The Next Day—
The Duke granted permission for Erik and Emelline to journey south. Emelline, now given the opportunity to leave the Duke’s estate, looked positively radiant with anticipation.
“I'm going to feast on all the pastries I want… and sleep until the sun's at its peak…”
Erik watched her energetically plot a life
without
the house steward and let out a faint chuckle.
A laugh.
It was strange.
Around this time every year, Erik had always found it impossible to laugh. But now, since admitting to himself that Emelline could make him laugh… he’d been laughing more often than ever before.
Seated at the table near the balcony, Erik simply watched Emelline bustle about as she excitedly prepared for their departure.
No, truthfully, he had been thinking about her ever since the moment she came down with her fever three days ago.
How lucky he was that she had returned to this manor.
Of course, she
did
have a habit of… well, lying around
a bit too much
, but still—
When Erik learned that the Duke—his own father—had intended to
eliminate
Emelline, he had sincerely considered drawing his blade against the man who had sired him.
Not all parents and children… are meant to be family. Right?
It was in that moment that he realized:
Perhaps Emelline was the only “family” he had left.
So the feeling he’d had when she returned to the Duke’s manor safely—
That wasn’t mere pity anymore.
It was something closer to…
Familial warmth?
Yes. That was likely what compelled him to say something so absurd as:
“What if we just… lived like this?”
An absurd proposal, indeed.
Wanting to stay by her side when she was ill… and also when she was well…
That might’ve been just a growing affection toward his
newfound, fabricated kin
.
But even that—
Even that didn’t quite explain it.
“Fish! Let’s eat lots of fish! I heard the seafood in the south is delicious!”
As Emelline cheerfully babbled on, Erik’s expression twisted.
No matter how he analyzed it, the emotions he harbored toward her were
too much
to be called familial affection.
Watching Emelline and Helena made it obvious—
Helena cherished and doted on Emelline, yes, but—
“Fresh raw fish with a dash of vinegar and a shot of strong liquor… You wouldn’t know the joy of that, would you, Young Lord? Hm?”
‘She probably doesn’t want to
kiss
Helena, now does she?’
Why would he ever even
think
of kissing someone he considered family? It didn’t make sense.
Regardless of what he felt, he knew this much:
He liked seeing Emelline smile.
And he hated anything that would make her cry.
He shut his book with a firm
thud
and stood up.
“...What’s wrong? Was I too loud?”
Emelline looked up at him with wide eyes. He shook his head.
“No. It’s time to train.”
When he began gathering his equipment, Emelline flopped dramatically onto the bed and groaned,
“Aigo… so diligent… he lives with such discipline…”
No doubt about it. That woman didn’t feel the same emotional chaos as he did.
And that made Erik’s heart all the more disordered.
As he glanced at the chaotic mountain of clothing she had scattered across the room, he asked,
“You’re going to lie down without packing any of this?”
Emelline, hugging her pillow, mumbled,
“I just have to stuff it all into a bag later…”
“It’ll wrinkle.”
He frowned in disapproval. She poked her head out and muttered,
“…Nagging noble.”
“Ask Nina to pack it for you. Nobles aren’t supposed to pack their own luggage.”
Emelline spoke with a look of disdain.
“Tch. Of course you’d say that. I’m not a noble, you see. And I’ve got a few spirit brews I need to smuggle quietly.”
She let out a light
hehe
as she grinned, the corners of her lips curling in clear delight. It was obvious she was excited about drinking.
Then, all of a sudden, she furrowed her brow.
“Why are you laughing, huh?”
“Me?”
Ah… he must’ve smiled again.
Erik felt a flash of self-loathing at how easily his face softened these days. He replied, a little gruffly,
“Guess I just find you funny.”
He began folding the clothes Emelline had thrown everywhere and neatly packed them into her qi pouch. Emelline blinked in disbelief.
“I thought nobles didn’t pack their own things?”
“This isn’t mine. And I’ve lived more years as a knight than a noble.”
“Ahh…”
She blinked again, as if something she wanted to ask had just risen to the surface.
Erik found himself puzzled.
Since when could he read her moods so clearly? How closely had he been watching her all this time?
Hesitating slightly, she asked,
“…Was it because of your mother? That you left home ten years ago to become commander of the knight order?”
So that’s what she’d been tiptoeing around.
Erik gave a faint smile to himself.
For someone who could be so shameless, she wore the face of someone terrified to hurt others. That contradiction amused him.
“It was.”
He looked directly at her.
“Want to know more? If you’ve got questions, ask.”
I could tell you anything.
He swallowed the words. Something told him he shouldn’t say them aloud.
“A-ah, no. If I hear any more…”
She grimaced and mumbled something unclear.
“I might start genuinely… feeling sorry for you or something…”
✵
✵
✵
The steward was clearly distressed that Erik was leaving the manor again. During training, he followed Erik around like a loyal spirit beast, constantly offering towels and water gourds.
“Are you that sad I’m leaving?”
Erik finally had to ask.
As if waiting for the moment, the steward launched into a dramatic sigh.
“After ten years, you finally returned to the manor, and now you're leaving again…”
“It’s just for a week or so…”
“Exactly! A whole week!”
“…?”
Erik frowned slightly, staring at the steward’s woeful eyes.
Still, the man soon brightened.
“But it’s a relief, truly. Knowing that Young Lord Erik has grown into such a fine cultivator, and that he now has a new family—surely the late Lady would be pleased.”
