Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Descendants of the Heroes
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Marquis Nerus was a noble who married later in life compared to the power he held.
While most nobles wed in their late teens, Marquis Nerus did not marry until his thirties.
Unlike the headaches he caused those around him over his marriage prospects, he enjoyed a harmonious relationship with his wife and had six children.
Among them, the youngest and cherished daughter, Rukeya, was both the couple's most treasured child and their greatest worry.
The reason was that strange incidents frequently occurred around her.
Trees near her would suddenly shake, or potted plants would grow while the maids were briefly away—things like that.
The servants, fearing this, whispered that she might be a witch, so Marquis Nerus cracked down on any rumors spreading about his daughter.
The nobles knew this, so they avoided mentioning her in his presence. The exception was when another noble wanted to provoke him by bringing her up.
Rachel, unaware of this, had made a mistake.
‘If I answer poorly, I’ll be marked.’
Anyone but a fool could sense the situation.
Seeing the furious Marquis Nerus, Rachel realized her own recklessness.
‘Mentioning his daughter right off in our first meeting—can’t blame him for getting suspicious.’
Even so, Rachel spoke up.
“My hobby is reading, and among them, I love the founding tale of King Manus.”
She completely sidestepped the question.
Marquis Nerus furrowed his brow at the out-of-left-field response.
“What are you talking about?”
But Rachel continued calmly, unperturbed.
“That founding tale features the story of the seven heroes who defeated the Demon King.”
Marquis Nerus’s eyebrow twitched. He adopted an attitude of listening to see what she meant.
“Manus, Heros, Fidelis, Wirga, Remedias, Ice, Nerus. Of them, Sir Manus became king, and Sir Fidelis established the temple.”
“Correct. And?”
“The others became marquises as founding contributors to the Kudas Kingdom.”
This was no secret—just something anyone could find in history books. Though Henri’s study lacked any, so Rachel had heard it as a story.
“Though the family name differs, my ancestor is Sir Heros. My dream has always been to befriend another descendant of the heroes.”
However, the surviving descendants of the heroes were limited to the royal family, House Remedias, House Nerus, and House Heros. Including distant branches would increase the number, but only these bore the heroes’ names directly.
“But before I earned my title, my status made it an impossible dream.”
Rachel wore a wistful expression. Watching this, someone let out a sigh.
“Now that I have a title, I can’t befriend the prince or princess, can I? That leaves House Remedias and House Nerus, and I hear you have one around my age.”
Rachel gazed at Marquis Nerus with her blue eyes glistening.
“So that’s why I asked— I don’t understand why you’re angry with me.”
Rachel hadn’t answered the marquis’s question. Yet Marquis Nerus realized she wasn’t provoking him and quelled his anger.
“I see.”
“Will you allow me to associate with your daughter?”
It was the sort of question a man might ask the father of a woman he was courting, but Marquis Nerus felt no suspicion and gave an affirmative reply.
“Y-Yes, of course.”
Rachel smiled brightly in response.
“Thank you, Marquis Nerus. But since Lady Nerus knows nothing about me, would it be alright to arrange a meeting to build rapport?”
She was asking if she could invite his daughter. Normally, one would send an invitation and await acceptance or refusal.
But securing confirmation here meant she would have to attend once the invitation arrived.
‘He’s sensitive about his daughter, so he probably doesn’t send her to ordinary gatherings.’
“No need for that. Her own wishes matter most, so I’ll ask her—if she agrees, we’ll send the invitation from our side.”
Unlike before, Marquis Nerus didn’t approve immediately. But now was the time to withdraw.
“Thank you. I’ll await your positive response.”
Had she smoothly navigated the crisis? Those who had been speaking with Marquis Nerus before Rachel arrived now approached her.
“We’re not descendants of heroes, but our house has a daughter around Lady Peristera’s age.”
“If you invite her, we’d be delighted to attend.”
The one speaking now was a noble from Carion’s faction who had died before Demian became king in the previous regression.
Building connections at the banquet like this and getting invited to their estate would make finding the Curse Medium easier.
“Then I’ll ask my wife to prepare a tea party.”
“Thank you.”
Rachel chatted more with them before excusing herself to rest, citing fatigue.
She spotted Abyss, who seemed to be reflecting on his past negligence in gathering information. He wore his usual polite smile while conversing with the ladies.
‘Wow, that fake smile.’
Having worked with him, Rachel immediately saw through the facade.
‘By the way, is green in fashion these days?’
Glancing idly around the ballroom, she noticed many green dresses.
Each one was vibrant and beautiful on its own, but with so many in the same color, they blended together.
In contrast, Rachel stood out more in the yellow dress provided by the palace.
‘Blonde hair with a yellow dress—almost like…….’
“A chick?”
She’d thought she looked a bit like a chick herself, but she hadn’t expected anyone to say it outright.
