Ferzen von Schweig Brutein
"Ah..."
Euphemia held her breath, staring up at the crimson eyes gazing down at her from the darkness without a word. When Ferzen finally reached out a hand, she squeezed her eyes shut.
"..."
But contrary to her fear, Ferzen merely locked the door before staggering over and collapsing onto the bed with his unsteady body.
"Don't just stand there. Come here."
Though she desperately wanted to lie down on the floor and sleep separately, Euphemia doubted he would allow it. So she slowly approached Ferzen's side, turned her back to him, and lay down.
"Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg."
"Y-Yes...?"
"Get up."
As expected, he had no intention of letting her sleep peacefully. At Ferzen's command, Euphemia clutched the blanket tightly in her small hands and curled up her body.
"Ah!"
But as if to show her resistance was futile, Ferzen grabbed her upper body and forced her upright, then spoke in a tone thick with irritation.
"Sleep with the pillow properly aligned."
With the help of his quantification ability, Ferzen straightened the tilted pillow before lying down again, his face finally relaxed as he wrapped an arm around Euphemia's waist.
"N-No...!"
She could endure the arm several times thicker than hers constricting her body. But when that large hand—the same one that had lightly pressed down on her head that night she was forced to consummate—slipped under her clothes, Euphemia gasped and twisted away.
"Stay still."
"Ah, it hurts...!"
Tears pricked at her eyes from the rough, unyielding grip on her breast. Trembling violently, Euphemia grabbed Ferzen's wrist with her own hands in desperate plea.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through to feed you properly? Endure this much at least."
What was he even talking about? Euphemia couldn't grasp the meaning behind his words, let alone know how to respond.
Not expecting her to understand anyway, Ferzen buried his face in the nape of her neck, exhaling hot breath as he caressed her body with the gentle touch one might use on expensive porcelain.
Normally, people felt calm and peace gazing at vibrant green. To Ferzen, Euphemia was exactly that—a source of tranquility.
As the intoxication overtaking his body, the fatigue from using mana, and the mental strain of suppressing his OCD compulsion slowly melted away thanks to her, Ferzen surrendered to the waves of drowsiness without resistance.
A fleeting urge to escape crossed her mind, but the thought of this sensitive man waking with a hangover terrified her even more. So Euphemia lay silently, breathing shallowly.
"Ngh..."
Following the rise and fall of her abdomen with his breath, Ferzen's hand moved lazily, brushing past her navel. Euphemia shuddered at the chilling sensation but bit her lip, forcing her eyes shut in pity for herself reacting to such an unconscious motion.
Thus, the next morning, when rustling sounds made Euphemia open her eyes, she saw Ferzen—frowning at his hangover but impeccably adjusting his attire without a single wrinkle.
"You're awake."
"..."
They weren't close enough for morning greetings, so Euphemia simply nodded in response.
"I told them to bring breakfast here. After you eat, bathe, and we'll leave immediately."
"Alright..."
Responding half-heartedly, Euphemia turned her head. Something felt off—and sure enough, a drizzling rain pattered outside.
As she gazed blankly out the window, a soft knock announced breakfast, and a feast was laid before her.
"What's wrong?"
"It's... a bit much..."
"You seem to have a healthy appetite, so I made arrangements."
"..."
As a woman, Euphemia didn't appreciate the comment, but recalling yesterday, she couldn't exactly deny it. She ate quietly without protest.
After filling her stomach simply and finishing her bath, Euphemia bid farewell to Roberon Baron and boarded the carriage following Ferzen.
"When we arrive in Brutein, I'll introduce you to a skilled tailor. Until then, make do with those shabby clothes. The north's aesthetic is overly focused on practicality..."
"They're not shabby...!"
"..."
Before she could finish, Ferzen eyed her impassively and spoke.
"They are shabby. You've tried to hide the seams, but they're visible. And the white fabric is so muddied it's hard to overlook."
"This is...!"
"Yes. Lack of money, no doubt. I understand. But Euphemia—if you truly don't see how shabby they are, I'll be disappointed."
"..."
"Those who don't recognize filth as filth, insignificance as insignificance, shabbiness as shabbiness... Such people lacking discernment and refinement are called lowly."
The pattering drizzle created a gentle rhythm inside the carriage, mingling with Ferzen's voice as it drilled steadily into Euphemia's ears.
She had thought her life free of shame. So why must it crumble so pathetically under a heel that trampled it without resistance?
Clenching her teeth, Euphemia lifted her head defiantly. She wanted to retort—not denying her lowliness, but questioning his own discernment for taking such a wife.
"Don't be pathetic. Defending wounded pride against valid criticism only makes you uglier."
As if reading her mind, his words cut her off. Euphemia dropped her head in defeat.
What a headache.
Things had leaned toward merging Ferzen's ego with Lee Seojin's... No, honestly, at this point, calling Lee Seojin's ego dominant felt off.
At first, he'd thought so. But even with three more years of life, Lee Seojin's ego—stained with a monotonous, boring, exhausting routine like a hamster wheel—wasn't intense enough to fully suppress Ferzen's.
More accurately, Ferzen's ego was gradually coloring Lee Seojin's. Of course, as a modern man, Lee Seojin had introduced some ethical shifts. But in all other aspects, Ferzen's ego overwhelmingly dominated.
