The witch would try to annihilate our entire family.
Now that I think about it, she was even more terrifying than Valdek. At least Valdek, for all his ruthlessness, was a noble and still cared about saving face—but the witch? She had no such hindrances. She was the kind of cultivator who would trample heaven and earth alike if she so wished.
If this continues… we might really have to escape under the cover of night, like fugitives fleeing a demonic cultivator's wrath…
While such thoughts plagued me, the carriage arrived at the manor. Naturally, I expected the steward to greet us at the gate, as was custom. But instead, it was Nina who welcomed us with a bright smile.
“My lady, the master has returned! He came earlier than expected!”
Eric and I exchanged glances.
Avoiding one tribulation star, only to stumble into another…
I forced a sunny smile and looked down at Nina.
“R-right… early, indeed…”
✵
✵
✵
The Next Morning
Ella was sleeping on a sofa in the study.
Kai had heard she spent the entire night in conference with engineers from the Royal Academy of the Capital. Even now, as she lay slumbering, her face bore signs of exhaustion.
Kai sat crouched near the princess’s head, watching her sleep with a solemn expression. Then, from within his robe, he pulled out a small rabbit-shaped talisman.
Click, click—
he gently wound the gears.
The rabbit’s tiny arms began to move up and down, powered by the clockwork inside. Into one of its hands, Kai inserted a fan made from a peacock feather.
Swaying, swaying…
The fan stirred the air around Ella, sending a cool breeze across her sweat-dampened brow.
“Hmm…”
As the princess’s tense expression softened with relief, a smile tugged at Kai’s lips.
“Her Highness is a master of both science and cultivation,”
the senior retainer had once told him.
“She truly believes that the power of invention will one day surpass spiritual arts. That one day, electricity—cheaper than spirit stones—will light the homes of the common folk.”
That steward had no family of his own. Though the princess never even remembered his name, she still gifted him with a fine residence and rare gems.
“Because I am one of hers,”
he’d said, with a calm certainty.
Even though he owned such a spacious manor, he continued to reside in the palace. And every evening, Kai would dine with him in the room connected to his own.
One of hers.
Watching the pride in the steward’s eyes as he served, Kai recalled the words Ella once spoke.
"You are my son! Gerda’s son! A warrior of the North! And you’re telling me you can’t handle a single servant?!"
She had called the commoners of the North “servants,” yes—but it was leagues apart from the way Kai's father had spoken.
The Grand Duke ruled his people through fear and brute strength. He crushed them like ants beneath a mighty foot, never understanding that even lowly insects could harbor rebellion—and sometimes, that rebellion could bite back.
Kai had always found his father’s path precarious.
So when the Duke had tried to frame the wisest elder in the territory—a man beloved by all and revered as the "Father of the North"—Kai refused to bear false witness.
Instead, he protected the elder, and for that, his tongue was cut out.
The elder was exiled. Kai, rejected by both the peasants and his noble bloodline, became a stray cultivator—belonging nowhere.
A cripple.
A fool who stood on no side and thus belonged to no one.
“Cripple!”
And now, no side even wanted him.
Still—
Ella was the complete opposite of the Grand Duke.
She never raised her hand in violence. Not to her stewards, not to Kai, not to anyone.
If she needed something, she used money to secure loyalty—without shame or apology. Even her underhanded methods always came with fair compensation.
She understood the hearts of others better than anyone.
But when it came to her own heart… she fumbled. Careless.
She’d say,
“You’re mine,”
while forgetting your name. She’d whisper,
“You belong to me,”
and then pretend not to care.
Yet somehow, bit by bit—she gave her heart away.
How far did this lowly wretch dare to covet…
And yet, he calls me
his person
.
“I don’t trust you. Her Highness keeps you by her side not because you are worthy, but because you’re a useful captive. You’d best prostrate yourself like the dead and beg for her mercy.”
Just as the attendant said—he must have seen Kai as nothing more than a prisoner.
Kai clutched his trembling heart to steady its rhythm.
He had long been afflicted with an ancient ailment. While his elder and younger brothers trained to become great cultivators of the sword, Kai was confined to bed until he turned fourteen.
The cause? A demonic curse lodged in his heart.
The Northern Territories were a land of the unknown. In that place, things thought to have vanished in the ancient era would sometimes reappear, overwhelming mortals with sheer spiritual might.
Once, as a child, Kai had lost his way in the forest. There, he encountered a malevolent
forest sprite
, the kind northerners called a
troll
.
The moment it growled at him, he passed out.
When he awoke, a Northern spell cultivator told him:
“Your heart is cursed. A slight strain could cause it to petrify. The curse is deeply rooted in your spiritual core, and unless you find a way to purge it, you must live cautiously for the rest of your life.”
So perhaps… he had been crippled ever since.
A waste, who while his kin honed their sword arts under the heavens, sat alone in the study playing with dolls.
Kai gazed at the rabbit doll, the old sting of isolation pricking at his heart.
Click-click-click…
The sound of winding gears echoed as the tiny metal parts within the rabbit’s glass eye turned.
Unable to become a Northern cultivator due to his cursed heart, the second son of Duke Gerda had instead found joy in creating
spirit-core clockwork hearts
for dolls without one.
If only someone could give
him
a heart like that—crafted, precise, untouchable.
So that when sorrow or pain struck, his own heart might endure like his father’s or brothers’.
If he could
endure
, instead of breaking down in tears… If only then—he might have been a son of value.
“...Are you crying?”
It was then.
Ella’s blue eyes were quietly watching him. Kai flinched and tried to move away—only to lose his balance.
“…!”
