Chapter 25
Cleor did not answer Cleor’s question. Instead, Viktor and Angela made an unexpected proposal.
“Let’s take Isabella to the Valley of Wailing.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? She can’t even take a single step outside the ducal residence because she can’t adapt to the northern cold. And you want to take her to the Forest of Lamentation—no, even to the Valley of Wailing? Absolutely not.”
It was like a bolt from the blue.
Cleor shouted in a flustered voice.
He bit his lip to suppress the surge of emotion.
“Cleor, calm down and listen.”
Cleor exhaled hot breaths, forcing himself to steady his emotions.
“That place is where a dragon sleeps.”
Cleor continued in a sharp tone.
“I know.”
“Then what exactly are you planning to do there? Are you saying we should all go and die together?”
“We need to awaken the dragon.”
“Father!”
Cleor clenched his fist as the image of the dragon surfaced in his mind.
Dragons were, by nature, ferocious and arrogant creatures.
They sought to control all life within the lands they marked as their own, bending everything to their will.
Monsters prostrated themselves before dragons.
Humans, however, resisted them.
An age of rampant violence followed.
The North became a land where humans could no longer settle.
That was, until the House of Noverdik entered the region.
The greatest obstacle in Noverdik’s conquest of the North had been the dragon.
Killing it would have been the best solution—but there was no way to do so.
However, they knew how to make it sleep.
Inflict wounds from which it could not easily recover.
Cleor had driven his blade into the dragon’s eye.
Countless sacrifices had been made for that moment.
Many knights lost their lives, and a scar that would never fade was left on Cleor’s thigh.
The dragon gave Cleor his first taste of defeat—along with the humiliation of human powerlessness and the guilt of failing to protect his subordinates.
He hated the dragon.
Yet Cleor trusted his parents.
There had to be a reason.
“What is the reason? Is there something between Isabella and the dragon?”
“Cleor.”
Angela clicked her tongue pityingly before speaking.
“Isabella’s illness will be cured if she meets a dragon.”
“What… are you saying?”
Cleor’s eyes widened in shock.
Isabella’s illness and a dragon?
They seemed completely unrelated—yet the medicine Johan had given her lingered uneasily in his mind.
“Cleor, do you know anything about Isabella’s illness?”
Cleor closed his mouth and shook his head.
He had used a secret organization to thoroughly investigate the Helsington Count’s household, but there had been no information about Isabella’s illness.
Either it was hidden with extreme care, or even they did not know.
Cleor leaned toward the latter.
“Mother, do you know?”
Cleor asked.
Angela nodded.
“Please tell me.”
Viktor and Angela exchanged a meaningful look.
“Cleor, Isabella is a Dragon Master.”
“…!”
Cleor’s face stiffened.
He stared at Viktor as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
Viktor nodded.
“Dragon Masters exist only in legends—”
His thoughts became a tangled mess.
Dragons. Isabella. A terminal illness. Sickness.
Angela raised her hand to stop Cleor from speaking.
“Do you know what a Dragon Master is?”
“Roughly… a little.”
“Then tell me.”
Cleor began to explain.
A Dragon Master.
A being found in minstrels’ songs and children’s storybooks—someone who could commune with dragons.
Dragons regarded Dragon Masters as their masters and obeyed them absolutely.
But no one believed they truly existed.
They were considered fictional beings.
After all, throughout recorded history, dragons and humans had always been at odds.
If Dragon Masters truly existed, the prevailing belief was that humans and dragons would not have fought each other to the death.
“Yes, that’s right. But Cleor—who do you think wrote the history you know?”
Cleor fell silent.
Dragons and monsters did not leave records.
Dragons lived so long that they had no need to record anything, and monsters had no written language.
Only humans recorded history.
So could history, written solely from a human perspective, truly be called the truth?
“Are you saying what I know is wrong?”
“I’m saying it could be different.”
Angela stood and walked toward the window, opening it. A cold wind blew in.
“Do you think dragons hated humans from the very beginning?”
There could be liking without reason—but hatred always had one.
“Mother, forgive me for interrupting, but how humans and dragons once coexisted isn’t important right now. What I want to know is about Isabella’s health.”
Angela smiled faintly.
“A Dragon Master, without a dragon—”
She turned to Viktor.
It was his turn to speak.
“Without one?”
Cleor demanded impatiently, unable to endure the pause.
“Without a dragon’s power, a Dragon Master slowly withers away and dies. In exchange for the immense power to command a dragon, they are born with a fate that guarantees death if they fail to obtain their dragon.”
“Ah…”
Cleor pressed a hand to his forehead.
