The Lecture: An Unexpected Harvest Beyond All Anticipation
Ferzen had never anticipated it—an unforeseen harvest.
Before long, the imperial family would host a grand banquet. That event would serve as the opening salvo, formally signaling the Ernes Empire's contest of strength with the Elmark Empire over the two kingdoms on the cusp of a royal succession... while doubling as the grand inauguration of the battle for the throne.
An invitation would nominally arrive in his name, but no one among the attendees would expect him to show. After all, in his twenty-four years, he had never once appeared at such gatherings.
'To enter the fray from the outset holding the Rosenberg card... that's no small merit.'
Even if Laura failed to persuade her father, the current head of House Rosenberg, it wouldn't matter. He could simply wield that truth as leverage and apply pressure.
Using Laura as a foothold was merely the bare minimum concession.
This was a matter tied to his very survival. If it didn't resolve properly, how could he afford them any further leniency?
"Ah... Young Master, welcome home."
As he entered the mansion, a maid who had been cleaning bowed deeply.
"Is Euphemia asleep?"
"Yes. Madam is resting."
"I see."
It was nearing seven o'clock, so Ferzen bathed first before heading to the wardrobe.
In truth, the wardrobe held only the plain suits from Azelia for outings, neatly arranged by their three colors.
'...'
The sight alone choked the breath from his lungs, yet it soothed his heart like a tranquil lake.
A few days prior, due to Lizzy, he had discarded one black suit... but in fact, he had also thrown out one red and one blue to match.
With four suits per color originally, he couldn't bear the imbalance otherwise.
Ironically, if Lizzy later compensated with a new suit, he would need to visit Azelia again to order one red and one blue, wasting effort to restore symmetry once more.
'Had I not been born a Brutein heir...'
He would surely be begging on the streets—or perhaps not even that. If given three coins in charity, he might rage at the asymmetry instead.
Chuckling wryly at his own absurd fancy, he changed clothes. Glancing at the clock, he saw he had a short while left, so he headed to the bedroom.
'She must have gone to bed late last night...'
Nearing eight o'clock, Euphemia showed no sign of waking, still curled fetal like a babe. Sitting by her head, Ferzen gently stroked her soft hair.
This position—hunched with her back pressed to him—was ideal for fondling her breasts from behind.
...Ciel.
"..."
As he leaned forward slyly, Euphemia's faint sleep-mumbled voice made him frown.
Ciel—how could he not know that name?
Was Euphemia, in her dreams, seeking solace in some petty happiness, a refuge from him?
The thought soured his mood, so his fingers traced her neck, and on reflex, he murmured,
"...You'll have to be punished, Euphemia."
It was instinct, a knee-jerk backlash.
"Mm..."
Suddenly, as if plunged into a nightmare, Euphemia furrowed her brow. She straightened her body, clasping her hands demurely over her chest.
"Ha..."
The sight drew a naturally pleased laugh from him.
The irritation vanished in a rush of refreshment. Deep in her subconscious, the trigger he had imprinted burned clear.
Stroke.
His hand rested on her abdomen, rising and falling with her wet, sleepy breaths, then pressed down lightly.
"Hic, mm..."
Her slender lashes trembled.
"Eek..."
Crooking his finger to prod her navel drew a faint, startled whimper.
Truly, a darling instrument played by his touch.
He wanted to toy with her more, but time pressed.
"I'll be back."
He kissed her pert nose softly, rose, left the bedroom, and boarded the carriage waiting in the garden.
'Come to think of it...'
Was today Euphemia's fertile day? He tracked her cycle meticulously—it shouldn't be wrong.
'She stayed up late unwanted, and with the lecture today, her body will ache more than usual...'
But skipping this chance, even a day, was unacceptable. The moment she bore his child would seal her utter subjugation.
'However...'
Later, when she nursed their child, one breast would empty naturally. Could he endure that sight?
Perhaps he'd fail, sprawling on her lap beside the babe, suckling contentedly.
'...'
No. Hiring a wet nurse would solve it—no need to shame himself so.
Dismissing the idle thought, he leaned back comfortably.
It was a warm, sunny morning.
* * * * *
'It hurts...'
Sitting in her fourth-floor office in the academy's main building, Uriel slowly kneaded her shoulders, then gently massaged the base of her breasts.
