions she'd suppressed all this time exploded in an instant. Like a dam bursting, her restraint overflowed. A thrilling shiver raced down her spine. Elizabeth's shoulders trembled as she devoured his lips. She was careful, so careful not to wake him. She sucked deeply on his upper and lower lips, her eyes roaming his face. Wet, greedy sounds echoed between their mouths—sounds that should never come from between a father and daughter. Knowing that full well, Elizabeth couldn't stop. His scent, his breath, his apologies—they all drove her down an irreversible path.
Dad didn't wake. Even a Sword Master was human. When tired, he slept; when hungry, he ate. In a safe place, his guard naturally relaxed. Elizabeth savored the lips of the man she loved, cautious yet desperate.
Clink…
The demon's ring fell to the floor. She decided not to use its power. Surely, using it would let her win his love. The Demon of Memory could manipulate his memories however she wanted. But that's not what I want. Love achieved by forcibly altering memories isn't love. It's nothing more than vile violence. What Elizabeth wanted was simple: true love, built on mutual understanding and genuine empathy. She had no need for false emotions.
Elizabeth truly wished for this: Even now, when she could only express her love in secret, someday she could confess it openly, without shame. And beyond that—for him, the man she loved, to return her warm affection. Not a bond forged by lies and force, but love born from hearts truly connecting. That was Elizabeth's earnest dream.
Time neither races nor drags. It simply flows.
In the capital of the Hesenia Empire, the newly built grand theater in Hessen Palace stood as the largest and most magnificent in the world, erected under the iron-fisted pressure of the new emperor.
"This is the most enjoyable play I've seen all year. Ho there! Invite the actors to the imperial palace later. They more than deserve to dine with me!"
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Joshua, cloaked in purple, emerged from the theater thoroughly satisfied. His imperial guard and attendants followed in a throng. Joshua mounted his massive black warhorse. From his elevated vantage, he looked down imperiously on the masses. He alone rode in the procession. Like a triumphant general, Joshua advanced slowly, leisurely. Arrogance gleamed in his sweeping gaze.
The citizens of Hessen shrank back in preemptive fear from the emperor's passage. Young and old, men and women alike averted their eyes; those indoors shut their windows and doors. The once-bustling streets of Hessen fell silent. Only the clear clop-clop of the black horse's hooves pierced the hush.
The young emperor, now thirty, surveyed the scene from horseback. Everyone respected him. No—revered him. Praised him. The most noble being in this empire, this world. Thus, he wore the laurel crown and purple cloak. Heir to the Founding Emperor's blood, a natural genius who had reached the pinnacle of magic: 9th Circle. Joshua had touched the limit of magic through diligent training. Past emperors typically peaked at 7th or 8th Circle. He had surpassed them all.
Partly due to his overwhelming genius, but also because he had ample time. The empire revolved around its emperor, leaving rulers perpetually swamped—sleeping only three hours a day. Their innate talent couldn't fully bloom. Joshua, however, had abandoned governance altogether. Time was his only excess. He attended plays and operas, cavorted with whores, slept deeply—and still had time left. More than any predecessor to study magic.
Of course, time alone doesn't make every emperor reach 9th Circle. Joshua had always been exceptional, but post-9th Circle, no one could oppose him. Duke Arnonia? Not even worth the effort. He'd have crushed him long ago if he wanted. He spared him out of laziness. Noble support? Unnecessary. Opposition? Kill them. He'd executed numerous rebellious nobles in various ways. Now, none could stop him. The empire was wholly his. Even foreign kings watched his mood. He was the absolute sovereign of this world.
And yet.
…Boring.
His expression hardened coldly, as if the play's joy had never touched him—like a jaded elder weary of life. The theater had amused him briefly, but minutes later, the thrill vanished.
He slept in opulent chambers, dined on exotic delicacies thrice daily, embraced stunning beauties.
So why this emptiness?
Was it ennui of existence? As crown prince, he'd craved power. When his father created the Senate to share it, he'd thought the old man mad. Days of persuasion failed; his father's resolve only hardened. So he killed him. Slayed his own father for power.
…But power's fruit was sweet only at first bite, bitter after. Wielding it endlessly dulled the thrill. Like beauties losing allure with daily embrace, so too power. He took up new hobbies: piano, violin, dance, swordsmanship. Hesenia's blood excelled in magic and beyond. Master one, conquer ten. Four years with a master, and he surpassed them. Lately, magic was his passion. The genius emperor found joy in magical breakthroughs—life's sole solace. But now, he'd hit a growth wall. 9th Circle was humanity's limit. No one had ever surpassed it. Without the Omangseong Blessing, the next realm—10th Circle—was reserved for its bearers alone. Joshua, lacking it, could never reach it, no matter what. That harsh truth irked and frustrated him.
If only I had the Omangseong Blessing…
"Your Majesty."
The captain of the imperial guard addressed him—a man who'd stood by him since the coup. The empire's greatest swordsman. But Joshua kept him close for his perceptiveness. No blind flattery; he anticipated needs perfectly. What servant could be more convenient?
"What is it?"
"A report on the Ten Demon Lords."
"Ah, right. Still haven't caught it?"
"…My apologies."
He'd dispatched substantial forces to encircle the Ten Demon Lord sighted in the east—about 100,000 troops. A spectacular failure.
"I didn't expect much anyway. But I heard other demons are appearing too."
"Yes."
Since the Ten Demon Lord's emergence, demons had cropped up worldwide. Experts saw it as signs of the demons defeated by the Founding Emperor a millennium ago regrouping for invasion. Indeed, sightings spanned east, central, and west. The demons attacked viciously, laying waste to regions. High mages had no respite; slack off, and demons rampaged. They hunted demons sleeplessly. Joshua occasionally joined, not for the empire's sake, but to unleash his 9th Circle might freely. How many had he slain? Around twenty-three, he thought. Civilian casualties from stray spells? Collateral for the greater good.
The captain continued. "Next, a report on the imperial princess."
"Found her?"
"…My apologies. Not yet."
How many times had he heard that? Over five thousand, for sure, though he couldn't say exactly. The emperor's face was impassive.
"Tch. Can't find her in eight years? She's probably dead."
Eight years. Since he killed his father and ascended, losing his sister. It didn't feel that long, yet here it was. Joshua at twenty-two was now nearly thirty. She'd be eighteen now, right? She'd been so pretty as a child. He wondered how she'd grown. Suddenly curious about his last remaining sibling. He'd killed his other brother for plotting rebellion, and other royals too. Only Yulia Hesenia Stella remained.
"Keep searching anyway. Find her, no matter what."
It wasn't about marrying her off to Duke Arnonia anymore. What starts must finish. Joshua was certain she lived. Perhaps the shared blood of the Founding Emperor pulled them. Blood was mysteriously magnetic. It told him: She's out there, alive somewhere.