So that was why Isabella’s condition improved when she took Johan’s medicine?
Even if it were true that Isabella was a Dragon Master, something still bothered him.
“How do you know this?”
Though it was hard to imagine Isabella as a Dragon Master, he wanted to believe—because there was hope that her health could improve.
If the Duke and Duchess of Noverdik had a valid reason.
“It’s not something we can tell you yet.”
Viktor avoided Cleor’s gaze.
“Trust us.”
Angela immediately followed, staring straight at Cleor.
Her eyes did not waver. Yet, like a window concealed behind heavy curtains, their depths were impossible to read.
“You want to take her to that cold, desolate place?”
The dragon slept in a hidden cave within the Valley of Wailing, deep in the Forest of Lamentation—a place that never froze.
The area was cold all year round.
Cold enough to freeze one’s breath.
The paths were narrow and treacherous—impassable by carriage.
A single horse could barely pass, but near the Valley of Wailing, horses went wild, likely due to the dragon’s influence.
Only highly trained knights could control them.
And they wanted to take Isabella there?
“Yes.”
“If something happens to her on the way—”
“Isn’t it your job to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
Cleor inhaled sharply.
“Do you lack confidence?”
He must not rise to the provocation.
He recalled the Clara incident.
“If you lack confidence, I’ll ride in my place—”
“Ha, Mother!”
Cleor shouted.
Who rode was not the issue.
She was someone who coughed up blood just from opening a window.
No matter how warmly bundled, she would be helpless before the cutting winds of the Valley of Wailing.
“Isabella is a Dragon Master. Spring will come to the Forest of Lamentation.”
Angela was certain.
Cleor was dissatisfied with the conversation he had shared with Viktor and Angela, but he knew there was no point in staying any longer. He left.
***
His mind was in turmoil.
Cleor had documents that required urgent attention, but instead of going to his office, he headed to what was now Isabella’s room—once his own.
“Where is Isabella?”
The room was empty. Startled, Cleor questioned the knight nearby.
The knight guarding Isabella’s room straightened his posture.
“She went to the library.”
“The library? Alone?”
“She went with Lady Clara.”
Cleor frowned.
“You should have informed me immediately.”
“You were in discussion with the Duke—”
Before the knight could finish, Cleor stormed down the corridor, his footsteps heavy.
Cleor was irritated.
Lately, as Isabella and Clara spent more time together, they had grown noticeably closer.
Clara made no effort to hide it—rather, she flaunted it. More precisely, she used it to provoke Cleor.
Every day, Clara waited outside the bedroom door for Cleor to emerge after confirming Isabella had fallen asleep.
—Today, Isabella unni smiled at me. A smile as beautiful as sunlight. Have you ever seen it, oppa?
—She likes George Owen’s novels. Did you know? Of course you didn’t. I’m bringing her one from the library tomorrow.
Cleor didn’t want to hear Clara speak.
He wanted to smack his irritating younger sister across the mouth.
Yet at the same time, he wanted to hear about Isabella—even if it was through Clara.
So he swallowed his rising irritation and listened patiently.
—Don’t you have anything to say, oppa?
Clara would lift her chin proudly once she finished talking.
Cleor could only slump his shoulders, overwhelmed by a sense of defeat.
His crude revenge was limited to monopolizing Isabella’s time.
But no matter how tightly he guarded her, days like today were inevitable.
He was the heir of the ducal house.
And an adult.
Unlike Clara, he couldn’t spend his days freely.
To others, it might seem laughably trivial—but to Cleor, who was repeatedly denied conversation with Isabella, it mattered more than saving the Empire itself.
It wasn’t just rivalry with Clara.
There was no need to deny it.
Cleor missed Isabella.
He quickened his pace.
***
After Cleor left, Viktor and Angela remained seated with heavy expressions.
“Dear… do you think we’re being too cruel to Cleor and Isabella?”
Angela spoke first.
The silence they chose for their son and Isabella’s sake—she couldn’t be sure it was the right choice.
Viktor stood and placed both hands on Angela’s shoulders.
Angela rested her hands over his and turned to look at him.
“My love, you know it’s impossible.”
Angela smiled faintly, then shook her head with a hollow laugh.
“If that boy finds out, he’ll cause an uproar, insisting on killing that child immediately.”
“And not just that. There wouldn’t be many noble houses left alive in the Empire. We didn’t start this to spill blood.”
As parents, they knew their child all too well.
“But it hurts to see the two of them misunderstand each other, not knowing the truth. Shouldn’t we at least tell Isabella?”