Her period—her moon cycle—had begun today, bringing unwelcome bodily discomfort.
Cramps were negligible, but oddly, her breasts swelled noticeably then, straining her shoulders and leaving her chest tender. Even her fitted clothes clung suffocatingly tight, jiggling brazenly with every step—a glaring distraction.
If only they were a bit smaller... but that was a futile wish.
'Quite the crowd...'
Peering out the window, the parking lot brimmed with carriages rivaling orientation day. The imperial mage corps especially stood out, entering the A Hall auditorium en masse with the Roswell elder.
Uriel marveled, then frowned upon realizing they gathered for Ferzen.
'I still... can't believe it.'
That loathsome man had successfully registered a paper on magical formula comprehension with the Magic Research Society.
A geometric one, no less. From dimensionless points to lines of length, areas of width, volumes of solidity... correlations once deemed insufficient for hierarchy and long discarded.
Releasing it freely for a month was astonishing too. Scholars would pay eagerly regardless.
With Brutein controlling sixty percent of the empire's minerals, such generosity must feel trivial.
Typically, perfected arcane knowledge stayed as family secrets, unshared. Publishing openly... was that magnanimity?
'Brutein lives up to Brutein...'
Flawed character aside, his vessel was vast indeed.
"Haa..."
Excluding Brutein, what did she have left? The words from days ago resurfaced, drawing a deep sigh as she pulled her hat low.
Taking them back would only highlight her own pitifulness.
'That unbreakable, arrogant pride remains...'
Wolves prowling, ready to bite her neck—yet he sharpened their teeth further, unthreatened. Rather than bend like reeds in the gale or snap like frail trees... he aimed to be the ancient oak defying the storm.
"Well played..."
Nearing nine, Uriel rose. She loathed attending, but as an elemental mage, how could she forgo such knowledge?
"Ow..."
Leaving her office, fresh pangs in her chest twisted her face as she rubbed it.
* * * * *
The vast auditorium in A Hall. The thirteen students for black magic—minus the absent Laura—sat drowsily up front, but the dignitaries in back choked the air.
The full imperial mage corps, led by the Roswell elder, plus notable capital mages—all eyes on the empty podium, awaiting the star.
Unlike the others, Lizzy thought,
'No...'
The surrounding murmurs praising Ferzen for his mystique and Brutein lineage sickened her.
Judging him solely on this paper? Fine. But...
'How much do you fools even know about him...'
Nausea surged. Not students, but theatergoers ogling his false glory. Clutching her wheelchair arms, she commanded her corpse servant and fled the hall.
Yet the long corridor from the entrance carried endless praise for Ferzen to her ears.
Each time, she yearned to seize them, shout rebuttals: That man isn't noble or pure—he's filth in a mask!
'I can't...'
She could, but the fallout terrified her. Publicly tarnishing honor without proof handed them perfect pretext—grounds for territorial war.
Screech.
Screech.
Unable to vent, lest she suffocate, Lizzy rushed to A Hall's rooftop, shoving open the barred door.
"..."
The warm spring breeze swept her hair, easing her strangled breath.
Everyone else, masked at a ball... This quiet terrace, her desperate escape, soothed her like a calm lake—a sanctuary.
"Ha, euph..."
Exhaling deeply, she screamed skyward into the cloudless blue, a howl of rage.
──What do you know about that trash to shower him with praise!
Her heart's venom, laced with grudge. The faint ache in her crushed right foot today—was no phantom pain.
──Judging by his pretty facade without piercing the rot inside!
Do you even grasp the vile ugliness he hides?!
Her frail shoulders heaved with excitement.
"Do you... even know... what you're praising..."
Even this outpour strained her weakened throat, stinging painfully. Clutching her skirt hem fiercely, she panted to swallow her fury.
"Who's there...!"
But then, a faint cigar scent wafted to her nose.
Heart lurching, Lizzy whipped around.
Nothing. No one visible... yet from the opposite corner, white smoke drifted faintly on the wind.
"Lizzy."
That unforgettable man's voice rang out simultaneously...
"Hic, eek!"
Lizzy choked on a hiccup, her lower belly tingling sharply. Reflexively clamping her legs tight, she paled in terror.