Chapter 1: Murdering the Fiancée
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 1: Murdering the Fiancée
There was once a man who became an Archmage through nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred.
His name was Ferda Rosnova.
Born as the third son of the Rosnovas, a prestigious family of knights, he was exceptionally frail. As the child of a concubine—and possessing blue eyes instead of the lineage’s signature brown—even the household servants made a habit of looking down on him.
Finally, in the year Ferda turned eighteen, his father, Erembalt Rosnova, brought him a single piece of news.
"Your engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova has been arranged."
To an outsider, it might have sounded like a simple political match. But among the nobility, an 'engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova' was an idiom. To put it simply, it was a death sentence.
To accept was to walk straight into the grave; to refuse was to defy the family’s will and face exile.
"I will leave, as you wish, Father."
"Very well."
Ferda, valuing his life above all else, chose to live—even if it meant casting aside the Rosnova name and venturing into the cold world alone.
A profound sense of betrayal took root in young Ferda’s heart. He could not forgive his older brothers who had belittled him, nor the servants who had mocked him. But the one who incensed him most was his father.
You knew how hard I was trying...
To be recognized as a member of the family, he had forced his weak body to move every single day. He had practiced until he coughed up blood and his hands were thick with calluses. He remembered the way his father had watched him back then, as if his efforts were commendable.
However, as his progress remained stagnant for years, that expression had gradually changed. It was as if his father realized he had been raising a cuckoo in his nest. Ultimately, as he was being cast out, his father’s gaze was no different than if he were looking at filth.
Even days later, that gaze remained vivid in his mind.
I won't forgive you.
His sorrow transformed into rage, burning into a white-hot flame of vengeance.
I'll make you all regret abandoning me.
Ferda clenched his fists tight. At that moment, he felt something writhing and awakening within his body. It was the moment a Circle—the ring where mana rotates within the Dantian—was pierced.
On the day Ferda Rosnova was exiled from his family, he became a Mage.
* * *
Awakening as a Mage is a blessing. On the Serdes Continent, one's status changes the moment they can wield magic.
However, awakening at the age of eighteen, as Ferda did, was usually a tragedy. It was far too late.
All Mages use their inner strength as their driving force. To master that concept, one typically has to train from a young age. If the foundation isn't laid in childhood, a person must endure several times the pain to learn it later in life.
That should have been the case, but for Ferda, a late awakening was no obstacle. The driving force that pulled up his mana was none other than hatred and a thirst for revenge.
— Look at him, trying to play at being a Mage at his age.
— He said he’d do anything he’s told, so just treat him like a useful slave until graduation.
The senior Mages who looked down on him and the arrogant juniors only added fuel to the fire. Because he had started late, his sources of resentment were everywhere.
Bark all you want. I’ll make sure you all lick every inch of my boots!
His obsession with revenge never flickered; instead, it made him stronger by the day. Soon, he not only surpassed the promising seniors but easily eclipsed the master who had taught him. For a long time afterward, his boots remained polished to a mirror sheen, without a single speck of dust.
Ferda believed his power was a blessing.
When I hate someone, I become stronger.
The world was full of things to hate. As he grew stronger at a rapid pace, his personality became noticeably ferocious.
By the time Ferda reached the rank of Archmage—a 6th Circle user, of which there were fewer than a hundred on the continent—he finally crossed the line. He returned to the Rosnova family that had cruelly discarded him and slaughtered them all.
He forced the servants who had insulted him to take up swords and butcher one another. He sowed discord between his eldest and second brothers, fueling their mutual hatred until they brought about their own destruction.
And his father, the source of his deepest rift, was forced to watch it all. Seeing everything he had built crumble into ash, Erembalt finally lost his mind, aging decades in an instant. He became a broken man, a ghost wandering the world of the living.
Thus, everything associated with the Rosnova family vanished, except for Ferda. The revenge he had craved for so long was achieved in the most twisted form possible.
What he felt in his chest was pure catharsis.
...There are still enemies left.
And an unquenchable thirst.
Ferda was no longer sane. He had become a monster that listened only to his own malice.
I must eliminate them all. To do that, I need even greater power.
