Chapter 24
“I should never have left luen alone.”
Duke fiar bitterly reproached himself. His desire to fetch a physician as quickly as possible had brought about this disaster. He only wanted Ruën to be freed from her sleepwalking even a single day sooner.
That moment when the world collapsed and his vision turned crimson—once was more than enough. He could never lose luën again. Desperately, the Duke reached out for mana.
Whoooom—
The mana in the air resonated, vibrating as if answering to its master. This was resonance with mana, a state permitted only to Sword Masters.
Because so few Sword Masters had ever existed, the world scarcely knew the truth: Sword Masters could perform something akin to magic. Not refined spellcraft, but a primal, direct use of mana itself.
And more than that—Bihan was almost the only person of this age who had experienced regression magic. Since then, he had gained a special ability. The Duke commanded mana with that gift:
“Show me what happened just before.”
Perhaps it was because his desperate wish—to turn back time after losing luën and their unborn child—had once reached the heavens. By resonating with mana, Bihan could trace the flow of time and see into the past.
Of course, he couldn’t truly rewind time. Regression magic was too great even for the Archmages of old.
What Bihan could do was simpler: align himself with the flow of mana and let past scenes unfold before his eyes. He could only watch—never interfere.
“luën…”
Bihan clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug into his palm, drawing blood. Yet he felt no pain—his nerves were strung too taut.
When luën finally appeared before him, he instinctively reached out his arm. But his hand passed through her, powerless. His arm dropped uselessly to his side.
His heart, which had stopped when she vanished, now pounded furiously. His mind spun as he spotted the hunched old man with a sly smile—and another man hiding his presence nearby.
“Those bastards…”
He immediately grasped the situation, but did not stop the resonance. He forced himself to watch until the end.
Even for a Sword Master, this drained him to the extreme. His body trembled, his chest felt crushed, yet Bihan endured.
Thud—
Time showed him only broken flashes, not vivid sound. But the impact rang in his ears as though it had truly happened before him.
He ground his teeth so hard they creaked. His senses sharpened.
luën collapsed. The men pinned her down as she struggled. Rage boiled up to the very ends of Bihan’s hair. Blood trickled from his palm where his nails dug deeper still.
“The woman so precious… the one who hesitates even to hold my hand. The one who can only kiss me after gathering every ounce of courage—”
To see her helplessly struck down carved an open wound in his soul. His eyes turned pitch black. The men slung her limp form over their shoulders and disappeared.
With the scene changing, the vision ended. To find them again, he would have to repeat the resonance in each place he suspected.
“That’s too great a waste of time.”
Fortunately, he already had a clue. When the man struck luën, the sheath of his blade bore a symbol—etched clearly for Bihan to see: a crescent moon.
That was enough. The Luna family served under the Harrits, enemies of House fiar. Though weak and nearly forgotten, for them to abduct the Duchess of fiar could spark a civil war.
“None of that matters.”
Bihan lived a second life. In his first, he had prepared for war. He knew precisely where the Luna estate was.
“If even a single hair on her head is harmed…”
The Luna family would be erased from history.
And since they had already dared to strike her—he would never let them live.
Bihan’s figure dissolved into the air, vanishing.
“It’s been a while.”
“O-oh! A great honor to see you again, Your Grace!”
Sweat poured down the bare forehead of Count Luna as he stammered. He tried to shake Bihan’s hand, groveling pitifully.
Even if Duke fiar held up the Empire, barging into a noble’s office unannounced—overpowering guards and breaking down doors—was sheer insolence. But Luna dared not protest. His conscience weighed too heavily.
Thwack!
“Ughk! Cough!”
The Duke kicked him squarely in the solar plexus, as though touching him with his hands would be too filthy.
It was a direct, brutal strike.
“I have little patience. Let’s skip to the point.”
“W-what is the meaning of this?! Do you realize what you’re—gahk!”
Clutching his chest, the Count wheezed, but Bihan ignored him. He seized him by the collar and lifted him effortlessly.
With a flick of his free hand, the office window flung open. As though the world itself bent to him. To the Count, it was terror incarnate.
Holding him aloft with one hand, Bihan strode toward the window.
“W-wait! Please—speak calmly!”
The Count’s words slurred, his breath choked. But Bihan shoved him out over the ledge.
“Ahhh! F-forgive me! Spare me!”
The office was on a high floor, as befitted a noble estate. The dizzying drop made his head spin. If the Duke relaxed his grip—if he merely claimed to slip—Luna would die. His face drained white.
“I told you—we’ll get to the point. Now, are you ready to talk?”
The Duke smiled coolly. But behind that smile lurked a nest of serpents. At last, terror broke him, and the Count wept.
“P-please! Mercy! I’ll swear my loyalty!”
“That’s not what I want, Count.”
Blubbering, he could not give the right answer. Bihan’s patience frayed.
Click. Clack.
High heels echoed down the hall. Not only Bihan heard it—the Count stiffened in fear.
“No! My love, don’t come! Please!”
The Count shouted words uncharacteristically selfless, panicked. Bihan’s brows twitched.
“Oh my, what’s going on here?”
A woman entered, fanning herself with poise. Even with the estate in ruins and the office door smashed, she did not flinch.
Her gaze swept the room, then fixed on the window: her husband dangling in midair, held by an elegant man. Her eyes narrowed.
“Run, my dear! Save yourself!”
The Count screamed desperately, urging her to flee. He seemed not to care about his own life, only hers.
“My, my. Long time no see.”
The lady ignored her husband entirely and addressed the Duke instead.
“L-let me go!!”
Seeing her reaction, the Count thrashed wildly, so much so that even Bihan’s arm wavered slightly.
His sudden change of demeanor was strange. The Duke’s brows knit faintly.
“Release me at once!!”
Perhaps wanting to appear strong before his wife, the Count shouted louder. His caterwauling grated on Bihan’s nerves.
“If that’s what you wish.”
Like brushing off dust, he let go.
Not onto the floor—out into open air. A fall from this height meant certain death.
“Waaaaahhh!”
The Count shrieked as his life flashed before him. Greedy, empty-handed, his greatest treasure was his wife. A lady of refinement from the capital, she had utterly captivated him. To die leaving her behind was unbearable.
“…Huh?”
But there was no impact. No pain. He peeked one eye open. He still floated in midair. Only now, the Duke’s hand no longer touched him.
“AAAAH!”
He screamed louder, flailing helplessly. The Duke snapped his fingers.
“Mmmph!”
Something unseen rammed into his mouth, gagging him. His jaw hung grotesquely open, but no sound came. At last, silence.
“I’d like to hear what’s going on, Duke fiar.”
The lady’s elegant voice filled the windswept office—still graceful, but edged with steel.
She had long since discarded her fan. The fact that the Duke ignored her greeting stung deeply.
“You’re the same as ever. Never sparing me a glance.”
Her words dripped with lingering attachment, as though they had known each other before.
The Count flailed madly in the air, but the Duke turned away from him, intending to deal with her swiftly. Whether the Count or his wife—it made no difference. What mattered was finding Ruën.
“You…”
Recognition flickered across his face. At that, the lady’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself. It’s been a long time.”
Even with her husband dangling on death’s door, she bared flirtation toward the Duke.
Her syrupy greeting crept toward him like a serpent, full of intent: this time, once I bite—I will never let go.
