To create a king. Don’t you find the idea tempting?”
“…But why crown Robert of all people? Why him?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You put the crown on the weakest one—so it’s easier to snatch it away later.”
The independence of the Northern Lands.
No, Valdek’s ambitions reached beyond mere independence. That dream alone had been long-cherished—a flame that never died, despite how far-fetched it once seemed.
But what Valdek was offering now wasn’t just freedom from the Denik Dynasty. He was speaking of toppling that decrepit line completely—and raising the North as the new ruler of the continent.
It was an offer the Grand Duke simply could not refuse.
Just as those words echoed in his mind, a strange noise rang out from the military encampment.
—
Screeeeech!
A hallucination? That was his first thought.
But both the Grand Duke and the commander looked up at the same time—smoke was rising thickly from the camp, dark and acrid, staining the sky. The commander’s face turned pale.
“They’ve burned birch wood!”
The Grand Duke yanked his reins hard.
“Damn it all!”
That fool Robert.
Both he and the commander spurred their spirit-beasts into a full gallop.
And still, the unsettling sound rang through the air—
—
Screeeeech!
The death wail of a dryad.
This was the very reason the Grand Duke had strictly forbidden the use of birchwood as fuel.
Unlike in the South, birch trees in the North were home to dryads—spirit-beings that slumbered within the trees.
Even when the trees were cut down and chopped into firewood, the dryads remained alive, bound to the wood until flame consumed them. Only at that final moment did they die—and with their death came the shriek that now pierced the sky.
And those screams—those death cries—were like divine bells to troll ears.
—
Screeeeech!
The Grand Duke’s mount came to a halt.
The camp was now in sight. But the commander’s beast also reared back.
Their path forward had been blocked.
The Grand Duke’s hand moved to the hilt of his spirit-forged sword.
Creeeak. Creeeak!
Emerging from the mists ahead—dozens of trolls.
“Kiieek! Kiiek! Kii—!”
With blue blood splattered across his face, the Grand Duke beheaded the remaining trolls one by one, their heads flying like withered gourds.
He stood amidst the charred and trampled remnants of the encampment, surveying the devastation. Though he had charged back after cleaving through dozens of trolls who barred his path, he had returned too late. Robert had utterly failed to act as a commander should. With their chain of command in shambles, the soldiers had been left helpless—paralyzed in panic by the fire that only forty or so trolls had set.
Only after the Grand Duke’s arrival did the troops manage to compose themselves and drive the trolls back.
“Uwaaaah! Where in the Nine Hells have you been?!” Robert shrieked, his face pale as bone. “Those stinking fiends lit our barracks ablaze!”
Overcome with impotent fury, Robert raged. Mere moments ago, he’d been cowering behind the rear line while the Grand Duke battled the beasts. But now, with the trolls slain, he dared to scold him as though he were a seasoned commander.
The Grand Duke said nothing in reply. Calmly, he began wiping the blood from his blade. If blood was left to dry on steel, even a spiritual weapon would grow dull before its time.
“They’re not beasts, they’re trolls,” the Grand Duke corrected coldly.
“What’s the difference?! Why haven’t you wiped them out yet?! Aren’t you supposed to be the lord of the North?! What have you even done?!”
The stench of alcohol clung to Robert’s breath. So he’d burned the birch logs—logs the Grand Duke had specifically forbidden him from using—and spent the time drinking himself blind. Typical.
The Grand Duke suppressed the killing intent rising in his dantian and replied in a low, controlled tone.
“Silence, Your Highness. Trolls are descendants of the ancient fae. They do not yield magic stones when slain, and if you fall victim to their cursed incantations, your heart will be bound by frost for the rest of your life. Even you will never break free.”
“W-What? That’s just—!”
Robert stood up to protest but quickly fell silent, glancing between the Grand Duke’s blade and his ice-cold eyes. The Grand Duke sneered.
“You mean to say those creatures wield cursed magic?”