The rage that had been directed at his family did not cool; it simply turned elsewhere and burned deeper. People, unable to endure his tyranny, drew their blades. He became the public enemy of the continent, and dozens of schemes were set in motion to kill him.
But trials only made Ferda stronger.
Ferda finally reached the highest realm a human could attain. He was forty-five years old. At that young age, he reached the 8th Circle, known as a Mana Lord. He had become the sole Archmage of the continent, with the world beneath his feet.
It’s not enough.
Yet, he still craved more power. Even though he held everything under his heel, the flame in his heart would not fade. That flame whispered to him:
They still resent me. They will surely try to kill me again someday.
Ferda, knowing the cycle of hatred and revenge all too well, could not let that happen.
To keep them from moving... I must crush and eliminate them all.
To create his own utopia, Ferda began to covet the realm of the gods. After five years of research, he discovered the ultimate ingredient to reach that place.
It was the heart of a Red Dragon.
He wondered if it was a cruel prank of fate.
The Archduchess of Valdrova.
His "fiancée." The pretext Erembalt had used to cast him out. The true identity of that being was a Red Dragon.
* * *
— Fate is a cruel thing indeed.
Strangely enough, it was the dragon—the strongest being on the continent—who spoke those words.
Red scales and magnificent horns. Intimidating eyes and wings capable of blanketing the world were the symbols of her status. But now, she was broken. Scales were peeled away, and her horns were snapped, with crimson blood streaming from the cracks.
The one who had driven a dragon—a creature that could topple kingdoms—into this corner was a single Mage.
— To think the one who was supposed to be my fiancé would come to kill me.
Ferda smiled. It was a hollow, dominant smirk. Though he had driven a dragon to its death, his own body was far from intact.
"It would be better for you to die quietly by my hand, Valdrova."
— I know... that I bear the name of a tyrant. However, for these past decades, even before you were born, I have never once shown myself. Nor have I ever harmed a single human. So... I cannot understand why you harbor such hostility.
"You say you did nothing?"
Valdrova’s calm tone grated on his nerves. Irritation surged within Ferda.
"You are the source of my misfortune."
From the moment he was made a sacrifice for that engagement, everything in Ferda’s life had twisted. Ferda poured out his emotions fervently.
"Because of you! Because of your useless greed in seeking a fiancé, the excuse to kick me out of my family was perfected!"
— Was that... because of me?
"Yes! Because you indulged in useless greed! That greed of a ferocious dragon trying to take a human as a partner birthed this misfortune, do you understand!?"
Ferda exhaled sharply, then let out a bitter laugh.
"But at the same time, I am grateful. Thanks to that, I was able to reach this position."
— Is that so...
Valdrova’s face twitched strangely. Was she angry? She might be preparing a final struggle. It didn't matter. By venting those twisted emotions, he was able to circulate his mana. Ferda was ready to respond.
— Yes, I see. I understand now.
Valdrova’s massive body moved. She bared her claws—sharp, sturdy blades that could tear knights apart with a single swing. Ferda reflexively prepared a magic circle. It was late, but he would at least take her down with him.
She raised her claws, but they were not aimed at Ferda.
Squelch!
The claws pierced her own chest. Ferda froze. What was the meaning of this self-harm? She tore through her own tough hide, exposing her internal organs.
— You said your magic requires my heart, did you not?
Snap!
The sound of blood vessels tearing echoed in the clearing. In that moment, Ferda understood. She was trying to destroy her own heart.
"No!"
Ferda fired a barrage of magic at her face.
"No, you filthy lizard! Stop right now!"
Ferda could not let her destroy the heart. This was his one and only chance to reach the 9th Circle. He could never let this opportunity slip away!
The scales protecting her head shattered into fragments. But Valdrova’s hand did not stop. The sound of tearing vessels and muscle continued.
— You said you needed my heart?
Valdrova’s claws pulled back from her chest. Clutched in her grip was a lump of flesh larger than Ferda’s head.
"...The heart?"
It was perfectly intact. What she had done was an extraction, not destruction.
— Take it.