Ella reached out and pulled him—Kai’s body fell forward and landed atop hers. His eyes widened.
On the narrow sofa, she gazed up at him, their bodies tangled awkwardly.
“…I’ve taken in a rather unvirtuous servant, haven’t I…”
“…!”
Kai scrambled off her like he’d been burned, backing away with his head low, one palm pressed hard against his burning cheek.
Ella sat up unsteadily, glancing toward the rabbit doll on the table.
She picked it up and turned its fan-shaped ears toward Kai.
“…This seems better suited to you.”
Kai lifted his head just a little.
His cheeks were flushed. Ella gave a small chuckle.
“Not exactly my taste to pounce on captives, you know…”
She had been planning to pass new cultivation war decrees in the coming council—ones that would prohibit abusing or killing spiritual captives, regardless of wartime.
And yet here she was… toppling over her own prisoner. That wouldn't do.
Ella shook her head, rubbing her shoulder. The stiffness from sleeping on the couch hadn't faded.
“Damn those spirit engineers… there's always a thousand things they say can’t be done…”
She recalled the group of arrogant craftsmen who’d mocked all her proposals the night before with lines like
‘Her Highness is truly blessed with imagination.’
Only after she’d snapped,
“If this is the standard of so-called professors, then perhaps your pay should reflect it,”
did they start taking things a bit more seriously.
“Still not quite where I want it to be…”
Ella had no intention of waging war against foreign nations or conquering new territories just to contend with Robert.
To her, war was a dull and outdated solution. How could one guide Hellenia toward the future by resorting to force and aggression every time a crisis arose?
“The future of the continent… lies in spirit silver. In wealth.”
Her gaze shifted to the roughly crafted rabbit automaton—clearly something Kai had fashioned by hand.
“This sort of thing… could fetch a decent price. Have you received any training in mechanical arts?”
Kai shook his head.
Ella began mulling over something in silence, right until the voice of a palace attendant interrupted from outside the door.
“Your Highness, the Duke of Orléans has arrived. He seeks an audience.”
Ella furrowed her brows.
“Tch. Of all mornings, he chose this one to see me? An ill omen, surely.”
She turned to Kai with a crooked grin.
“You’re thinking the same thing, aren’t you?”
Kai didn’t respond. He was too preoccupied with enjoying the cool breeze from the rabbit automaton’s fan, trying to dispel the internal heat that was steadily rising.
✵
✵
✵
With only the crust from her eyes hastily wiped away and the fatigue of a sleepless night written all over her face, Ella received the duke.
Valdek Orléans.
A man so well-kept and honed in physique that one would never believe he already had a grown son.
His sharp jawline, framed beneath neatly combed-back hair, radiated the aura of a battle-hardened stallion. He gave a faint smirk as he looked across at Ella—clearly amused by her disheveled state.
Ella, looking up at the arrogant cultivator across from her, recalled two pieces of news she had heard just yesterday.
The first—Emelline had caused a full-blown commotion at Margaret’s salon.
Ella, who happened to possess several of Anthony’s paintings as part of an investment portfolio, had sold them off the moment the rumors broke.
But it wasn’t because she felt some righteous duty to punish the man for whatever vile acts he had committed.
No, it was because she knew Anthony’s value on the art market was now worthless, and Ella didn’t see art as beauty—only as coin.
“Thanks to the swift word from you, Madame, I managed to cash out before the plummet.”
“Think nothing of it, Your Highness.”
The one who had relayed the information was none other than Margaret herself, who had visited the palace seeking an invitation to Ella’s birthday celebration.
“Distributing the paintings right there at the salon? That’s unlike you, Madame. I’d have thought someone of your wisdom would’ve chosen a quieter way to minimize your losses.”
At Ella’s pointed remark, Margaret merely offered a delicate smile and lowered her teacup.
“It wasn’t about losses… I was reminded of certain values an artist must hold, Your Highness.”
Values? Sentiment?
Ella had little patience for moral posturing.
She didn’t support something like the Laws of Warfare because they were “right,” but because they were less tedious than total anarchy.
“Eric would have scoffed if he heard me say that.”
Regardless, she decided to use this opportunity to strengthen her alliance with Margaret.
“How about I offset your losses, Madame? Perhaps… by acquiring ten pieces from a few promising new artists at your salon?”
If word spread that the princess herself had purchased a rising artist’s work, their reputation would soar—and the paintings could later be sold for a far greater price.
A mutually beneficial exchange.
Margaret nodded.
The deal was sealed.
Though, on her way out, she couldn’t resist hinting that Ella should hurry and finalize the contract for that mana crystal mine.
The second bit of news had come via a spirit-courier bird from Eric.
“Valdek has returned. He will have an audience with His Majesty tomorrow. He must bear news regarding Prince Robert.”
As Ella recalled the words scribbled in Eric’s message, a twisted smile curled on her lips.
The duke across from her was no more than a glorified messenger bird delivering a report.
A trivial, pointless merit earned by Prince Robert in the Northern Territories—just enough to justify sending a carrier hawk racing to His Majesty. And His Majesty, ever eager for excuses to celebrate his worthless son, arranged a ceremony to shower him with praise.
The Duke, having endured the King’s overblown exaltations, likely stopped by here not to return quietly to his manor but to upset Ella on purpose.
If that was his intention, then he had certainly succeeded. Ella was already fighting down the nausea rising in her chest.
“Did Robert really earn even a flea-sized martial merit out there? He’s going to enter the palace in a few days anyway for my birthday banquet—what was the point of rushing over at dawn like some flustered errand boy?”
Chapter 79