Eric pulled me into his embrace with a grace befitting a top-tier cultivator. I looked up at him, breathing slowly to calm the storm within.
“…The Duke… he said something strange…”
I whispered through clenched teeth.
In Eric’s crimson eyes, I saw my own reflection—uncertain, anxious. But Eric himself looked calm. Too calm. As if he’d already resolved something. As if he had already stepped onto an irreversible path.
It was like he had severed all attachments. I was the only one still trembling.
“Did he speak of Violrod?”
Violrod?
Why would
that
name come up here?
As if on cue, the music resumed—an elegant, formal piece, typical for this kind of banquet. Noble couples began gathering on the dance floor, but Eric's gaze remained locked on me, steady and piercing.
“My father never told you, did he?”
He spoke of the Duke with disgust, as if even calling him “father” was a form of spiritual poison.
“No… He didn’t. But why would the Duke suddenly bring up Violrod?”
The name alone brought with it memories of blood—red, vivid, and circling like qi gone haywire.
“You remember what I told you before,” Eric said quietly. “A twelve-year-old can’t kill their own father.”
His hand around my waist began to lose strength. Slowly, he started to pull away.
No.
I don’t want this distance.
Even though we were never truly close to begin with…
Even though I could never give him a true answer to that naive belief of his…
Still, I reached for his hand—just to keep him from drifting further.
Eric’s expression twisted slightly. I flinched, afraid he might push me away.
But instead, he said something completely unexpected.
“…I’ve changed my mind.”
“W-Why…?”
Why?
I stared into his crimson eyes and saw it—darkness. A shadow that had solidified behind his pupils, heavy with clarity and resolve. The kind you see in someone who’s already accepted the cost of the tribulation ahead.
All around us, the ballroom spun with dancers, flowing like a river of silks and jewels. But we stood still in the center—frozen in a quiet, private storm.
“If it were necessary,” Eric said, “I think I could make that choice too.”
His gaze slowly shifted past me.
Toward Valdek Orléans.
The Duke.
“Not every parent and child… are what you’d call ‘family,’ right?”
Eric didn’t look at me when he asked that. His eyes were fixed on the man who had raised him… or claimed to.
I couldn’t answer.
Violrod was my father. But he had never been family.
So how could I refute what Eric was saying?
But why—why does it feel so damn awful to see this good man wearing such a defeated, hollow expression?
“…Don’t.”
My voice was hoarse, like I was speaking through a tightening noose.
Eric finally looked away from the Duke to glance at me.
“What?”
“I said don’t.”
This time, I said it clearly, holding his gaze with everything I had.
“Don’t even think about it… not even for a second. Don’t… kill your father.”
Those words felt vile, unnatural—karmic chains binding a soul.
“You said you didn’t care about good and evil, right?”
Eric blinked, surprised. “And now you do?”
I shook my head.
“No. I just don’t want you to be unhappy.”
Because the child who kills their own parent…
will live forever trapped in the moment they pulled the sword from its sheath.
I know—because that’s how I’ve lived.
But could I really bear to watch Eric walk that same path?
No. I don’t think I could.
…I’ll have to make him pay.
I couldn’t let someone who once said such things to me suffer the same kind of misfortune I had endured.
Better that I stain my own hands further—my hands already bore blood. The blood of none other than my own father.
With a trembling voice, I looked at Eric.
“If… if Vardec truly must die, then let me do it in your place. I…”
I’ve already killed my own father.
If I said those words—what kind of expression would he wear?
The first person who ever trusted me. Not my kin, not even myself, but someone wholly separate. Someone who once said he’d protect me. My strange, false family.
“Let’s not play together anymore!”
Back then—I should’ve taken that seriously. I shouldn’t have gone with him to places like that theater. I should’ve drawn a line.
My chest throbbed with a dull ache.
I let go of Eric’s hand.
Better to say it now—before I began to covet more than I should.
But just then—
“Because you already killed your father?”
A cold voice echoed in my ear.
“…!”
My eyes widened.
You knew?
Since when…?
I turned around, my face pale as snow—and immediately collided with someone on the ballroom floor.
The noble I bumped into gave me a displeased glance before reluctantly offering a polite apology.
Regardless of anything, I was Eric’s official Dao companion within this place. I forced my expression into calmness and tried to retreat, to distance myself from him.
I had to.
I couldn’t bring myself to look into Eric’s face.
Because—
Just as I reached for the balcony door, his hand overlapped mine.
His crimson eyes stared down at me—cold, unreadable.
Did he want to condemn me?
Who are you to judge? You’ve never been me.
You’ve never spent twelve years living as a cursed wretch, never known the terror of losing the first people who dared to reach out to you.
You’ve always been you.
No matter where you go, all eyes follow.
You could slice up someone’s treasured scroll like a cake and still be praised as a loyal husband.