Valdrova’s half-destroyed head spoke. If it were the usual Ferda, he would have snatched it up with a word of thanks. But even the twisted Ferda could not comprehend her actions. He stared blankly at the heart.
"...Why did you make such a choice?" Ferda asked. "If you had fought... you could have easily killed me. You couldn't have been unaware of that."
— If I had made a final struggle... you would surely have died as well. I knew this.
"Then why didn't you?"
— Because you became unhappy because of me.
Ferda remained frozen. Valdrova no longer had the strength to hold up her head.
— I... have hated myself for a long time.
A thick sense of loathing seeped through her calm tone.
— I hated this ferocious blood flowing through these veins. I hated the impulse to destroy and rage for no reason. What I hated most was that those things terrified people.
The color faded from her golden eyes. Something swelled within them and rolled down her cheek. It was a tear.
A dragon’s tears are different from a human’s. Dragons are not emotional beings who shed tears over simple sadness. Yet, those tears seemed to be crafted from sorrow itself.
— If I die, everything will be resolved, yet I dared to wish for happiness while alive... My foolish dream has caused trouble for too many people.
"..."
— Since you became unhappy because of me, mortal—you who suffered due to my selfishness—I hope you will be happy because of me. That is the last thing... I can do for you.
With her final breath came a lingering last word.
— Be happy, my fiancé...
The hidden tyrant of the continent, Valdrova, thus met her end.
Ferda stared blankly at Valdrova, who had quietly closed her eyes. For the first time since he had become a Mage out of rage, he felt a strange emotion.
Why does this feel so unpleasant?
Ferda instinctively placed a hand on his chest. He was a man who had crossed countless corpses to get here. He had killed all who hindered him and seized everything he needed to grow. He knew himself to be a broken man, lacking conscience and empathy.
Yet, her death was somehow holding him back. Like a curse she had laid upon him.
Don't think, Ferda.
Move forward. Take what you intended to take. You have already crossed the point of no return.
He picked up the object she had pulled out. The Dragon’s Heart. The source that could lead to the 9th Circle, the dream of every Mage. An item that could elevate one from an Archmage to the rank of a Demigod.
He would absorb this. And as he always had, he would take revenge on the things that made him unhappy. He would continue the revenge whose very reason he had forgotten.
Ferda absorbed the Essence contained within that heart. As the Essence of a dragon that had lived since ancient times flowed through his veins, his blood began to boil. Along with the influx of immense power, Ferda felt an anomaly.
This is...
A sensation that allowed him to feel Valdrova’s life.
Are these her emotions?
Those emotions became a part of Ferda before he could even resist.
"Ah..."
Ferda let out a gasp. His mind began to clear with startling clarity. The hatred and thirst for revenge that had been the driving force of his power were vanishing. Had her blood purified Ferda’s mind?
No.
The emotions he felt from that heart were closer to negation. It was a feeling as if he were standing at the edge of an abyss, incomparable to Ferda’s petty hatred.
A Red Dragon who had lived for thousands of years but had never once been loved. Wrath of Uncontrollable Power, Evil Red Dragon, Dragon Slayer... Titles based on infamy were layered over her image, making Valdrova a complete tyrant in the eyes of the world. These were the curses she had accumulated over the ages.
Yet, Valdrova had loved those trivial things. That was why she chose to hide herself. Because she loved everyone, she endured loneliness and sorrow steadfastly. And Ferda had snapped that final thread.
That was why Ferda’s mind had cleared. Ferda realized that the rage and hatred he felt were so utterly trivial.
"Ah..."
A small gasp escaped Ferda’s lips. For twenty years, Ferda had never once been sane. Now, for the first time, he could be his whole self.
"What... have I done?"
Blinded by emotion, he had been consumed by power and destroyed everything. Someone’s family, someone’s village... Was that truly what he wanted?
"Ah..."
Ferda collapsed where he stood. Now that his mind was clear, his life flashed before his eyes.
The 1st Circle was the sorrow of being kicked out of his family. The 2nd Circle was the rage of being mocked for having no talent. Inferiority, resentment, jealousy, betrayal... Ferda’s Circles were all built upon negative emotions.
