So that’s why you came to detest studying…”
Eric muttered under his breath.
Huh? No, I just hate studying in general, that’s all…?
But before I could clarify, he suddenly turned to me and asked,
“Do you want to continue your cultivation in the art of dance?”
Continue? Has he lost his mind?
I shook my head firmly.
“No way!”
I practically shouted it. Just then, the steward stood up and began urging us again.
“Now, we can’t postpone any longer. It’s time to resume the lesson—”
But Eric cut him off with a shake of his head.
“Let’s stop here for today. Lady Emellin looks exhausted… and so do I. If she’s still too weary tomorrow, then this so-called ‘lesson’…”
So-called…?
I blinked at him, bewildered.
‘Wait… what is he trying to say?’
Was he even tired to begin with? Anyone could see he wasn’t truly drained. He just looked a little hollow beneath the eyes, that’s all.
Then Eric declared with unwavering resolve:
“Let’s just skip it entirely.”
“...?”
I blinked in confusion and turned to gaze at Eric, who had just said something utterly unexpected. The steward, on the other hand, looked like his soul had flown out of his body.
“Young Master, if you say that, the Young Mistress will
never
continue the lesson! I know her too well!”
I know me too!
I shot the steward a sharp glare.
He glared right back.
Damn this cursed steward! He’s figured me out far too well. I must eliminate him someday!
“What of it.”
Eric responded calmly, his voice like still water. The steward’s eyes went wide with horror.
“But if the Young Mistress neglects her cultivation in the social arts, she’ll be shunned in the upper realms! That scorn will extend to our entire clan! The Duke’s house shall be—!”
Ugh, not that again.
I was sick of hearing it, but if I were in Eric’s shoes, I’d probably be worried too. Ever since our chaotic wedding, not only his clan but even Princess Ella had become the target of countless attacks from the other noble sects.
The headlines in the imperial news scrolls read like this every day:
“Princess Ella defies the royal decree?”
“Illegitimate child? Temple priests express discontent…”
“Daughter-in-law of House Orléans and Princess Ella: secret past romance? Rumors of a three-way spiritual bond…”
Okay, some of those were insane, but
me and the Princess?
Seriously, these nobles have zero sense of shame!
Whatever. Let’s say Eric and the Princess fail to bring down the corrupt Duke—they still have to live in this capital, among these status-obsessed cultivators.
Me? If things go south, I could just grab my family and flee to the countryside and become a rogue cultivator or something. But Eric… Eric has no such option.
He’s someone who’s been raised as a noble cultivator—his very breath is steeped in dignity. The kind who could live or die over honor.
But this same Eric just said—
“If any two-bit cultivator dares insult my wife’s lack of artistic cultivation… I’ll just crush them with spirit stones.”
Crush them… with money?!
“…?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
The steward, equally shocked, cried out, “Young Master! How could you say such a thing?!”
Still baffled, I tilted my head and asked, “Wait… what did you just say?”
Did… did our noble, elegant, honor-bound Young Master just say
that?
But Eric simply looked back at me without the slightest hint of embarrassment and said,
“If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.”
I leaned in close and whispered to him,
“What about Her Highness’s reputation? What if I get kicked out of the Duke’s clan?”
Eric’s face twisted slightly.
“No matter how wild your antics get, Her Highness is not one to easily lose her claim to the throne. And as for you—no one’s going to take you from me.”
No one’s going to take you from me…
His words struck me dumb for a moment.
Take me?
I was never yours to begin with, was I?
I turned to him with a stunned expression, a strange feeling twisting in my chest.
“…Well then.”
But even as the words left his mouth, Eric himself seemed shocked by what he’d just said. His ears turned crimson as he covered his forehead with a hand and waved off the stunned Nina and steward.
He waved like he was trying to dispel an invisible formation.
What happened to your grace and composure, “master of the blade”...?
I frowned. Eric muttered in a low voice:
“…Dismissed.”
Dismissed?
What is this, a sect gathering?!
