Three Weeks Later
April 27th dawned with a persistent drizzle.
Kirrik.
In the corridor of a luxurious mansion near the capital, Lizzy suddenly halted the wheelchair she was pushing and gazed out the window, lost in thought.
The marriage between the Alfred and Claudia families.
It was something that common sense deemed impossible.
Yet the fact that it had become possible meant that the Claudia family—more precisely, her eldest brother Roer—would have to bear some burdensome obligation on the darker side of things...
That was what Lizzy pondered.
Because the timing of handing the family headship to their second brother had been far too coincidental.
'Will the sacrifices we've made for our happiness... ever be repaid?'
Effort didn't guarantee dreams came true, just as the world brimmed with countless injustices and irrationalities.
If they were the only ones reduced to ashes in a blaze they'd ignited themselves, nothing could feel more unjust.
But even in a fire where no survivors were expected, miracles sometimes emerged—lives snatched from the jaws of death.
If the world operated on equivalent exchange, she wouldn't worry. But Lizzy knew all too well it didn't, so she sighed and resumed pushing the wheelchair.
'When will I reach Euclid rank?'
Mana couldn't be awakened postnatally.
It was a congenital blessing one had to be born with.
Thus, mana naturally grew alongside its host's body over time.
The growth rate and maximum potential were talents that divided those blessed with mana into haves and have-nots.
Ferzen and Uriel were prime examples of those with exceptional aptitude.
Of course, even if growth was slow and capped at mere Keter rank, ways existed to break through.
Didn't children from unfortunate families mature faster than their peers?
Mana, too, exploded in growth after enduring and overcoming great tribulations—not merely surviving them.
In truth, Lizzy's mana had surged dramatically enough to approach Euclid rank precisely because she'd despaired, broken, then resolved for revenge against Ferzen and steeled her will.
'So...'
Lizzy vaguely sensed it.
The day she fully overcame the trauma Ferzen had carved into her... she would undoubtedly surpass that man.
* * * * *
"Lizzy, smile a little..."
"No."
In the Claudia family's waiting room on the fourth floor of the capital's grand cathedral—a shrine dedicated to the Love God among the Five Blessings Gods—Lizzy shook her head at her brother's words, alone with him.
"I don't want to smile while deliberately ignoring our family's sacrifices."
"I haven't made any sacrifices..."
"Brother... I'm not a child anymore. No more lying helplessly in bed, day after day. So don't overprotect me. I'm an adult who can marry... and have children."
"..."
"No need to show me only the world's good, bright side now. I already know it's not like that..."
Gently stroking Roer's scarred, callused hand, Lizzy offered a wistful smile.
"We live together, die together. You don't have to solve everything alone. A family ship has no single captain. The course we sail... is by everyone's consensus."
"..."
Gazing down at Lizzy in her wheelchair, Roer silently recalled long-past memories flashing like a montage.
The Lizzy who could barely speak, babbling and reaching out with tiny, fern-like hands, beaming at him.
...She'd been so lovable that he understood why she monopolized their parents' affection.
When she'd toddle over, nestle into his arms, and act all cute and endearing...
...Even if the whole world turned against her, he'd sworn to remain her steadfast ally.
When she graduated to steadier steps, following him everywhere like a little lady...
...He'd wished she'd never leave his side.
Then, after Ferzen crippled her ankle, watching her waste away, unable to walk on her own...
...He'd vowed vengeance, even if it reduced him to ash.
"You've..."
But now, beyond those memories, in the present...
"...grown so much."
She was stepping out from his shadow, walking beside him instead.
"You just see me as a little girl. To others, I'm a full-fledged woman."
As if lightening the mood, Lizzy placed a hand on her hip and furrowed her brow like a scolding elder.
"I see..."
Gently stroking Lizzy's hair, Roer smiled.
Bang!
Then Uriel burst in without knocking.
"What's this? Such a touching atmosphere. Anyone would think you two were the bride and groom."
"That's too much of a joke."
"If you know it's a joke, play along... Anyway, come out. Time to greet the guests."
At 10:30 a.m., Roer wheeled Lizzy to the cathedral's fourth-floor entrance.
The massive doors swung open, revealing a bustling crowd beyond.
All of them, holding invitations, attending out of obligation.
Connections the Claudia family could never have forged alone.
Of course, their rift with Brutein loomed largest in their strained relations.
Though details hadn't leaked, it was clear the Claudias had clashed with Brutein and paid the price.
To carve a path, Roer had desperately vied for the Imperial Knights— the one place Brutein's influence couldn't touch, alongside the underworld and the palace.
"Welcome. Thank you for attending."
"Welcome. Thank you for coming."
Roer and Lizzy greeted guests in turn.