Before Robert could finish his doubt, a soldier approached, bearing a wounded comrade on his back. He knelt between the Grand Duke and Robert, gently lowering the injured man to the ground.
Without a word, the Grand Duke used his sword to slice open the front of the wounded man’s uniform, revealing his chest.
The soldier was barely breathing. Across his chest, a glowing violet sigil pulsed. With each strained breath, a sinister energy—like frozen miasma—spread through the veins near his heart.
The wounded man looked up at the Grand Duke with terror in his eyes. The other soldiers couldn’t bear to watch.
Thunk!
Without hesitation, the Grand Duke plunged his sword into the man’s heart. A swift execution.
The capital soldiers who’d come with Robert recoiled in horror. The North’s men, however, stood unmoved. They had seen this many times.
A man cursed by a troll would soon grow frost in his heart. That ice would flow through his blood, allowing the troll’s lingering soul to possess him. These cursed ones feared sunlight, their limbs slow and strength drained. There was no use bringing such weaklings along. Better to end them swiftly.
Robert staggered away, retching.
“W-What the hell was that?! If you had to kill him, do it somewhere else! That was a public execution! That’s only allowed in wartime!”
The Grand Duke sheathed his sword with disinterest. “If this isn’t wartime, then when is, Your Highness? In the North, there is no such thing as peace. It’s always wartime.”
Capital-bred fools.
The Grand Duke silently promised himself:
One day, I’ll drive my sword through that pale, pampered neck of yours.
He turned and spoke with solemn finality.
“From this moment on, I assume full command. All forces, including those of the Royal Army, now fall under my authority.”
Raising his sword, still slick with blood, he looked down at Robert.
“Any objections?”
Robert trembled violently, glaring at him through gritted teeth.
“Y-You’ve gone mad…”
As he lunged forward in a fury, the Grand Duke drove his sword into the ground right before Robert’s feet.
Then, in a voice colder than northern frost, he stared him down and said—
“If you keep doing something this foolish—drawing in trolls like now—you won’t be killed by trolls. You’ll be cut down by your own soldiers before you’ve taken ten more steps. Is that what you want? To keep holding onto your precious command seal while trembling inside your tent?”
Robert swallowed hard.
Shhhing.
The Grand Duke unsheathed his spirit blade again, the sword letting out a low growl like a beast in warning. Robert stammered.
“B-but I-I’m a prince… y-you
do
know that, right?”
The Grand Duke gave a dry, contemptuous snort.
“I know, Your Highness.”
With that, he calmly began wiping the blade clean once more.
✵
✵
✵
A week had passed since the banquet at the Princess’s palace had come to a smooth close.
Ella stared at the schematic for a new spirit-powered carriage and muttered to herself:
“Haa… spellforged engineering always feels like cheating.”
It wasn’t just a feeling—many spelltech cultivators really
were
con artists. Some who called themselves magi-engineers turned out to be neither proper craftsmen nor trained spellcasters. Others were outright scammers, copying the infamous Oz—who impersonated a Grand Archmage, made off with a fortune, and vanished.
‘Even your grandfather got swindled by Oz! Never trust a spelltech cultivator!’
Ella remembered her father grumbling with a hand on his neck. To be fair, His Majesty wasn’t exactly known for adapting to new disciplines. Still, even Ella had to admit—cultivated magi-engineering was absurdly complex.
Just then, someone cleared their throat politely.
Ella looked up. Sitting neatly on the sofa across from her was a man in formal robes. Right—she vaguely recalled letting in an engineering professor about fifteen minutes ago. She’d meant to just glance at the blueprints before speaking with him… but time had slipped away.
“Ah, sorry. I only meant to glance at this schematic… What will you have for tea, Professor Thomas?”
The man smiled kindly and pointed to the cup already in front of him.
“I’ve taken Darjeeling. And the name’s Thompson, Your Highness.”
Thomas, Thompson—same difference, wasn’t it?
