Chapter 142

The sea breeze blew softly, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean. The weather was unseasonably pleasant for winter, the waves calm and subdued, and the temperature just warm enough to make the cold bearable. The ship plowed steadily through the ice, its hull creaking as the crew moved with purpose, tending to their tasks with the quiet efficiency of seasoned sailors.

Rezette sat hunched beneath a tattered sail that flapped lazily in the tailwind. His fingers cradled a small note he had retrieved moments earlier from where it had been wedged under the mast alongside a pebble. The paper was coarse and cheap, its edges frayed. A single line was scrawled across it in the clumsy handwriting of a child:

To the homeland.

“Why aren’t you speaking up?!”

The sharp bark of Ruben’s voice broke through the ambient sounds of the ship, harsh and commanding like the crack of a whip.

Behind him, a young boy trembled, his thin shoulders quaking as tears welled in his wide eyes.

“I-I was just delivering a message…!” the boy stammered, his voice trembling as much as his body. “I didn’t do anything else!”

“Whose orders were you following?” Ruben demanded, stepping closer. “Speak the truth, or you’ll regret it!”

“J-just an errand… sniffle… that’s all… sniff….”

“Enough, Ruben.”

Rezette’s calm voice cut through the tension like a knife. He didn’t look up, but his subtle gesture was enough to halt Ruben’s interrogation. The man let out a low growl of frustration, shoving the boy forward with a barked warning.

“Mind your words in the presence of someone of high status,” Ruben muttered gruffly.

Someone of high status? The phrase almost made Rezette smirk. He found the deference laughable, given the circumstances.

The boy stumbled forward hesitantly, his small frame dwarfed by the imposing presence of the men around him.

“S-sir…” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Because Rezette was seated, their eyes were nearly level. He regarded the boy quietly, his gaze sharp but devoid of malice.

“Your name,” Rezette asked, his voice low and even.

“T-Tommy…” the boy sniffled, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Alright, Tommy.” Rezette held up the scrap of paper. “Who gave you this errand?”

“I don’t know…” Tommy stammered, shaking his head frantically. “I don’t know anything about that lady…”

“A lady?” Rezette pressed, raising an eyebrow.

Tommy hiccupped, his voice growing more frantic. “A pretty lady I met on the street asked me to leave that note here. She said she’d give me a gift if I did, so I just did what she said…”

“Did you see her face?”

“No, sir… sniffle…”

“Then how do you know she was pretty?”

Tommy hesitated, blinking up at Rezette as though the question hadn’t occurred to him. “Her voice was pretty,” he said finally, his tone almost wistful. “Not like the innkeeper lady’s—it was kind and gentle… sniff.”

“She gave me this pretty ribbon too…” Tommy added, holding up his wrist.

Rezette’s gaze fell to the red ribbon tied loosely around the boy’s small wrist. It was strikingly familiar, a delicate piece of fabric he had seen many times before. Elise often tied it in her hair when she stayed at the Irrien estate.

Rezette exhaled heavily, closing his eyes as if shutting out the world could still the storm brewing inside him. His hand dragged down his face, fingers lingering on his chin. The sigh that escaped him was thick with frustration, its weight pressing down on the air around him.

She should still be asleep right now.

The thought brought him no solace, only a bitter unease that twisted in his gut. Elise wasn’t just awake—she was somewhere she shouldn’t be.

He recalled the herbal mixture he’d left with her back in their quarters: a sedative made from wild poppies, designed to soothe frayed nerves and lull her into restful oblivion. She had accepted it without question, just as she always did.

But Baron Conrad’s words echoed sharply in his mind: “The poppies won’t work on her. She’s immune. To her, that scent is akin to the aroma of death.”

If Conrad was right, then every moment he’d spent reassured by her tranquil slumber had been a lie. She must have been lying awake, her mind meticulously weaving this escape plan.

Something has always felt… off.

Over the past months at Rotiara Castle, they hadn’t spent a single day apart. So when—how—had she managed to orchestrate this? No matter how hard he wracked his memory, he couldn’t pinpoint a single opportunity.

A sharp throb began to pulse at his temples, his frustration manifesting physically.

“To the homeland…” he murmured under his breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at the note. Was it a signal to her accomplices? A message meant for someone else? Or did it mean she planned to leave ahead of him by ship?

“Where did you meet her?” Rezette’s voice cut through the boy’s hiccupping sobs, sharp as a blade.

“D-down at Dock 5 by the harbor,” the boy stammered, his voice trembling. “She said she’d be taking a ship leaving tomorrow… hic… so she’s staying near there for the night….”

