Chapter 24
Cassandra climbed the snowy mountain upon hearing the news that a monster had been slain. White puffs of breath escaped her mouth as she gasped irregularly, and because she had rushed out in such haste, she hadn’t even put on her robe properly. Picking up a long branch from the snow, Cassandra poked at the corpse of the dead monster.
With a gush, blood spilled out, soaking the ground and melting the frozen earth as it seeped deep inside. Despite the stench, Cassandra lifted its wings, examined the severed head, and after a detailed inspection, let out a sigh tinged with relief.
“So that’s what it is. A monster in the form of a raven…”
“Isn’t it far too large to be called a raven?”
“It’s because of black magic. The first monster we found was in the form of a northern fox. It was originally a cub, yet at the time of discovery it was the size of a full-grown adult. The second was a black snake—it grew to lengths far beyond its natural size. And this raven, too, would have been much smaller if not for the black magic.”
The condition for creating a monster was to use a living being. A corpse could not be turned into a monster. Once corrupted by black magic, the creatures grew abnormally large, their blood turned to poison, and their aggression skyrocketed. They lost all sense of reason, killing indiscriminately—even their own kind.
That was why sorcerers usually chose bears, wolves, or snakes—creatures already difficult for humans to handle. But in this case, why a raven? There were hawks and eagles, yet they chose a raven…
Could it be for reconnaissance? If Duke Balian and the mountain scouts had killed it, perhaps it had been sent as a spy?
Monsters couldn’t just be made at will—it required an immense amount of magical power. Perhaps the hidden black magicians were far greater in number than she had imagined. Moreover, Cassandra had seen the future only a few days ago.
“…That vision still troubles me.”
Cassandra furrowed her brows quietly.
The vision she had seen: several monsters attacking a single carriage, with Duke Balian and the scouts engaging them. Thankfully, in that future, all the monsters were slain and no one was injured. However, she hadn’t been able to discern whose carriage it was, nor the time and place of the ambush.
“We’ve increased the patrols. Just in case, we’ve also issued warnings for people not to travel late at night.”
“I’m certain it was a noble’s carriage. It was late at night, in a forest… if only I had looked a little more closely.”
“It’s all right. You said there was no further vision afterward. Once the ambush is resolved, I intend to report it to the temple immediately.”
At the mention of the temple from Esh’s lips, Cassandra’s shoulders flinched slightly. She said nothing and simply nodded.
A mountain scout approached with leather gloves and a sack to collect the monster’s corpse. But just as he reached out, the supposedly dead monster suddenly jerked its head up and let out a deafening roar. Its blood-red eyes scanned the air and locked on Cassandra. Edmund shouted urgently.
“Lady Cassandra! Get back!”
But before anyone could act, the monster’s head lunged at her. Esh quickly raised his sword to strike, but the head exploded right before his eyes.
“Ugh!”
Cassandra escaped unharmed, but blood splattered across Esh’s skin as the head burst. He immediately rubbed snow on the wound, but it burned as if seared by fire. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pressed hard on the injury, his heart pounding wildly.
The blood had touched an old wound he had received while scouting. Could the monster’s blood have entered his body?
As the thought consumed him, his breathing grew labored.
“Your Grace!”
“Stay back! No one come near me! Everyone, get away!”
The injury itself was not the problem—it was what came after.
Suddenly, his heart sank with a heavy thud, and his vision spun. Staggering backward, Esh instinctively knew it was already too late.
“Your Grace, are you all right?”
“Protect Lady Cassandra. And… and…”
He twisted his gaze downward.
When he removed his hand, he saw pale, unnatural scales sprouting from the wound. They gleamed like gemstones yet were jagged as shattered blades, and they spread quickly across his skin. The sight drove Esh to bolt toward the forest. Cassandra tried to follow, but Pedro stopped her.
“Your Grace!”
“No, Lady Cassandra!”
“But—!”
“He will be all right.”
“How can he be all right! That’s Leopold’s curse! Even Duke Balian won’t be able to withstand it…!”
