Episode 6
For some reason, the line of his mouth hardened.
“……Divorce.”
“Yes. The basic contract term is one year.”
He studied the clause about possible extensions, then nodded.
“Understood.”
Sir Dylan signed his name at the bottom of the contract.
“So then,” he said quietly, “that makes me a married man now.”
“And I suppose that makes me a married woman. Let’s do our best—together.”
He carefully extended his hand.
When our hands met, his large palm seemed to tremble, like the leaves of a quaking aspen.
That couldn’t be right.
If anyone was shaking, it would be me—my body, finally severed from that suffocating leech of a family, trembling with excitement.
I decided to change the subject.
“I heard we can move in right away, starting today!”
“Oh, is that so? Then I’ll visit my brother first and proceed with the move. I should inform him that I’m married.”
Ah. It was proper to go see one’s family.
I had no family left to tell.
I’d thrown them all away.
The realization left me feeling refreshingly light.
I nodded with a satisfied smile—then hesitated.
“Your family must be quite surprised by such a sudden marriage. Should I come along to greet them?”
“……No. Next time, I’d very much like us to go together. But for now, there are circumstances that make it difficult for me to introduce you.”
Well, we were in a contract marriage, and planning to divorce before long.
Meeting each other’s families would have been absurd anyway.
I summarized briskly.
“Then you go see your family, and I’ll send the contract to the lawyer. Oh—and we can move into the newlyweds’ town immediately, right?”
“Yes. That’s what I was told.”
“Then shall we meet at our place later? Let’s have dinner together!”
He nodded, his expression tense.
“Yes. Please work carefully today. I’ll prepare dinner.”
He looked like a messenger heading off to war.
I was just going to suggest we eat out or buy something, I thought.
Sir Dylan—could he even cook?
With that face, a knight hardened by battlefields… there was no way he’d also be good at cooking.
Surely he wasn’t about to produce some legendary culinary disaster?
Even so, I’d smile and eat it, no matter what it tasted like.
Right now, I felt like I could laugh off anything Sir Dylan did.
“Yes! Thank you for preparing dinner! Have a good visit with your family!”
I smiled brightly, my resolve firm.
What kind of people were Sir Dylan’s family?
What kind of dinner would he prepare?
My curiosity began to grow.
At the same time, inside the Imperial Palace.
The Emperor was enjoying lunch with his mentor, the Duke of Savoia.
“Master, are you leaving again this time?”
“Yes. I’ll be heading west.”
The Duke of Savoia possessed vast lands, the title of Mage Tower Lord, and the position of the Emperor’s mentor.
On the surface, a man who had everything.
And yet his face was always heavy with sorrow.
The reason lay in an incident that had occurred some twenty years earlier: the Million Theater bombing.
The terrorist organization that sought the Empire’s collapse—the Red Citadel.
They had thrown a bomb into the Million Theater.
That day, the Duke of Savoia lost his son, his daughter-in-law, and even his five-year-old granddaughter.
“We traced a theater employee who survived the attack,” the Emperor said. “They’ve been hiding in a teahouse in the west.”
“You will soon find the missing Lady Diana,” the Emperor added.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Not even a twitch stirred at the duke’s lips.
After losing his family, he had become a man incapable of expression.
Worse still, his granddaughter’s body had never been found—multiplying his suffering many times over.
The Emperor looked at him with quiet pity.
The duke smoothly changed the subject.
“How fares the atmosphere at the Grand Ducal Castle, now locked in winter?”
This time, a flicker of regret crossed the Emperor’s face before vanishing.
“As ever.”
Three hundred years ago—
There had once been a witch who ruled from an Ice Castle, reigning as the proud Snow Queen.
By chance, she encountered the Emperor and fell into a fierce, all-consuming love.
But the Emperor feared her.
Despised her.
The witch, loving a man who would never love her in return, felt an unbearable mix of anguish and rage.
In the end, she cast a curse upon him—so that he would never again feel emotion.