Rezette’s mind raced. A ship departing tomorrow. Then why had she left the estate a full day early? Had she chosen the exact moment he would be away? Or… had she wanted him to find her?

The boy whimpered softly, and Rezette blinked, brought back to the present by the sound. Glancing down, he froze as he noticed the inky black tendrils unfurling around his feet, creeping outward like living shadows.

The sight chilled him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to regain control. The dark energy was a manifestation of his anger—an unwelcome guest that had lingered near him for months, never fully dissipating, always waiting.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, but something kept slipping through his grasp, evading both his thoughts and his will.

This was dangerous. The madness that had been hovering at the edges of his mind for weeks was no longer just a passive presence. It was growing restless, demanding release.

Yet, for some reason, he no longer felt the same desperate urge to suppress it.

The words Elise had once said about seeing a dragon in him felt eerily accurate now. She truly had a way of driving him to the brink of insanity, pulling at threads of control he hadn’t realized were so fragile.

The boy sniffled, cautiously glancing up at Rezette as though afraid a single wrong move might summon the beast lurking beneath his calm exterior.

“Um…” the boy began hesitantly, his voice small. “Who are you, sir? Are you a knight from the Duke’s household?”

Rezette’s lips curved into a rare, picturesque smile—one that would have seemed almost gentle if not for the cold fire flickering in his eyes. It was an expression he would never have allowed himself under normal circumstances.

“No,” Rezette replied simply, his tone calm but carrying a weight that made the boy flinch slightly. “Husband.”

“H-Husband?” The boy’s voice cracked, his confusion palpable.

“The pretty lady you met—the one you’re talking about?” Rezette’s smile didn’t falter. “Her husband.”

Before the boy could respond, Rezette reached down and untied the ribbon from the child’s wrist. The boy, who had only just stopped crying thanks to Rezette’s unexpectedly gentle demeanor, immediately began to tear up again, his lip quivering.

“But—”

Without a word, Rezette removed one of the cufflinks from his sleeve—a small, polished piece of silver adorned with intricate engravings—and handed it to the boy. The child’s eyes widened, and his face lit up with wonder.

“Wow! It’s so shiny!”

A dry laugh escaped Rezette’s lips, though his eyes betrayed no amusement.

“Keep silent about her,” Rezette said softly, but there was a sharp edge beneath his words that made the boy stiffen.

“S-Silent?”

“Don’t tell anyone. About anything,” Rezette clarified, his voice dipping lower.

The boy nodded furiously, clutching the cufflink like it was a treasure beyond measure. “Y-Yes, sir! Thank you!”

With a quick bow, the boy darted off through the ranks of knights, moving as nimbly as a squirrel.

Rezette straightened, his smile fading as his gaze shifted to his men. His tone became cold and authoritative, every word cutting through the crisp air like a blade.

“Isaac,” he commanded, “escort the boy to Dock 5. Then search the nearby inns and find Elise. Don’t scare her unnecessarily.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Isaac replied, bowing deeply.

Rezette continued, his tone brooking no argument. “Pull all remaining personnel from the Irrien estate. Once you find her, skip the capital and head straight to Rotiara.”

“As you command,” Isaac replied crisply, though a shadow of hesitation crossed his face. “But, Your Grace… aren’t you going to her directly?”

Ruben shifted uneasily, his eyes darting toward his master. It was clear from the context of the conversation that the princess was attempting to escape again. And yet, Rezette—who had every reason to pursue her immediately—showed no intention of moving.

Instead, Rezette stood silently, his gaze fixed on the harbor where the ships swayed gently in their moorings. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke.

“There’s work to finish first,” he said, his tone resolute.

Work to finish—other than retrieving his wife? Ruben’s brow furrowed in confusion as he watched Rezette stride toward the pier.

The path Rezette chose led toward the inn. But the way he moved, slow and deliberate, left Ruben with the impression that his master wasn’t in any particular rush.

When Rezette returned, the sun had unmistakably sunk westward, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and gray.

“Y-Your Grace! Your Grace!”

Isaac’s voice rang out in panic, breaking the stillness. He came sprinting toward Rezette, his face pale as a ghost.

Rezette paused, slowly wiping the blood from his hands with a handkerchief, his movements methodical. He narrowed his eyes, the icy glint in them hardening.

Almost simultaneously, a group of knights from Rotiara appeared on horseback, galloping toward him from the opposite direction. Their expressions were grim, their urgency palpable.

Rezette’s face, already devoid of emotion, grew as rigid as stone. A faint prickling sensation crawled up his spine.