Ella rose from her seat and moved to sit across from him on the sofa. But once they were face-to-face, her mind went blank. She glanced at the attendant standing behind the professor, her expression awkward.
“Uhh… so… what was this meeting about again?”
As Thompson’s expression stiffened slightly, the attendant stepped in.
“Didn’t Your Highness ask Professor Thompson to tutor Kellos? He’s come to report on the results.”
Ella gave a small nod, still not taking her eyes off the schematic.
Kellos was the alias of Kai.
Hearing his name after so long felt strange. It had already been a week since she last saw those perpetually tear-filled eyes.
Since then, Kai hadn’t shown his face anywhere near the palace. Maybe he really had been too busy learning spelltech. Or maybe, despite how she publicly proposed war laws to protect the dignity of prisoners, Kai had come to see her as no better than a captor who once tried to make a move on him.
Still focused on the blueprints, Ella asked:
“So… any progress with that bizarre spirit-fan mechanism? And… Kellos—he’s turning out useful?”
Thinking of Kai didn’t make her feel particularly good. But it didn’t make her feel bad either.
No—it shouldn’t. A sovereign-in-waiting couldn’t afford to have her emotions swayed so easily.
As if waiting for this moment, Thompson pulled out a small object and placed it in front of her.
“This is what he built in just one week.”
“…What is this thing?”
“It uses an electrolyte solution to generate—”
“No, no. Speak like a human, not like a textbook.”
Ella waved him off irritably.
She
had
studied some engineering, but she couldn’t devote herself to it full time. Every new concept threw her off balance. And of course, professors had an uncanny ability to make simple things sound arcane.
“With this,” Thompson said patiently, “a fan will spin without needing to be connected by wires. Like this.”
Thompson drew a small rabbit doll from his robes. Without a word, he inserted a tiny mechanism—the one Kellos had recently forged—into the core of the doll. In the next instant, the rabbit's hands began to flap with a life of their own.
The attendant’s jaw dropped. Ella’s eyes widened in disbelief.
She asked, voice low and tense, “Are you telling me… Ka—Kellos… has created a
magic stone
?”
She had almost called him "Kai" out of sheer shock.
Thompson replied calmly, “We’re thinking of calling it… a spirit battery.”
Magic stones were artifacts imbued with immense spiritual energy, capable of powering formations or mechanisms without any need for external force. In truth, the stone itself
was
the engine.
The only drawback was their rarity—so precious and expensive that widespread use was unthinkable. But their advantages far outweighed their scarcity.
Now, this so-called "battery" shared a similar trait: it operated with no spirit lines, no steam, no fire—nothing but its internal core.
Thompson shrugged, a flicker of awe and bitterness in his eyes. “It’s similar to a magic stone, in theory. But its capacity is still… far more limited.”
He lowered his head slightly, unable to mask the envy and quiet defeat smoldering within.
To think he forged this in just a week...
Truly, a cultivator one should avoid becoming entangled with.
Thompson recalled the scene: Kellos assembling the components with no hesitation, as though he carried the blueprint within his divine sea. When Thompson asked how, Kellos had simply replied:
"It just works… like crafting a mechanical heart."
He had heard many strange things from so-called geniuses before—but this? This was the first time someone claimed their creation “just worked.”
Grinding his teeth silently, Thompson removed the battery from the rabbit and held it out toward the princess.
“He… said he wanted you to have this, Your Highness. A late birthday gift, apparently.”
A birthday gift?
Ella took the battery and let out a dry, half-hearted chuckle. Then she turned to her attendant.
“Where is that little wretch now?”
The attendant replied promptly, “In his own courtyard, Princess. The palace doesn’t have a suitable place for educating someone like him…”
✵
✵
✵
The day had come—Eric and I were to depart for the southern provinces.
The Duke didn’t show his face. In fact, he hadn’t gone hunting in days. He’d been locked in his study or slipping out for shadowy errands.
Probably busy scheming some new form of wickedness,
I thought with a scowl.
Just before leaving, I fetched a book from the study:
The Mysteries of Life.