The curse spread beyond the Emperor himself, reaching even his bloodline: the Grand Duke of Castile, ruler of the Empire’s far north.
The territory, once harsh but livable, was transformed into a frozen castle of icicles and rime.
The witch’s curse was powerful.
So powerful that even after the Emperor she loved had died, it continued to pass down through his descendants.
While successive emperors ruled as enlightened sovereigns,
the Grand Dukes of Castile lived their entire lives in lonely confinement within that cursed northern castle.
They existed with more than half their emotions stripped away.
Roaming battlefields in murderous frenzy, only to lose their sanity in the end.
Fortunately, the current Grand Duke of Castile—Dylan—was different from those mad predecessors.
Instead of becoming a war-crazed butcher, he channeled his madness into a healthier pursuit: hunting terrorists.
“He’s still tracking terrorists,” the Emperor said.
“The Red Citadel again?”
“Yes. My younger brother has infiltrated the Imperial Knights disguised as one of their own. They’ll be captured soon enough.”
The Duke of Savoia gave a short, impressed nod.
“As expected of you.”
At those words, the Emperor smiled brightly, as if a switch had been flipped.
Like someone who had been waiting all his life to hear that very praise.
He launched into rapid-fire speech.
“Honestly, I’d love to grant him the title Sword of the Empire. Damn that cursed blight! If only he weren’t afflicted—if no heir were born, I might even entrust him with the Imperial Vault—ah, forgive me. I’ve gone on about myself again. My apologies, Master.”
An ear-bleeding display of brotherly boasting.
The Duke of Savoia awkwardly steered the conversation elsewhere.
“It’s quite all right. But tell me, Your Majesty—setting aside his achievements, what kind of man is the Grand Duke, personally? I’ve never met him.”
The Emperor nodded.
“To be honest, that boy doesn’t live a very entertaining life. He’s rigidly disciplined, and… well. How should I put it? He doesn’t seem very confident about his looks, either.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. Perhaps it’s because of the dark magic. Still, I know my brother very well.”
“In what way?”
“I can see the trajectory of his life as clearly as day.”
The Duke of Savoia shook his head lightly.
“Your Majesty, didn’t you once say that those who seem most orderly are often the ones who commit sudden, unexpected acts?”
At his mentor’s playful, cryptic remark, the Emperor chuckled and shook his head.
“That’s true. I did say that. But this is different. Anyone else, perhaps—but not my brother.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. He doesn’t even know what deviation is.”
Too consistently dull a life—that was why the Emperor worried about him.
The only deviation he ever made was pretending to be a commoner.
He issued himself a new Imperial citizen registry.
Cast a spell to subtly alter his facial features.
Then disguised himself as a common-born knight and joined the Emperor’s direct knightly order.
Even so, Dylan was still Dylan.
Every single day, at this very hour, he came to deliver reports on terrorist organizations.
Every day after lunch. Exactly at noon.
“Come to think of it, my brother should be arriving soon.”
Right on cue, the clock tower rang out, announcing noon.
As if summoned by the sound, the luncheon hall doors opened quietly.
Sir Dylan—no, the Grand Duke of Castile—entered.
“See, Master?” the Emperor said proudly. “My brother is this punctual.”
“Indeed.”
But something about Dylan seemed… strange today.
“I have something to report, Your Majesty.”
Dylan wasn’t the type to approach him so bluntly.
The Emperor gestured uneasily with his chin.
“Sit first. Speak after.”
Had he uncovered a critical lead on terrorists plotting to assassinate the royal family?
Come to think of it, Dylan had recently achieved a great feat—eliminating a Red Citadel agent embedded deep within the palace.
Was it finally time to declare an end to the war on terror?
Tense, the Emperor lifted his glass and took a sip of water.
Dylan sat neatly, then spoke.
“I… got married today.”
Pffft.
Water sprayed from the Emperor’s mouth in an undignified fountain.