At the call of “Dismissed,” Eric swiftly ascended the stairs. His footsteps, like a flash step from a skilled inner disciple, vanished faster than anyone else’s. Left behind in the awkward silence, I glanced toward Nina and the steward.
But now that I looked again, it wasn’t just Nina and the steward remaining in the ballroom. At the entrance, leaning casually against the frame, was Lily—munching on an apple like some detached elder watching juniors spar. She met my eyes and shrugged, wearing a face that said,
I see what’s going on.
I quietly averted my gaze. Somehow, if I kept looking at her, I felt like she’d see right through me.
See through me?
See what?
I clamped my lips shut.
Ugh. Seriously…
“What a strange man…”
The strangest I’ve ever met in all my years of wandering this cultivation world.
Left alone, I drifted into an odd state of mind.
A man who didn’t know how to lie… who was kind to a swindler like me… whose charm remained unshaken even with shadows of exhaustion under his eyes…
A troubling premonition struck me—that even after this marriage scam ended, I might not be able to forget this man for a long time.
“If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.”
Other than Helena and Philip, Eric was the first to ever say that to me.
I thought all nobles were beast-hearted cultivators cloaked in silk robes…
Turns out, there are exceptions.
Perhaps Eric would be remembered in the scrolls of my life as
“the one noble who wasn’t a bastard.”
Yes, that much I had to admit.
I like kindness.
Truth is, maybe I’ve needed a kind elder in my life for a very long time now.
Just then, Lily sidled up beside me and whispered,
“I warned you not to try taming him.”
I muttered back,
“I didn’t realize that was advice…”
Lily clicked her tongue and stepped away.
The steward looked like a sect elder having a crisis:
“I didn’t raise the young master like this!”
While Nina, for whatever reason, wore a blissful expression like she’d just achieved enlightenment.
I smiled awkwardly at them and said,
“Let’s practice. I mean, if our darling’s words mean anything, it’s that I can do it if I want to, right?”
The steward frowned deeply.
“Practice?”
I nodded firmly.
“The more you tell me
not
to do it… the more I
want
to do it.”
Something’s off about all this. And most of all…
“If Eric says he’ll protect me, then I should protect him too.”
Even in a world of ruthless schemes and spirit beasts, there’s still honor among swindlers. I can’t just let Young Lord Eric get humiliated in the social arena because of me.
Seeing the steward’s face brighten like he’d just broken through a bottleneck, I shouted,
“But! I’m giving you just one hour! Teach me the footwork quickly—before I end up turning this poor young lord’s feet into minced meat at the Princess’ Palace!”
✵
✵
✵
Eric entered his chamber with a flushed face, closing the door behind him.
“If some arrogant worm dares mock my wife’s artistic taste, I’ll silence them with spirit stones.”
The steward’s stunned expression as Eric said those words replayed in his mind. That wasn’t something the usual Eric would’ve ever said. His mother, the steward—everyone had drilled into him that true grace and refinement couldn’t be bought.
But now… what did that all matter?
Eric had already shattered the sanctity of his so-called marriage. His entire worldview was spiraling into chaos.
Worse still, every time he saw Emelline’s face—calm, almost indifferent—as she spoke of all the injustice she’d endured… a strange, unbearable feeling welled up inside him.
“It’s obvious, right? They hate that a low-born commoner like me got tacked onto the edge of the noble registry just because of my mother’s remarriage.”
He couldn’t stand it.
…What was this feeling?
…
Sleep.
Yes. He was sleep-deprived.
Eric cast a fleeting glance toward the bed.
Truthfully, he hadn't been able to find proper rest these past few days. Sharing the same chamber, much less the same bed, with Emelline made him uneasy. He had even tried sitting on the carpet to meditate in place of sleeping—like when keeping night watch on martial patrol.
Meditating upright wasn’t normally difficult for a cultivator of his level. At least, it shouldn’t have been.
But in this chamber… whether it was due to Emelline’s presence or something else entirely, he simply could not enter a restful trance.
