Chapter 32
The bodies of criminals were, as a rule, burned to ashes.
If one wished to bury them instead, royal or noble permission was required.
The grave Mark found was one of those exceptions.
“Father said bringing your remains back to the estate wasn’t allowed.”
Even in death, it seemed, she was despised.
Mark sneered down at the owner of the grave. There wasn’t a trace of affection in his eyes.
“I didn’t want to do this, but… I’ve wronged you, too.”
His mother had been beautiful — a commoner, but striking enough to catch his father’s eye.
Yet her endless greed and vulgarity had quickly made him lose interest.
A woman like that could never expect love for a son whose very paternity was in doubt.
“I doubt I’ll come back alive from the subjugation.”
Mark had spent his whole life shut away, studying magic.
He had deliberately avoided anything useful in combat — like fireballs — for fear of offending his father.
In short, he didn’t know the first thing about fighting.
So when the king’s decree came, conscripting him into the subjugation force, he was doomed from the start.
“Only those who fulfill their noble duty in the subjugation may inherit their family’s title and estate.”
Families proud of their martial skill rejoiced.
Others rebelled — seeing it as nothing more than holding their heirs hostage.
To silence them, King Glok appointed his only son, Prince Dran, as the supreme commander of the subjugation army — offering his own heir first.
The nobles could no longer object.
Some still grumbled, though, so the king added a special clause:
“If the heir dies in battle, a substitute heir may inherit the title in recognition of the family’s service.”
If you didn’t want to risk your precious child — send a disposable one instead.
Mark was exactly that.
“At first, I thought I might survive somehow… maybe even take the family for myself.”
But his father wasn’t a fool.
“I’m leaving for Madni in two days, as part of the first subjugation force.”
The public only knew about the third force, led by Prince Dran.
They didn’t even know there was a first or second.
Mark did — thanks to his kindly half-brother.
“The first subjugation force exists just to get rid of fake heirs easily.”
There wouldn’t even be a proper commander.
His half-brother, eight years younger, had snickered as he said it — and when Mark reported for duty, it was exactly as foretold.
No seasoned officers, just a ragtag bunch who looked like they’d never even held a sword.
“Don’t you dare come back alive. You must die.”
He could almost picture his father and brother, safely in the estate, praying for his death.
The thought left a bitter taste.
“How does it feel, dragging both our lives into the gutter?”
He asked the grave accusingly — but of course, there was no reply.
And maybe that was for the best. His mother had never been capable of saying anything kind anyway.
Mark took out a pouch of flower seeds he’d bought on the way and scattered them over her grave.
They said that when flowers bloomed atop a grave, it meant the dead had reached the afterlife safely — an old superstition of the Almeria continent.
“I hope no flowers bloom on yours.”
He could’ve simply walked away without sowing anything, but guilt made him move his hand nonetheless.
Just then, he felt a gaze. He stopped scattering the seeds and looked up —
a woman was lying among the graves, watching him.
Startled, Mark blinked. She was strange… but beautiful.
He approached, handed her the rest of the seeds, and asked her name — perhaps because he didn’t want his final memory to be of family.
“I’m Baberi Langs. Heir of the Ballista line.”
Then, to his disbelief, the woman offered to save him.
A rebel from the Langs family, wandering freely without guards? Impossible.
Her clothes were far finer than his, too.
Mark thought she must be joking — some noble girl playing around.
“I’ll save you, so talk to me instead. I’m sick of chatting with those royal guards.”
She complained that they couldn’t stop saying ‘His Majesty’ and ‘loyalty’ in every sentence.
“What’s so great about a middle-aged man with half his hair gone?”
Mark’s jaw dropped. He’d already noticed her coarse tongue, but insulting the king?
That was on another level.
He’d never met anyone who spoke so recklessly — not even his mother.
He couldn’t close his mouth.
Was she really a Langs?
And how exactly did she plan to “save” him?
He wanted to ask — but she just sighed.
“Same with our old man. What’s wrong with everyone? Idiots, all of them.”
Baberi tossed the rest of the flower seeds over the grave, grumbling, then walked away.
The next day, Mark was summoned by Captain Tobias of the royal guard.
He was informed he’d been reassigned to the third subjugation force.
His father and half-brother would have lost their minds if they’d known.
Saved by a rebel — who could’ve imagined?
For the first time, Mark realized how unpredictable life could be.