Honestly, distinguishing the two egos was growing hazy. He felt the need to apologize to Euphemia somehow and mend things after that conversation—but no regret stirred.
He'd merely corrected her lack of noble decorum. Why apologize for that? It felt utterly natural.
Forcing a contrived apology to soothe her would only lead to worse words or escalation. So he kept his mouth shut.
Whoosh!
The carriage pressed quietly through the pouring rain.
Central Region—Brutein.
People called it the cradle of ores. Numerous mines rich in various minerals had been discovered, and with six iron mines alone, any rise in Brutein's iron prices signaled impending war.
In metallurgy, it was unrivaled. Renowned forges in Brutein earned enough from just six or seven custom orders to close for a month.
"Can't take your eyes off it, huh? Impressive?"
"N-Not really..."
During the journey from the north to Brutein, Euphemia seemed much more accustomed to his presence. Or rather, resigned.
No incidents had occurred since leaving Roberon Baron's territory.
"I have business in the morning, so I'll show you around Brutein myself this afternoon. You've been cooped up in the carriage—must feel stifling."
"If you have business... just assign a servant. I can explore alone. You don't need to bother."
"The only time you can refuse my consideration is when you're ill. But I'll overlook it once—stay in the room until my business ends. Conveniently, we're in Brutein, so no prying eyes..."
"N-No!"
"Express yourself properly."
If she hadn't shown her reluctance so blatantly, it wouldn't have mattered. Was she just bad at hiding emotions, or was this body too perceptive...?
"I... I want to... explore Brutein with you..."
"Good girl."
Like praising a pet dog for obeying, he reached out and stroked her verdant hair.
He hadn't coupled with her on the way, but he'd groped her thoroughly enough that her wariness of physical contact had notably diminished.
The sight felt like beholding a well-worn possession, stirring quiet satisfaction.
Screech!
The carriage slowed to a halt.
Clunk!
The door opened from outside, and Chris—the Brutein family butler—greeted them with a friendly smile.
Chris was someone Ferzen quite liked.
"Welcome home."
Because he was bald—no need to fuss over symmetry.
"Is brother here?"
"Yes. The family head is in his study."
"Then take care of Euphemia."
"Understood."
Stepping ahead into the estate, he headed straight for the study, knocked twice, and waited patiently.
Before leaving for the north because of Euphemia, Ferzen had made a special request of his brother, the current head of Brutein.
A voice both unfamiliar and familiar replied from within, "Come in."
He turned the knob and entered.
"It's been a while, little brother."
"You look as healthy as ever."
Though exchanging everyday pleasantries, Jeremiah von Berem Brutein—Ferzen's brother and Brutein's current head—stood with his back turned.
The reason: as a child, Ferzen had nearly killed him due to his OCD over symmetry.
"I know you're fine now, but this gives me the courage to face you. Bear with me."
"No need for my understanding."
Jeremiah had heterochromia. As a child, Ferzen had tried multiple times to gouge out his eyes with a knife, earning half a year of confinement.
Now harmless because, during that confinement, the blue pigment in Jeremiah's right eye had deepened enough to harmonize with the red of his left.
Had Ferzen succeeded in gouging the then-pale blue eye—which disrupted balance—he'd likely have dug out the remaining one too, unsatisfied with just a single eye.
"The corpse of Isabel Ron Pierre Genova..."
"Naturally, we won the bid. No one can outbid our wealth."
Isabel Ron Pierre Genova.
The infamous pleasure killer, an Apollyon-grade elemental mage.
Exactly 26 years ago—before Ferzen's birth—she'd been captured, executed, and her corpse stored in the imperial palace. The Genova count family had been utterly exterminated for birthing such a witch, ceasing to exist.
"Good."
The imperial family had auctioned her corpse, coinciding with his northern stay, so he'd reluctantly tasked family head Jeremiah as proxy.
Valuable enough as an Apollyon-grade elemental mage, but Ferzen coveted her more for her ability to convert mana to electricity.
Magic was generally counterable, but light-speed was beyond human reaction. Interference required anticipation—thus, converting mana to electricity was a heavenly gift for elemental mages.
"However..."
"A problem?"
"Not quite a problem. Just the youngest daughter of Viscount Rosenberg offering double the bid price to buy it from us."
"She must be overflowing with gold."
Rosenberg.
The holy land of culture and art. The place that relegated Brutein's craftsmanship to second-rate.
Not poor, but no match for Brutein's wealth. They'd likely inflated the price by rallying other nobles to curry imperial favor.
"She proposed installments, of course."
"Not interested."
"And... if you refuse, she asked me to relay this."
"?"
"She challenges your black magic on equal terms."
What nonsense. But it jogged a memory from four years ago.
Then, to build his reputation as a black mage, Ferzen had accepted equal-condition manifestation duels. With his talents in corpse comprehension and corpse affinity, no one surpassed him despite the facade.
He'd even promised that anyone who beat him could claim one request in Brutein's name—likely referencing that.
"Brazen."
Barring issues, Rosenberg's youngest would enter the Academy and attend his black magic classes as a professor.
"Is she in Brutein now?"
This prospective student he'd never met was already angling for a favor. He suddenly wanted to see her face.