But the attendees offered perfunctory nods before heading to the Alfred side—the bride Elis and her sister Uriel—acting far warmer there.
It was the natural order of things, so Roer and Lizzy showed no outward reaction.
"..."
But one man didn't fawn over the Alfreds.
"W-Welcome... Th-Thank you for, attending..."
"Yes."
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein.
Exuding an aura that dismissed the Alfreds as beneath notice, he entered with his wife, responding indifferently.
Those who'd subtly favored the more approachable Alfreds over the aloof wall that was Ferzen... now turned their backs coldly, swarming him with sycophantic flattery.
Cruelty that blocked even the faintest ray of light.
Truly, Lizzy despised him.
* * * * *
'The princes haven't arrived yet...?'
Frowning at the milling crowd, Ferzen dispersed the ant-like throng and sat cozily with Euphemia.
"..."
Glancing sideways, he saw Euphemia fixated on the Alfred bride—glamorous in her wedding dress—Elis.
"It's just a political marriage anyway. Jealous?"
"Not really..."
Tearing her gaze away, Euphemia met his eyes.
Come to think of it, they'd never had a proper wedding.
The circumstances had made it feel meaningless and unnecessary.
"Excuse me."
"..."
Putting thoughts aside at the voice nearby, he turned.
"Veronica Riel Reina Rosenberg sends her greetings."
"Ah..."
Rosenberg surname, but lacking the "de Charles" middle name, she was likely Laura's mother.
"I'm the mother of Laura, who's in your debt."
"I see... No need for such formality. Raise your head. Laura's an excellent student."
"Her letters mention you often, Count."
"..."
Nobles often approached under pretense of inquiring about their children in his lectures.
Rosenberg had no need, yet she steered the talk relentlessly to Laura—blatantly so.
"She hasn't visited Rosenberg at all this period."
"..."
"Have you seen our daughter lately, Count?"
If Rosenberg wanted something, he'd promised to handle it through Laura first—no need to press now, especially from the lord's wife.
"She's eager to learn, visiting me privately even during break to ask questions. I shouldn't favor students, but her zeal earned a few private lessons."
Undoubtedly the Full Moon's Curse kept her away, but he couldn't say that outright—Laura needed a plausible excuse, and providing one was simple.
"Oh my..."
Hearing his reply, Rosenberg's wife lowered her fan, covered her mouth, glanced at Euphemia beside him, and smirked oddly.
"..."
Unclear what conclusion she'd drawn, but worth probing—
The crowd murmured.
Guests rose in unison, bowing toward the cathedral's main entrance.
'Even for the Alfreds' eldest daughter's wedding, both imperial princes attending...'
It screamed that the May 7th banquet would kick off the throne war.
Following the princes came the empire's chess pieces—the two kingdom princes.
Flanked by officials, ministers, and influential nobles, with a few knights guarding them.
Naturally, Ferzen scrutinized those knights...
'Not here...'
Ciel Midford was absent.
Three months in, he'd thought the protagonist might shine by the May 7th event, perhaps appearing at this prior wedding.
Miscalculation?
'Headed to the capital, but settled in Oberne?'
Not the proxy battleground between empires, but Oberne—pro-Elmark kingdom where kingship turnover was distant.
He'd assumed Ciel hid in one of the kingdoms to raise his value amid chaos.
Or still undistinguished?
Or perished in Ruerg's snowpeaks?
The merchant's sighting of Ciel en route might've been a lookalike— he'd hedged on the portrait anyway.
No Ciel, no interest—he dismissed it cleanly.
"Ah..."
Or tried to.
If Euphemia beside him hadn't trembled, staring in shocked awe.
"..."
Was he here?
Really?
Scanning the kingdom's knights again—still unclear.
But this woman's clumsy at lies and acting; her reaction rang true.
"Ah..."
Hand on Euphemia's waist, he pulled her close, stroking her hair, whispering tenderly as he leaned in.
"Don't be nervous. Princes imperial or royal—nothing to fear. To them, you're the intimidating one."
"Y-Yes..."
Stammering, she placed both hands over his on her waist, smiling awkwardly.
No strength in her grip.
Her rock-bottom self-esteem's best show of resistance.
Twitch!
Carefully, yet oppressively, he seized her hands and lowered them.
Then he felt it.
A thick, intense, viscous, piercing gaze.
"..."
Turning, it vanished.
But he knew.
Among the neatly disciplined kingdom knights, one stood out—disheveled.
Yes, that man...
That one...
Standing at fate's opposite pole, sword to his heart.
This novel's—this world's—protagonist: Ciel Midford.
Hair color changed.
Features radically altered.
But scrutinizing with certainty, traces remained.
'Welcome.'
Ciel Midford.
You don't know.
'May 7th...'
At the imperial banquet...
I will kill you. No matter what.