Were it not for his ability to channel spiritual energy to purge physical fatigue from his meridians, his body would’ve already collapsed.
Eric let out a long breath.
From below, the voices of Emelline and the steward bickering reached him.
“I told you, start with your right foot!”
“I
did
put out my right foot! Nina, you saw, right?!”
“...That was your left, my lady.”
“Ugh! My own body won't obey me! What do you expect me to do?!”
Upon hearing that voice, Eric thought to himself that maybe—just maybe—if he passed out cold now, he'd finally get some rest. At least for now, she wasn’t here.
Before Emelline returns…
It was then that his gaze landed on a small crimson-glassed vial that had been sitting on the chamber’s shelf for the past few days.
“Then try that tonic my mother gave you. She’s always had a way with strange folk remedies…”
Folk remedies… Hardly something he had much faith in.
But with no other choice, Eric opened the cabinet door.
She wouldn’t have put anything strange in here… right?
He poured the liquid into a small cup, halfway. Then, without hesitation, downed it in one gulp.
The moment the brew slid down his throat, Eric’s brows furrowed deeply.
“…She said it was tea.”
This wasn’t right.
It was supposed to be tea, yet he could unmistakably taste the burning edge of alcohol sliding down his throat. His expression twisted.
The real problem was—
“So even a sword cultivator of your level can get drunk? You’re immune to poisons but not to spirits?”
—Eric was notoriously bad with alcohol.
Even a single drop was enough to render him inebriated.
When he was still leading the Shadow Guard, his elite subordinates would sometimes try to prank him by sneaking liquor into his tea.
“If we can get the commander drunk, maybe we can finally beat him in a spar!”
Of course, any fool who tried to strike Eric while he was drunk got thrown across the training ground. The moment he sensed killing intent, his drunken haze would vanish like mist under sunlight.
Still, Eric had never liked the feeling of being drunk. It muddled his mind and dulled his blade. So he always kept his distance from spirits.
But this…
There was something strangely… pleasant about it.
“…?”
His body began to feel warm—heated from within, as if qi were being gently circulated through his meridians.
✵
✵
✵
When I returned to the bedchamber, exhausted from another day of the steward’s relentless instruction, I noticed it the moment I stepped in.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol. I pinched my nose in disbelief.
“…?”
Did someone spill wine?
I took a step deeper into the chamber, still puzzled.
And then, I saw him.
Leaning against the headboard of the bed was a man—his aura dim, posture oddly relaxed.
“…Eric?”
I blinked, stepping closer.
He turned his head toward me sluggishly. And when he saw me, the tight lines on his face softened.
“…You’re back?”
“You’re back?”
His overly casual tone, his eyes lazily unfocused, and—above all—the pungent smell of alcohol that wafted from his lips each time he spoke...
I froze. Panic welled up in my chest.
As I stepped closer to the bed, I noticed a wine bottle and a cup placed carelessly on the floor.
Ah… this is…
I ruffled my fiery red hair in frustration.
Just then, Eric patted the carpeted floor beside him—
slap, slap
—and barked,
“Sit!”
“…You're drunk, aren't you.”
Right. All of this—his actions, his mood—this was clearly the work of someone under the influence of spiritual wine.
Damn it.
That bottle was unmistakably the one my mother had gifted him.
…So he can’t hold his liquor, huh.
Back when I worked in taverns during my rogue cultivator days, I learned that people who get drunk easily give off a much stronger scent of alcohol than others. For reasons unknown, their spiritual essence seems to stir more when intoxicated.
“…?”
Eric stared blankly at the bottle in his hand before breaking into a soft smile.
“Yes. I drank.”
“…It’s not just a sip though, is it?”
I lifted the bottle and swirled the remaining liquid.
Slosh, slosh
—the red fluid shimmered like molten cinnabar in the dim light, releasing a rich fragrance of alcohol laced with herbal undertones.
Hmph… I’ve smelled this before somewhere…
Chapter 67