That feeling again.

He had learned long ago never to dismiss it. That bad feeling—it was always accurate. Something had happened.

No, not just something at the Duke’s estate. Judging by the signs, it wasn’t confined to Rotiara or even the city.

Something was unraveling—the threads of the entire story were beginning to fray.

***

“Hah… hah…”

Elise’s breath came in ragged gasps as she pressed herself against the cool stone wall of a dim alley. She clutched her side, trying to calm the erratic rhythm of her heart pounding in her chest.

Since leaving Rotiara, her life had been nothing but a series of frantic escapes, one after another. Not even during the fall of Argan, when she had fled the burning palace with ash and smoke filling her lungs, had she run this relentlessly.

“Sir Lyman, Dock 5 and the surrounding areas have been fully locked down.”

The voice of a knight reached her ears, sharp and close. She froze, her breath hitching. The sound of armored footsteps echoed faintly, growing louder.

Her legs trembled as she staggered deeper into the shadows, every step more uncertain than the last. The blood of someone else soaked the hood of her cloak, chilling her neck and matting her hair as it dripped down in sticky rivulets.

She wiped at the crusted blood near her ear with the back of her trembling hand, smearing it further across her skin. It didn’t matter. Her priority was survival.

The alley twisted and turned, narrowing into a maze of tangled pathways. Wooden boards jutted out overhead, blocking out what little daylight remained, plunging the path into near-total darkness.

A hiding place…

She clenched her jaw, scanning her surroundings desperately. She needed somewhere to lie low, just until morning. Just until she could come up with a new plan.

But no matter how much she wracked her brain, she couldn’t think of a single safe location in a city locked down by knights.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of her hood, but it was no use. The fabric was soaked through with blood and half-torn, barely hanging on. Without proper cover, her face was fully exposed.

The moment she stepped out of this alley, she’d be caught.

“Damn it.”

The curse slipped out before Elise could stop herself. The words felt foreign on her tongue, awkward and clumsy, but they perfectly encapsulated her current predicament. There was no room for hesitation now.

Elise came to a stop in front of a loosely stacked stone wall. The narrow path split off to the left and right, but she stayed put, sinking to the ground with a deliberate slowness. Her breath escaped in uneven bursts, the tension twisting her stomach into knots.

“You’re watching, aren’t you?” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. Her gaze locked on the sealed wall, sharp and accusing. “Becky… No, Sameshita.”

She clenched her abdomen protectively, a faint tremor running through her fingers.

“You’ve been keeping your eyes on me this whole time, haven’t you?” Her voice rose, cutting through the oppressive silence. “Thunder Dragon of Oblivion. Recluse of Grenthern. Spine of the Earth, and…” Her lips curled into a bitter sneer. “The most beautiful creation of the gods—or whatever title you prefer. The original wielder of magic. The great and whimsical mentor of Gallian.”

The words spilled out like venom, biting and laced with mockery.

“I’m not here to beg for help,” she continued, her tone sharpening. “This is a negotiation. So show yourself. Now.”

The silence stretched, deafening and deliberate. Her jaw tightened.

“You, who fell for a human’s plea…” she pressed, leaning forward. “Now their descendant calls upon you with just as much fervor. Will you really stay hidden?”

As soon as Gallian’s name left her lips, the wall in front of her began to ripple, the solid bricks distorting like water disturbed by a stone. The swirling motion intensified, drawing inward toward a single point as the stones trembled ominously.

“How insolent.”

A deep, resonant voice pierced the air, low and cold. From the warped surface of the wall, a pair of glowing yellow eyes emerged, glaring down at her with unmasked disdain.

“Trying to bind me with that child’s name?” the voice hissed. “Such audacity, Elizabeth. Unless you wish for me to devour your very soul, abandon these cunning tricks.”

“Oh dear, what a shame,” Elise murmured, her lips curling into a pale, mirthless smile. She gripped her cloak tightly, steadying herself.

“That’s exactly what I was about to say.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion breaking through the cold menace.

“What?”

A hollow laugh escaped Elise’s lips, echoing unnaturally in the cramped alleyway.

“What?” she repeated mockingly. “Are you going to take Gallian’s place for me?”

The dragon scoffed, its contempt palpable. “You dare—”

Ignoring its interruption, Elise pressed forward, her voice cutting through its outrage like a blade.

“I need something,” she said firmly. “A magical circuit. A system capable of drawing an active magic array.”

She paused, her eyes glinting with determination.

“The one thing I wasn’t born with.”