You’ve always been you.
Don’t judge me.
Don’t you dare say you’re disappointed in me.
Don’t you even say a word.
In my heart, I was scrambling—desperately chasing excuses, searching for some way to flee.
But instead of looking at me with scorn, Eric gripped my shoulders.
“I’m not good at lying,” he said quietly, “and there’s something I want you to choose for yourself. So listen carefully.”
And then he started speaking.
Amidst the music and laughter, amidst chandeliers and expensive perfumes, amidst all the glittering sensations of the court—only Eric’s voice reached me, clear and sharp.
“Violdred is alive.”
I staggered back.
It’s all your fault…
The broken voice rang in my ears.
“That means both Helena and you failed to kill him—”
SLAP!
You think you can live without me?
SLAP!
That man is still alive?
“Breathe slowly.”
Eric’s hand slipped from my shoulder to my palm, gently enclosing it in his own. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed tightly, as if soothing a frightened child.
“Breathe slowly,” he said again.
It took me a long moment to even understand what he meant—until I realized:
I hadn’t been breathing.
“…Hah.”
When I finally exhaled, I understood.
Violdred wasn’t dead.
I hadn’t killed him.
He’s still alive.
A strange mix of relief and dread swept through me all at once.
Relief that I hadn’t truly murdered my father.
Dread that he was still breathing, still walking under the same sky as me.
My heart was consumed with just surviving those emotions, leaving no room for thought. But Eric’s voice cut through once again.
“If you permit it—”
His crimson gaze sharpened, flaring like a blade unsheathed. The pressure that rolled from him reminded me of the presence I’d once felt in the salon.
Now I understood what sword cultivators called it.
Killing intent.
“If you so much as twitch a finger… if you nod even slightly—”
I couldn’t find the Eric I knew in the face before me.
What had pushed him to this edge?
Whatever it was,
I desperately wished it wasn’t me.
But is that really true?
“I’m about to turn him into someone who truly
doesn't belong in the world
again.”
Eric’s face twisted into that all-too-familiar expression of contempt.
“If a man ever raises a hand against you again, don’t shut your eyes—dodge with everything you've got and formally strike back. Must I teach even this to a bumpkin from the Southern provinces?”
Standing before the balcony, I recalled those words Eric had once spoken. He wore the same expression now.
Pity.
The kind of pity directed at a foolish woman—mixed with loathing for the wretch who had once left her with scars.
Damn it.
So he
did
know. Of course he knew.
It would’ve been stranger if he didn’t.
Every time I was trapped in a dark, narrow space, I had put on a whole circus of panic.
Shame made my body tremble.
With a face warped by emotion, he said,
“Let me be the one to slay him.”
I gave no answer. Instead, I threw open the balcony doors and walked back inside.
Cold air brushed my cheeks.
I could have cried. I could have thrown myself from the edge.
But I didn’t.
What was shame to me anymore? It wasn’t the first time I’d been disgusted with myself. And it wouldn’t be the last.
I straightened up and turned to face Eric. I smiled wide, like it was all a joke.
“Well then. Let’s start by calmly hearing how Violrod managed to remain in the realm of the living.”
When I smiled, Eric’s face twisted even more.
He looked like he wanted to speak—perhaps a word of concern—but I waved him off before he could get a syllable out.
“Don’t come any closer.”
✵
✵
✵
To summarize Eric’s words:
He had already sensed that I’d grown up imprisoned and abused by Violrod.
To uncover the truth behind the death of that man, he sent Sir Lily to the Southern provinces.
Lily had tried to meet with Violrod’s cousin to hear the full tale, but was denied.
With no other choice, she stayed at a nearby inn—
and there, she witnessed something astonishing:
A group of masked cultivators abducting a man who looked
exactly
like the supposedly dead Violrod.
“I-I’ll pay you! My brother will cover the ransom! I—I'm actually the Blue-Bearded Merchant! The famed master of the Violrod Trading Guild—!”
Lily incapacitated the man claiming to be Violrod and rode day and night to the capital.
That man—the real or false Violrod—is currently imprisoned somewhere within the Princess’s Palace.
Somewhere in this palace…
I leaned on the balcony railing and gazed out over the darkening gardens of the estate.
“Why did he fake his death in the first place?”
Eric’s voice was like stone.
“He said… he had a personal debt. When the fire broke out, he took it as a chance to erase that debt and vanish. He passed the guild to his cousin under a false name and disappeared.”
“…Hah.”
What a twisted way to live.
…I don’t even want to call him Father anymore.
I wiped the sweat from my palm onto the hem of my dress.
Thinking back, Violrod had always been indulgent—to himself. He would starve and imprison his own daughter, then toss expensive gifts at her like offerings to a shrine.
Of course, not a single one of those gifts was something I’d ever wanted. Lavish dresses, gaudy shoes, brooches fit for noble ladies—all tokens to display his wealth, not affection.