He had not hesitated to betray if it meant survival, and he had repeatedly acted as a turncoat to grow stronger. Thus, Ferda had become an 8th Circle Archmage.
And the emotion he felt upon reaching the 9th Circle was...
Emptiness...
Everything had become meaningless. At the same time, he was angry. Valdrova—that woman had turned everything he had done until now into a mistake.
"Stupid, witless woman..."
Ferda tried to resent Valdrova. But there was no surge of power as before. He knew well that these were words he didn't even mean. In truth, the stupid one was himself.
In the first place, she was merely a pretext. Since Erembalt had made up his mind to kick Ferda out, he would have found an excuse even if it wasn't her. He wasn't unaware of that, yet he had taken his anger out on her.
Valdrova had accepted his foolish sophistry. And she had wished for one person to be happy. The one who was trying to kill her. Sincerely.
Ferda let out a hollow laugh. Contrary to Ferda’s heart, the 9th Circle magic circle was glowing brilliantly. There was only one spell a Mage who reached the 9th Circle could cast.
'Wish.'
It was an absolute power that defied the providence of all things, granting whatever one desired. It was a simple spell that required only a single word.
He held what he had wanted so badly in his hand, but Ferda could not speak, as if his throat were blocked. He couldn't think of a wish.
What was it that I wanted so much?
To eliminate everything that rejected him. That was the wish of the madman Ferda. The current Ferda had no such dream. He suddenly recalled the dream he had drawn in his childhood. In the drawing he had clumsily made with colored pencils...
It was just to have a modest family and live peacefully.
That was also the wish Valdrova had held. But he couldn't make such a wish now. He couldn't live comfortably after killing so many people. Above all...
Ferda had killed the dragon who should have been his fiancée, and Valdrova had met her death at the hands of the man who should have been her fiancé. This was no different from murdering his own bride with his own hands. How could such a man have happy imaginings of starting a family?
— Be happy, my fiancé...
His revived conscience repeated those words, tormenting him. He blamed himself for having run only toward power for decades, and he loathed his own pettiness for remembering everyone’s names just to take revenge. That emotion, which he ultimately could not express in words, his heart understood.
"It's meaningless..."
The magic circle glowed brilliantly. When the light completely faded, the 9th Circle Archmage vanished without a trace.
* * *
"...rda?"
"..."
"Ferda."
His consciousness returned. As the bright light cleared and a voice called his name, Ferda opened his eyes. Before him sat not a bleeding dragon, but a middle-aged man.
"Ferda? Are you listening?"
"...Yes?"
"What do you mean, 'yes'? Your father was speaking, and you've just been staring blankly this whole time?"
The middle-aged man in front of him frowned. Ferda knew who this man was.
Erembalt Rosnova.
The being he had once affectionately called Father. He looked healthy, unlike the last time Ferda had seen him. Had he died and gone to the afterlife? For that to be the case, he felt a profound sense of déjà vu.
Is this... that?
Ferda understood quickly. There was only one time he had been alone with his father, who had never properly spoken with him in his life.
"Your engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova has been decided. It is a matter decided by the state, so I hope you will follow it without a word of complaint."
Engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova.
I didn't die; I returned to this time?
To the time he had considered the beginning of his misfortune. To the moment that had been the starting point of his uncontrollable thirst for revenge.
Why?
He couldn't understand it with his head yet. But his heart already knew. It knew what he had wished for in that emptiness.
"Hah."
An awkward exclamation escaped Ferda’s lips.
"You brat, are you sighing while I'm speaking?"
"I'm sorry. It's nothing."
"Repeat what your father just said."
"You said there is an engagement with the Archduchess of Valdrova."
"You know well what that means, don't you?"
"I know."
Get out of this house. Ferda, having understood the subtext, answered his father.
"I understand."
"Yes, you must have suffered a lot... Eh?"
Erembalt looked again, his eyes wide. "Wh-what did you just say?"
Ferda looked down at the documents before him and answered once more. The meaning of this regression was to face what he could not do in his previous life.
"I will do it—that engagement."
He would formally enter into an engagement with the tyrant Valdrova.