At the mention of his
late mother
, Erik’s expression turned bittersweet. She’d always told him to live righteously—would she really be happy about a fake cultivation marriage?
“Emelline… probably doesn’t match the ideal daughter-in-law image Mother had in mind.”
The steward’s eyes widened.
“How can you say that? Young Madam is the
perfect
daughter-in-law!”
“…?”
This, from the same steward who constantly worried over Emelline’s reckless antics?
“She makes you smile, doesn’t she? The Lady always said: laughter is what matters most. Happiness is like morning dew—gone with the rising sun, but it returns again each chilly dawn. You must find someone who brings that dew with them. Don’t you remember?”
…Not even a little.
Erik tilted his head as he looked at the steward.
“…That sounded like something you just made up.”
The steward averted his gaze with a faint, knowing smile.
Erik's brow furrowed. Spending so much time around Emelline must’ve influenced even the steward…
The man chuckled softly.
“I used to say that to my son all the time, young master. Hoho… If the late madam were still here, she would’ve said I was right.”
“…?”
Erik let out an incredulous laugh. The steward simply smiled wider—it had been said to make Erik laugh.
When Erik finally caught on to the steward’s intent, a slight bitterness curled in his chest. The steward spoke again, his voice warm.
“In any case, don’t you laugh more often when you’re with the young lady? I find that wonderful. Where else in this world could one find such a person again?”
With an armful of used towels, the steward trotted briskly back toward the manor. Erik watched his retreating figure in silence.
No… you really don’t find that again.
He slowly rose to his feet. The midday sun shone bright and golden above, yet for some reason, a sourness returned to his chest.
Because he understood his own feelings now.
And because he was equally certain—Emelline’s heart did not mirror his own.
He turned his gaze toward the estate, where she must have been.
They say feelings like this… are best kept hidden.
But Erik was no cultivator of deception. Whenever he tried to lie, his thoughts leaked out like spiritual energy from a cracked core.
“…Damn it.”
His face contorted beneath the blazing sunlight.
I’m already doomed,
he thought.
✵
✵
✵
And so, noon arrived.
Emelline seemed wholly absorbed in learning the score for her upcoming recital—at least, Erik hadn’t seen her around the main estate.
After bathing, he made his way toward the secluded annex.
Just standing before it brought a tightness to his chest.
He opened the poorly maintained door with a soft creak.
—Creeeak.
The aged wooden floor groaned beneath his steps like an ancient spirit disturbed.
His mother had spent her final days in this annex.
The Duke of Valdeck had claimed her “madness” had worsened to the point where she could no longer be around a young Erik. So she was locked away.
But in truth—Erik knew—it was to prevent the boy from realizing she hadn’t lost her mind at all.
He walked up to the second floor and stood before the window at the end of the hallway, looking out over the forest where the hunting grounds lay.
A dense thicket stretched across the horizon.
A chill crept down his spine—as if some hidden danger stirred just beyond sight.
That forest… was where his mother had perished.
He’d never seen her body with his own eyes, but he remembered the whispers of the estate servants.
"Terrible, wasn’t it? She was caught in a snare—the kind they use to trap deer…"
A snare.
That was what the servants had said.
But his mother wasn’t someone who would take her own life. He had learned that… far too late.
She had been
caught
—in a trap made of rope.
A snare designed to silence, not to kill out of despair.
…But why?
While mulling over the possible reasons, Emelline’s voice echoed in his memory—something she had said that struck him as oddly insightful.
"If it was a political marriage, then the Duke married Lady Émilie for the interests of both House Giovanni and House Orléans, right? But what if… there was something twisted in the Duke’s own desires behind the marriage? If Lady Émilie discovered that… wouldn’t she have reached out to her family for help? I would’ve. In desperate times, you look for your blood.”
Now that he thought about it… there had been rumors that just before her death, his mother had written to her father—Erik’s maternal grandfather.
The servant who had been told to deliver that letter… surely handed it over to the Duke instead.
And if there had been
nothing suspicious
in it, then perhaps it
had
made its way to his grandfather safely.
But if there
had been
… What had been written in that letter?
To finally answer the question that had haunted him for so long, Erik stood at the end of the corridor, staring down toward the farthest chamber.
A secluded wing, and at its edge—the room his mother used until her final breath.
“I gave birth to the child of a monster!”
Erik clenched his fists tightly. Since returning to the Duke’s estate months ago, after a decade of absence, he hadn’t once set foot in that place.
But today, he had to.
His father’s servants had likely long since cleared everything out… but still, he couldn’t be sure. Something might yet remain.
A trace. A relic. A final message.
And though Erik hoped his mother had left something behind… a part of him also prayed she hadn’t.
If that room held nothing but her torment—
If it revealed the depths of her suffering—
Then Erik…
The corridor that had once felt endless in his childhood now seemed all too short. It felt as though just a single step would bring him to the door.
He began walking slowly, each step deliberate, toward the chamber.
Orléans…
Memories stirred. Echoes of childhood illusions—visions of a woman, mad and alone, locked away in that room—clawed at his mind.
His pace began to falter. Sweat beaded on his temple.
Why… even now…
Why was crossing this threshold still like being strangled by invisible chains?
He reached for the door—
“...What are you doing?”
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, the door flung open from the inside.
“…?”
Erik froze, eyes locking with warm brown ones.
Emelline stood there, her head tilted, wearing a bright, unaffected smile.
“Why are you just standing there?” she asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Erik’s breath slipped out in a sigh—half stunned, half helpless.
“…Ha…”
Chapter 97