MILWTG 73

~Chapter 73~

“…Yes.”

From the side, he looked as if he were smiling.
Riden also lifted her gaze to the sky.

“Since we’ve been together all this time before the full moon, I thought I’d be fine… but I’m truly surprised at how well I feel.”

Riden answered with the same calmness.

“Do you think we’ll get through tonight safely?”

“Yes. I already feel like we have.”

“….”

“It’s been so long since I’ve looked at the full moon this peacefully. Thanks to you.”

Riden turned and met Ethan’s gaze.

“I’m glad I could help…”

Wait—what’s that?

A tingling sensation spread across the back of her hand. Just as she looked down to find the source—

“Lady!”

It was Merrick’s voice.

Both Riden and Ethan pulled their hands apart like guilty children caught in the act.

“The play was incredible! How did you come up with such a script, hm?”

Not the best timing…

Merrick tilted his head, seeing the two of them stubbornly looking away from each other.

For some reason, Ethan’s mood soured instantly.
He shot his brother a sharp glance, silently demanding an explanation for the unfamiliar priest at his side.

Merrick laid a hand on the priest’s shoulder with a friendly air.

“Did I forget to introduce him? This is Damian, second son of Viscount Florence. He helped greatly in resolving the recent incident.”

Damian bowed deeply to Ethan.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I am Damian Florence, second son of the Viscount Florence family.”

Despite the formal and respectful greeting, Ethan merely dipped his head lightly.
His demeanor carried the effortless composure—and faint weariness—of a man long accustomed to standing above others.

“If you’re the second son of Viscount Florence, you must be the one the Church recently assigned to the Holy Knights?”

“Yes, that’s correct. I will serve you faithfully as your scribe.”

“I’m only acting commander for now. Still, I’ll count on you.”

Damian bowed again.

Ethan Kenwolf.
The young duke who had led a war to victory in only three years—one of the highest of the high in this rigidly stratified world.

Handsome enough to draw attention from afar. Exceptionally capable. Backed by a powerful house.

That meant he had to be one of two things:

“Either the protagonist of this world—or the final villain.”

In his previous life as Seong‑min, he had never read web novels, but his wife, Da‑in, had loved them and often told him about her favorites.

“This kind of story is called a salvation narrative.”

“Salvation narrative?”

“Yes. It’s about saving a character who’s wounded or incomplete. Sometimes the female lead saves the male lead. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Or sometimes they save each other—that’s called mutual salvation.”

“Like that novel you mentioned last week? A salvation narrative?”

“Well… it had some elements, but mostly it was just a contract marriage story.”

“Sounds complicated. So which do you prefer?”

“Prefer? I don’t care about keywords. I just like it if it’s fun.”

If this really was a novel‑like world, sticking close to the protagonist would make life far easier.
He needed to identify the lead character quickly.

Was Duke Kenwolf the hero? Or the final villain?

“He has no flaws at all… so maybe he’s not the protagonist, but the antagonist instead.”

A protagonist usually carried at least one weakness, making growth enjoyable to witness.
But Ethan revealed none.
Perhaps he simply hid them well.

Seong‑min had little else to go on but Da‑in’s old words.

Just then, Merrick handed over a golden honey wine he’d brought himself, brewed specially by the knights for the festival.

“Would you like to try some, my lady? It tastes quite different from champagne.”

He first offered it to Lady MacCary, then handed a cup to the duke.

Damian sipped his own honey wine while listening closely to the sound of the duke swallowing his.

For inside that wine—

Damian had secretly mixed in Verbes blood powder.

In powder form, it carried a distinct scent, but once dissolved, it became colorless and odorless.
And when drunk, it caused no obvious symptoms in ordinary people.

He had added it for one reason only:

“This world contains demons. If the protagonist has a flaw, it must be connected to that.”

Encounters with men of such high rank were rare.
And since the duke’s household had already requested an investigation into the blood powder, no one questioned Damian for handling it.

He waited expectantly for Ethan to show some reaction.

While he mused, Lady MacCary, flushed from her first taste, exclaimed,

“It’s really good! Cold and sweet—it goes down so easily.”

“Glad you like it. Please tell the knights what you think—they’ll be delighted.”

“Then maybe I’ll have another glass…”

She rose to fetch another, turning swiftly.

“Shall I bring you one more as well, Your Grace?”

“Please do.”

“And for you, Lord Damian?”

Their eyes met.
Merrick quickly stepped in.

“You two haven’t met before, have you?”

“We actually did—at a salon hosted by Viscount Florence. Later again, by chance at the temple. Right?”

“Yes. And I heard you suffered trouble because of my brother. Though late, I’d like to apologize now.”

Riden’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
Then her lips softened into a gentle curve, silently accepting his apology.

“Then shall I bring three cups this time?”

She walked away, steps light with cheer.

Damian’s gaze followed her.
Her fine golden hair shimmered under the moonlight.

She truly was beautiful and captivating.

Sensing another gaze on her, Damian looked aside.
Ethan was watching Riden’s retreating figure intently.

“If the duke is the male lead, then Lady MacCary must be the heroine…”

But he couldn’t conclude yet.
In Da‑in’s novels, there was almost always a supporting female character who tried to obstruct love.

“Maybe that’s her role instead. Either way, she’s important—that much is clear.”

From the first moment, Damian had felt a powerful pull toward Riden MacCary.
A stranger who reminded him of Da‑in.

From the instant he arrived in this world, he had searched for her.
That fleeting resemblance struck him like lightning.

That was why he had meddled—why he had spoken to her at all.

Damian was still searching for someone like him: another transmigrator.

When he first read the word “vessel” in the Church’s records, he’d been shocked.
But that referred only to demon vessels, not the kind he sought.

His mother and elder brother thought he was looking for a manager—but he had been searching for Da‑in all along.

Where was she now? What had become of her?

Since only the three of them—his mother, brother, and himself—had transmigrated, all sharing the common thread of death,
unless their manager from the flight had too, it was unlikely Da‑in had crossed over.

And yet, he desperately hoped she breathed in this world with him.

Still…

“If she hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have transmigrated.”

Thinking Riden MacCary might be Da‑in was absurd.

“So Da‑in must still be in that other world.”

At that thought, Seong‑min exhaled a weary sigh, scrubbing his face with dry hands.

He wanted to go back.
To meet those anxious eyes again.
Every time he faced her unease, he had felt her love still linger.

“Da‑in must be alone again.”

She had been lonely all her life before marrying him.
Had she remarried?

…

The sudden thought struck Seong‑min like a blow, leaving his chest unbearably tight.