Chapter 52
“Are you satisfied now?”
Cecile’s voice, asking that question, was much softer than when she had begun speaking.
She leaned against the wall, exhausted. What had started as a way to buy time—restoring her stamina and mana—had instead forced her to drag out the painful past, and it was harder than she had thought.
I’ve spoken more in these last few hours than I have in years.
Clutching Nibelung tightly, Cecile thought that as she struggled to keep her composure.
The Duke looked at her with deep, unwavering eyes. Strangely, impossibly, that gaze felt… warm.
Over the past two days, Cecile had realized something: the terrifying rumors that haunted Duke Bartholomew’s name in the outside world were strikingly different from the impression he gave when standing before her.
“…Yes, Princess Cecilia. What you’ve endured…” The Duke paused, as though weighing his words. Then, with a grave tone, he said:
“—is a tragedy no one should ever have to suffer.”
Hearing that, Cecile felt something twist inside her.
Not once in her life had anyone dared to say such a thing to her—the most despised witch in history.
A heavy silence followed. At last, it was the Duke who broke it.
“Then allow me to tell you my story.”
“Your story?” Cecile repeated, unable to hide her disbelief.
The Duke’s gaze remained steady.
“You’ve offered me much of yourself. It’s only fair that I share something in return, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t a proposition disadvantageous to her. In fact, even if they became enemies again, it was always better to know more.
And with her strength and mana still not fully recovered, any conversation that dragged on was time gained in her favor.
And—somewhere deep in the corner of her heart—there was also a flicker of curiosity.
Finally, Cecile nodded.
“Very well. Let’s hear it, then. Time, after all, is something we have in abundance.”
So, Duke Bartholomew began.
“I was born the illegitimate son of the previous Duke. I didn’t learn of that truth until I was ten years old. Until then, I lived as a street urchin, wandering from place to place.”
Cecile’s eyes widened. She had thought him a man born to rule, cloaked in nobility and dignity from the moment of his birth. But his story was far different.
Hunger. Cold. Fear. A mother dead on the streets. The mercilessness of the world—lessons learned before he even understood what the word duke meant.
“My father’s men found me on the streets and thrust me into a world of silk and silver. But in that world, a bastard is nothing but an outsider. I was despised by nobles, scorned by servants.”
He spoke of such misery in an unbelievably calm voice.
“Even my father, who chose me as heir, never saw me as his son. I was nothing more than a tool—to carry his bloodline forward.”
What followed was relentless: strict training, endless lessons, stripping away mistakes, sentiment, even humanity itself—until nothing remained but a perfect heir to the dukedom.
“I endured it all, just to prove my worth. To show them I wasn’t some filthy vagrant from the streets, nor the disgrace of the House of Bartholomew.”
Despite her hatred, Cecile found herself drawn into his words. His life was like a reflection of her own.
Her stomach churned. Was this sympathy? She had long forgotten what that felt like. She gripped Nibelung tighter, as though to crush the unfamiliar feeling. But the harder she resisted, the more his words wound around her like an inescapable snare.
He spoke of power struggles, betrayal, his father’s death, endless factional strife.
Then—of meeting Elizabeth. Marriage. And the eternal separation that followed.
“…It was despair. I had endured countless trials before, but that time… that time I thought I could never rise again.”
Though twenty-three years had passed, his voice still carried that anguish.
“What gave me a new purpose, strangely enough, was the artifact Nibelung.”
“…Nibelung?” Cecile asked, disbelieving.
The Duke turned his eyes to the star-swept night sky through the open window.
“My childhood had already convinced me the world was a cruel place. Since then, I resolved to use my strength to make it, even slightly, better.”
“…”
“I learned of the dark artifacts that appear every few decades or centuries, bringing only ruin and sorrow. And so, I hunted them down, one by one, and destroyed them.”
The most powerful among them was Nibelung. After more than ten years of effort, he finally claimed it.
“But unlike the others, Nibelung couldn’t be destroyed outright. While I searched for a way, it was stolen from me. And so began my long, entangled fate with a very bold thief…”
His lips curved with the faintest of smiles.
Cecile stared at him, struck speechless.
He sought Nibelung… to destroy it? Not for greed?
She couldn’t believe it.
The man who had hunted her for ten years—she had thought it was to kill her and take her power. But if what he said was true… he had been trying to save her all along?
Her enemy… had been her ally?
“Lies! You expect me to believe that? That you spent ten years chasing me not out of greed, but to help me?” Cecile shoved him away and shouted, her voice sharp with fury. Her push was feeble, her hands trembling.
Yet, the Duke’s expression did not waver.
“It is the truth.”
Those steadfast eyes, speaking only of plain fact. In a low, steady voice, he said:
“Princess Cecilia, Nibelung is not salvation—it is a curse. I came here to free you from it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you think I’d fall for such nonsense? And more than that… more than anything…”
Her voice shook violently. The Duke watched her, grave and intent, as she confessed:
“Without Nibelung, I am nothing. These past ten years, I’ve committed countless atrocities. If I lose it, those who hate me will tear me apart.”
She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders trembling.
“Salvation? Foolishness. I don’t expect salvation. I don’t deserve it. I only… want to live. I ran from the palace to survive. I came here to survive. Everything is already too broken. I can’t stop now…”
The Duke looked at her with quiet sorrow. Then he said:
“The fear that you’ll die without Nibelung—it isn’t true. No human can remain free from the corruption of such a dark artifact. Even I would lose my reason if I wore it.”
His tone was firm, but his voice was gentle—like soothing a child.
“So, in judgment, if that fact is taken into account, you might escape execution. You won’t avoid punishment, but as long as you live, there will be chances to repent, to atone.”
“Escape execution?” Cecile gave a bitter laugh. “That only means the harshest punishment. Years—perhaps a lifetime—banished to the frozen North. That’s no different from death.”
The Duke fell silent. Cecile thought even he had run out of words. But she was wrong.
“…And if you weren’t alone?”
His eyes softened, though filled with earnestness.
“If there was someone by your side—someone who stayed with you, leaned on you when it was unbearable… even if there was just one such person—would life still be no different from death?”
Cecile froze. The weight of his words was too great.
“You would come with me? You—who have done nothing wrong? Why?”
Silence enveloped them. The moonlight poured down, silver over his dark hair, as the Duke finally spoke.
“Because you’ve been alone for far too long.”
Cecile felt her breath stop.
“I know what it means to be left in loneliness. I don’t want you to feel that way ever again.”
His face, as he spoke, was filled with unshakable resolve.
“You are a sinner. That is undeniable. But even the most wicked criminal still has the right to a family.”
Her voice trembled as she whispered, “That means… you’re saying…”
Unbelievable. Was he truly saying this?
“We both had blood kin who treated us worse than strangers. Then why shouldn’t there also be family bound not by blood, but by true care for one another?”
Those words—Cecile knew she would never forget them. Not for the rest of her life.
“Let us be family, Cecile. A family that cares for each other, that leans on one another in hardship, that never betrays. With you and me… it’s possible.”