“Hey, Mark.”
From then on, Baberi treated him like a friend — despite the clear difference in their status.
“Baberi! I told you, you can’t show me things like this!”
Mark hissed in a low voice, terrified someone might overhear.
“These are classified documents — only those attending the subjugation council are allowed to see them!”
He wasn’t authorized to read them.
If anyone found out, it would be a disaster.
He’d told her that countless times, but Baberi only shrugged.
“What else am I supposed to do? The ‘noble ones’ don’t want to share a table with a convicted traitor.”
Apparently, she’d been excluded from meetings — though they still sent her materials.
The problem was, she couldn’t read them.
“That’s why I said I’d teach you how to read.”
Mark tried again to persuade her, but Baberi pouted and shook her head.
“That’d take too long. I’m busy. Just check if there’s anything about dragons in there.”
She shoved a stack of papers in his face. Mark squeezed his eyes shut.
“Please, Baberi. You said last time was the last time.”
He clasped his hands in desperation.
She lowered the papers slightly and smiled.
“Who else but my friend could I ask?”
Honestly, Mark didn’t think of her as a friend — she was too dangerous, too unpredictable.
But everyone around them already assumed it, so denial was pointless.
“This really is the last time,” he sighed — knowing full well it wouldn’t be.
Resigned, he skimmed the documents, summarizing aloud.
“The Kingdom of Annapol refuses to send troops. They claim Madni is Tiris’ territory, so it’s not their concern — ridiculous.”
Dragons could fly across the continent in a single day; being an island nation didn’t make one safe.
“The Kingdom of Lancaster is objecting to Prince Dran being the overall commander of the allied army.”
“That’s one thing I actually agree with,” Baberi muttered, lips pursed.
“That delusional prince — he keeps thinking I’m working for his benefit.”
Why would I?
Her genuine irritation was almost comical. Mark held back a sigh and continued reading.
“Their crown princess, Sisle, will also join the campaign.”
“So the issue’s that she wants to be commander instead?”
Before Mark could answer, Baberi laughed under her breath.
“Never met her, but I’d bet the king’s remaining hairs that she’s just as stupid as the prince.”
“Baberi, please—”
If anyone overheard, they were both dead.
Mark’s expression was one of sheer panic.
He’d barely managed to keep his life this far — but her constant, reckless remarks made that terribly difficult.
“To be honest, I wasn’t surprised when she rebelled.”
Mark’s voice was calm as he answered Medo’s question — why did she do it?
“After spending the whole campaign closest to her, I saw it coming.”
She’d always carried herself like she dared them to accuse her of treason.
There was no repentance, no hint of wanting to clear her family’s name — only arrogance and levity.
If she had shown loyalty to the king, Mark would’ve been the one shocked.
“Sure enough, she rose up. And even when I tried to stop her, it was useless.”
Not that he expected her to listen anyway.
“Ever since she saved my life, I’ve accepted being dragged along by her as fate.”
He’d grown numb to surprises.
But—
“It did sting a little that she didn’t call for me. I really thought I’d be the first.”
He trailed off, lips tightening.
His tone was even, but Medo caught the faint flicker of jealousy in his eyes — an instinct honed from his days serving under Baslui.
“Well, we’re comrades now. Let’s get along.”
Mark smiled faintly, offering his hand.
Medo returned it with a small grin.
“Likewise, Viscount Skarby.”
“Just call me Mark. The title’s meaningless anyway — Glok gave it, and it’ll be gone soon enough.”
Kur knocked on the head maid’s door.
Sharon, her belly round after three months of pregnancy, greeted him without surprise and let him in.
“All I have is apple pie — will that do?”
Kur nodded and sat at the long table — one she’d brought from her now-closed café.
As soon as Sharon sat down across from him, he spoke.
“I hate that bastard.”
She didn’t need to ask who he meant.
“You mean Mark?”
Kur froze mid-reach for the pie, scowling.
Even hearing the name made his blood boil.
“His Majesty keeps giving him more and more work.”
It had all started when Mark successfully negotiated with Babana.
Impressed, Baberi had entrusted him with managing not just the ledgers but also everything related to magic — including mana stones.
Without sufficient mana stones, Kur couldn’t transform into a dragon.
Very few people knew that — Sharon and Medo among them, but they’d never abused the knowledge or provoked him.
Mark, however, was different.