“I know. But right now, it’s best you stay far from him. If it truly becomes unmanageable, we’ll bring you to him. We’ll assign you guards, so please, return for today.”
But Pedro’s expression was far from calm. Staring at the direction Esh had fled, he bit his lip and shouted loudly. The mountain scouts immediately sprang into action.
“Escort Lady Cassandra! Seal off the forest at once! Until the Duke summons us, no one is to enter!”
Breath came hard and shallow. His legs stiffened, making it difficult even to stand. The monster’s blood coursing through his body felt terrifyingly vivid—like rusted blades, sharp, rough, and cold. After staggering a few steps, Esh collapsed. Without realizing it, he had reached the frozen lake.
Across the water stood the glass conservatory where noble ladies often spent their leisure hours. Pedro would surely block the area and send people away, but Esh couldn’t take chances. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Yet he couldn’t move deeper into the forest either; his legs refused to obey.
Before him stretched the beautiful lake. Slowly, he raised his gaze to his arm, now covered in scales. He was no different from the black serpent he had slain before. Frosty breath slipped from his lips. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the ashen sky—bleak and heavy, just like his fate.
[Mother, Mother.]
[My son, don’t come out. Stay there. Do you understand?]
[Mother, don’t go!]
Voices of the past—memories of the Balian family tragedy—echoed in his mind. He clamped his hands over his ears, trying to shut them out, but the voices wouldn’t stop.
[Father! Don’t kill Mother, please!]
[Esh, don’t come! Run away!]
[Mother! Mother!]
Shaking, he pressed his hands against his ears until veins bulged.
[You’re hideous. A monster. Filthy.]
The grating, metallic voice drove him to shout into the air:
“Enough!”
His anguished cry carried on the wind, shaking the surrounding forest like a storm before subsiding. His hands dropped limply to his sides.
The nails he had always trimmed obsessively had grown into long, sharp talons. His neatly kept hair now flowed down past his shoulders.
He touched his cheek. The cold, hard sensation told him that scales had spread there as well.
He forced himself to stand and staggered to the lakeshore. Plunging his hand into the water, he scrubbed furiously to tear the scales away. The icy cold numbed him to the bone, but he didn’t care. No matter how hard he scraped, the scales remained.
He let out another scream, his chest heaving violently. His arm was covered in claw marks and dripping blood around the growing scales.
[Our family is cursed. We’ll all die—go mad and perish as monsters!]
[Ah… Father.]
[Just as Leopold said. So before that happens, I’ll kill you myself…]
His mother, bleeding to death. His father, lost to madness, intent on slaughtering his family.
Esh clenched his eyes shut, then opened them to stare at the lake. Unlike his own torment, the waters lay calm and still. A faint, broken smile tugged at his lips as he leaned closer to the surface.
The mirror-like water reflected nothing at all.
The sun rose high, blazing more brilliantly than usual. Though the day was hot, the road lined with imperial banners was filled with people. Even the imperial guards on standby kept glancing anxiously to the side. Despite the massive crowd, a strange hush prevailed. Only soft murmurs broke the silence, as though everyone had agreed to wait in reverence.
In their hands, each person clutched a white rose. Some hoisted children on their shoulders, others climbed rooftops—all waiting for them. Some had been there since the night before, but none showed fatigue.
Then, from the distance, the sound of countless hooves thundered. Someone shouted, “Ah!” and at once, necks craned, heels lifted, and all eyes turned.
A man who had camped at the front lines of the crowd narrowed his eyes, gazing toward the sound. Slowly, his face brightened. Like a halo of sunlight, they came riding forth.
The man shouted with all his strength:
“Theodore Arvelcheda!”
His cry ignited the crowd. Joyful screams erupted. The figures, once mere specks on the horizon, grew closer and closer, and the excitement mounted.
As the knights, triumphant from their great campaign, entered the street, the people flung their white roses into the air. The sky filled with petals, pure and dazzling. Trumpets blared, echoing through the heavens, and cheers soared higher still.
With wheat-gold hair and eyes as blue and brilliant as gemstones—
The Empire’s hero, Theodore, had returned.