Rachel looked at the man before her. She flinched.
“I greet Your Highness Demian.”
It was the third prince, Demian—the royal family’s notorious wastrel. He had women on either arm, and their attire marked them as no nobles.
From the atmosphere, many nobles were frowning.
This banquet was hosted by the king under the pretext of the appointment ceremony to soothe noble discontent.
Invitations specified dates: high nobles on the first and second days, lower ranks sequentially from the third, dispersing the crowd.
Neither Rachel nor Abyss would be here if they weren’t central to the appointment.
Yet Demian had brought prostitutes to the venue. Unable to distinguish venues, they chattered about how even a kid like her got invited to the ceremony.
“Tch, no dignity.”
Someone muttered. But it seemed not to reach Demian’s ears.
Demian raked his eyes over Rachel and sneered.
“Do they let chicks into parties these days?”
Getting on a wastrel’s bad side was trouble. Rachel bowed her head without responding.
Her short blonde hair draped over her face. But through the strands, her gaze fixed on Demian.
“Don’t you think my words make sense?”
Irritation laced his voice as his hand swung toward her. Just before the large hand struck her head, Rachel collapsed her body.
To any onlooker, it looked like Demian had moved to strike her, startling her into losing strength in her legs and falling.
A man who used violence against a woman was the worst kind. Doing so in public was even more so.
Noble ladies gasped sharply or screamed in shock, while men rushed to separate Demian and Rachel.
“Please maintain your dignity! What is this behavior?”
“How shameful—to lay hands on a defenseless woman!”
Everyone condemned Demian. Some asked Rachel if she was alright and offered hands.
Demian scowled at them, then drew the sword at his waist.
“Shut up, you old fogeys. Want me to make you?”
Rachel was stunned. She’d heard rumors about Demian, but not that he was this stupid. Even street thugs wouldn’t go this far.
‘No, how did he become king in the previous loop?’
The nobles fell silent. They had surrendered weapons at the palace entrance.
But that wastrel prince would truly cut if drawn. With no way to counter, silence was wisest.
Even those who had extended hands recoiled in alarm, unable to help her up.
“That’s the chick, right? The ungrateful wretch who denounced a baron and stole his title.”
‘Chick means baby chicken. Idiot.’
Too many errors to correct first.
Still, Rachel gleaned some info from Demian’s words.
He had come with intent to harass her. All the chick talk aside, he already knew about her.
‘Funding cut off, so here to throw a tantrum.’
“How could Father grant a title to something like that and call it pretty?”
“Oh my, even a brat like that gets a title?”
The prostitute beside Demian, oblivious to the mood, kept prattling.
The guards meant to intervene hesitated due to his status. They’d only move at bloodshed.
‘Prince Carion is nowhere in sight.’
To restrain Demian required someone of higher authority. The king, plagued by illness, had only attended the previous day’s ceremony before leaving.
With the king absent, only Carion could check Demian, but he was missing.
Demian raised his sword high. Facing the blue-gleaming blade, Rachel assumed a stance. But her crushed crinoline prevented movement.
Had she even one sword, she could’ve blocked a strike or two with her arms.
Clang!
Thinking herself doomed, a metallic ring echoed.
Peeking open at the sound from above, she saw a white shadow.
Silver hair caught the ballroom lights, shimmering yellow.
“Are you alright?”
At the familiar voice, hot emotions surged within Rachel.
Relief, grievance, joy—all at once.
“Enoch!”
“What are you?”
Demian snapped. Now Rachel saw Enoch blocking the sword with a fork.
“I thought the palace was safe, but apparently not.”
“Indeed.”
Rachel teared up at Enoch’s gentle tone.
‘Why the tears?’
She hadn’t felt fear. Until Enoch appeared, she’d just thought, ‘Guess I die again.’
Next loop’s checkpoint differed, so no need to chase Paris Emporus; just attend the first banquet and leave.
But Enoch popped up, and a single tear streamed down.
“You’re not alright? Are you hurt?”
Rachel shook her head vigorously.
She was fine. She had to be. She’d repeated death and regression countless times. It was familiar. Or so she thought.
Adrift alone in looping time, shared moments vanished.
To avoid madness, she had to stay optimistic. Believe in hope. That she could change the future, see it through.
Thus, she had to be fine. Even death became a step forward.
Analyze past failures, excise them fully from her history.
She thought she trusted family and comrades, but her subconscious didn’t.
Father who withheld affection, rebellious brother, mother who lost control in emotional outbursts, Abyss who distrusted her.
Though changed now, their early images lingered in her memory.
Vanished time sank into her subconscious, forming an obsession: she alone must succeed.
Pushing through exhaustion with training and mountains of documents—because no one else was reliable.
Yet now, Enoch stood solidly before her.