Even if he’d run the guild well, his spending must’ve leaked through the cracks like sand.
“…We don’t have much time. The Duk—Valdek is searching for Violrod, and our knights are tracking down Philip and Helena. The Duke won’t make a move without securing Violrod first. And we can’t act either, not until we find the other two.”
The stalemate had already begun.
And in the shadows of the palace, pawns were being moved.
I understood what Eric meant.
It was simple—whichever side strikes first and takes what the other possesses, wins.
In other words, Violdred had to be slain before he could be used by the Duke—before he could be manipulated into testifying falsely.
Violdred was the kind of man who would devote himself entirely to framing his own daughter for attempted murder.
Right… given everything…
I let out a dry laugh and looked at Eric.
“And why,” I asked, “are you coming to me for permission?”
Was he afraid I still wished to save Violdred?
That I still harbored a speck of affection for the man who sired me?
That I might mourn his passing?
Or that, even now, I’d risk Helena and Philip’s safety just to save this so-called ‘real’ family?
Ha… Young Master…
Eric had also mentioned that Violdred was already on death’s doorstep.
That the vain old bastard, now forced to hide in the shadows, had grown gravely ill—his body rotting from within, his organs decaying.
I didn’t feel satisfaction.
No righteous justice.
No divine retribution or cursed fate.
It was just… a distant tale.
Like something from a novel.
It didn’t feel real. It didn’t even feel like it was about me.
He may have been my father, and I his daughter—but there was no emotion left between us.
No pity.
No anger.
No sorrow.
No pain.
Perhaps I had already killed him—truly slain him—when I was twelve.
His so-called prophecy,
“You’ll never survive without me,”
had failed completely.
For now… this was enough.
That alone felt like everything.
I was still a coward. Still foolish. Still weak. But that was fine.
Because I had become someone who could live without her father.
Because I could face his death with cold indifference—and for now, that was enough.
I closed my eyes tightly.
That was when Eric said something I hadn’t expected.
“Because I want you to know.”
It wasn’t the answer I thought he’d give.
I looked at him, puzzled.
What did he mean?
His gaze, firm and unwavering, met mine.
He said:
“I want you to know that
you didn’t kill him.
That
you’re not at fault.
That
you’ve done nothing wrong.
”
I am not at fault.
At those words, I heard something crumble inside me.
“You think you can still live properly after what you’ve done?”
Violdred had said that to me, ten years ago…
I hadn’t realized until now that his words still lingered inside me.
Still clung to me.
Still weighed me down.
Those words—
his curse
—had shackled me, kept me from becoming anything good.
I was a wretched girl, a traitor to her own father.
I could never become a good person.
That’s what I had believed.
But now, Eric was telling me—
That I was not at fault.
…Not at fault?
Could it be true?
Was it truly possible that I bore no sin?
But I
had
stabbed Violdred.
I’d run, knowing full well that if left alone, he would die.
I failed, yes—but I tried.
I had tried to kill him.
While I was drowning in that thought, Eric’s voice pierced through again, colder this time.
“And maybe…”
he said,
“…maybe you want to be the one to kill him with your own hands.”
It was not like Eric to speak so darkly.
I furrowed my brow and stared at his crimson eyes, clouded with something I didn’t recognize.
I didn’t want to corrupt this pure-hearted young master…
But Eric… spoke without a single quiver. "If it were me, I’d want to do the same. I’d repay violence with violence. No mercy. I was wrong, and you were right. Striking down a man who lays a hand on a child—that was the righteous path. It was the
just
path.”
I was wrong, and you were right.
Those words echoed in my ears.
Damn it all… Don’t cry, Emelline. If you cry now, you’ll never live it down for the next thousand years…
And Philip and Helena are still missing. This isn’t the time…
I steadied myself. Again and again.
“You did so well, Emelline.”
Eric’s voice came from the shadows.
And that was it.
I began to sob.
And as anyone in the cultivation world knows—
sobbing
is far worse than
weeping
. Sobbing means your emotions have completely slipped the reins.
Showing
that
side of myself to Eric… it really wasn’t something I wanted.
Then Eric asked quietly,
“…May I hold you?”
I let out a hollow laugh.
Even now… even in a moment like this, he insists on asking for permission.
With my tear-swollen eyes, I muttered,
“Sometimes… you shouldn’t ask. Just do it. Okay?”
He looked at me with that firm expression of his—like he couldn’t possibly do otherwise.
So I spoke again, my voice thick with sniffles, and opened my arms just a little.
“What are you waiting for? Hurry…”
Come now. Come closer. Hold me. Just hold me.
With a single step, he closed the space between us and wrapped me tightly in his arms.
And in his embrace, I whispered,
“…Just for one minute… just one…”
Chapter 86