Why? Because days ago, while Nina tightened the laces of my dress, she muttered something that had haunted me since—
"Why aren’t you gaining weight, milady? Well… in two months, your belly will show anyway."
And that’s when I realized something horrifying.
I had never seen a pregnant woman up close. I had
no idea
when a baby bump was supposed to appear!
I could stuff myself to gain weight, sure—but a pregnant-looking belly? That required more than just dumplings. Perhaps something like the classic trick of padding cloth under one's robes…
Or maybe… borrow one of those suspicious potions from the witch. She had several concoctions that altered outward appearance—disguises, illusions, things that confused the eyes and senses.
And whether I wanted it or not, once we reached the South, I was likely to encounter her again.
If that cursed witch had opened her mouth, then debt collectors would surely swarm toward me like hungry vultures.
And nothing would amuse her more than watching those leeches confront me and Eric, hoping to see us fail.
Ugh, that sadistic monster!
Clutching
The Mysteries of Life
tightly to my chest, I stepped out the grand doors of the estate.
Eric and Lily were already waiting for me.
The moment Eric saw me emerge, he smiled—a soft, bright smile that stretched the corners of his mouth dangerously close to his temples. He hurried over and snatched the books and luggage I was carrying.
“The Mysteries of Life? Some kind of alchemy or spirit-beast anatomy manual?”
Yeah, I wish. Honestly, I wasn't interested in the mysteries of
unborn
life—I was curious about the internal changes of a
fully grown, sentient female cultivator
bearing life. Why did all pregnancy manuals have such cryptic, philosophical titles?
And then—
I grimaced.
‘What is
wrong
with this guy?’
“You said you were secretly in love with me, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I like you.”
Lily sighed audibly behind me.
Eric looked at me with that expression again, like a loyal beast companion wagging its invisible tail behind him. He still wore that soft, infuriating smile on his face.
‘Does he not know what
secretly
means? Or is he speaking some other language entirely?’
What part of this looked “secret” to him? What part!?
Day in, day out, at every chance he got, he would say he liked me—whether with words or with his eyes if nothing else!
Even in the corridor—
‘Just got back from training?’
‘Yeah. You been well? I like you.’
‘…What? That’s not even a conversation…’
‘Thought I only said it in my head. Guess it came out.’
‘…Right… okay…’
Or in the garden—
‘Why the flowers?’
‘For you. Do you like flowers?’
‘Ah… no, not really… I nearly died once eating them when I was starving. Passed out.’
‘These aren’t for eating. They’re for looking at. Ornamental.’
‘…Why would I
look
at them?’
‘Because they make people feel good. Like how I feel good when I look at you?’
He even said it in front of the steward!
‘Young Miss, if you don’t want to be utterly humiliated at the recital, please just memorize a few piano pieces.’
‘Ugh… my head already hurts.’
‘You can’t be in pain.’
‘It’s a figure of speech! My head’s not
actually
hurting… Do I really need to explain this!?’
Was there any other duo in the world having these kinds of conversations?
But even after dozens of exchanges like that, just before I stepped into the carriage, I turned and held him back—this time, seriously.
“Let’s establish some boundaries between us.”
“Sure.”
Eric smiled gently again.
Lately, he never seemed to say “no” to anything I asked.
Why?! Why was he like this?! This guy used to be so sharp—how did he turn into such a fool? When did this happen!?
“You’re only allowed to say you like me once per day. In exchange—”
“I don’t even say it that often though…”
I glared at him, completely dumbfounded.
Did he really believe he wasn’t saying it constantly? Was this some kind of act? Was he trolling me!?
Feeling my stare, he awkwardly turned his head and cleared his throat.
“…Go on.”
“In exchange! Until I return from the Southern Territories, I’ll give you an answer.”
At that, Eric looked straight at me. The smile that had been plastered across his face disappeared. In its place, his crimson eyes trembled faintly.
“…An answer?”
Chapter 100