chapter 15
He had no proper name—during his life as a knight, he was simply called the Wanderer, and after rising to the throne, he was known only as the Emperor. It was only after his death that he was finally given a name: Ulysses.
According to the history books, the greatest contributors to the founding of the Greer Empire were the people of the Astrid Kingdom, which had been the weakest of the three realms. In recognition of their service, they were later granted the title of Duke of Astrid within the Empire.
Everything up to that point was written in the records. What came afterward, however…
“…Is that why? The reason it had to be that member of the imperial family?”
Cecil, who had never been close with books or learning, struggled to recall what he knew of imperial history before questioning Aiden.
The office was cold, completely at odds with the season outside, and Cecil was forced to face eyes far colder than the air—his master’s eyes, sharp as frost.
He had heard somewhere that the blue eyes of Astrid people were the symbol of their lineage. A trivial thought—but Cecil held Aiden’s gaze without wavering.
Right before him stood the proof: Astrid had once abandoned their own kingdom and offered it whole to the nameless emperor, sealing the bargain with a contract sealed in blood and black magic.
Through that contract, Astrid was not only bound to pledge eternal loyalty to the imperial family—the consequence of defying an imperial decree was to vomit blood and die. But Ulysses had not been satisfied. A wanderer who had never known an ally had no idea how to trust.
Thus, a “proof of the pact” was created, passed down through three generations—human offerings born with a curse. From the moment they opened their eyes to the world, they suffered from a terrible blood thirst.
How many times over the years had Cecil watched those clear blue eyes become stained red with uncontrollable hunger?
A disease that could never be cured, no matter how much blood was consumed… and the final answer to that curse was—once again—the blood of the imperial family.
Even someone like Cecil—who had lived a difficult life, and had taught himself not to feel much—could not help but lament his master’s cruel fate.
“The one imperial ‘prey’ allowed to live… only to become a puppet who must personally slaughter his own blood relatives—”
“Cecil.”
But that was exactly why he had to say it. Even when Pablo tried to silence him with a low warning, Cecil continued.
If his master succeeded with the grand plan, he wanted to make sure there would be no regrets, not even a speck. He was a sword rather than a tongue—his words were rough, but they held sincerity.
“Lady Terezia of Greer is the most suitable person.”
Then Cecil looked up at his master—and for the first time in a long while, his usually blank expression faltered.
Aiden’s face held no emotion. Nothing. So void that looking at him made Cecil’s chest feel hollow and cold.
“So there was an additional test she had to pass. I didn’t know that.”
The self-mocking tone he had used moments earlier was gone. Aiden’s expression was now empty, deadened. Still, Cecil’s suspicion remained.
Princess Terezia was not an easy choice to make the sole surviving ‘royal.’ She was already exiled from the palace, living far from the capital—and in order to fully claim her, Aiden had been forced to make a trade with the current emperor, Azhir.
‘If I hand you my sister with my own hands… what will you give me in return?’
‘What do you desire?’
‘You.’
‘…’
‘I want you to become truly mine.’
Cecil recalled the emperor’s gleaming eyes the first time he looked upon Aiden, the way he desired him openly.
For the sake of his goal, Aiden had accepted a deal no different from the curse that had once chained his ancestors. A cruel circle, repeating.
“In the end, she’s just a mistress blinded by desire, isn’t she? If she gets in the way later, she’ll be easier to dispose of.”
Well, if that was how his master saw it, then Cecil had nothing more to question. He shrugged, as if that settled the matter.
He had once worried that the previous engagement would make Terezia a weakness—some untouchable spot in this cold, merciless man. But if Aiden said this much himself, pushing further would be pointless.
‘You got Aiden’s permission first, didn’t you?’
‘Permission for what?’
‘To tell me your master’s private love life like that.’
Cecil remembered the day he mentioned the engagement just to test Princess Terezia. She had shown signs of faltering at first, but just like her master, she slowly strangled her own emotions. It had been impressive.
But she couldn’t hide the fleeting shadow of desire in her gaze.
He quickly shook his head, clearing the thought, and bowed.
“Yes. Well, I wasn’t particularly interested, but I acted out of line because I wanted to confirm it for myself. I apologize.”
Pablo finally let out the sigh he had been holding back.
“Then, since I’ve said everything I wanted to say, I’ll take my leave.”
After giving a confident, firm bow, Cecil exited the office. Pablo glanced cautiously at Aiden.
“…As you know, Sir Cecil speaks too bluntly. He’s so steadfast that he feels likely to snap in half.”
But if Cecil was emotionless because he only knew how to chase one goal—Aiden was different. Aiden had lived since childhood hiding who he was. He was accustomed to suppression, deception, and silence… to the point of mastery.
Perhaps that was why Pablo kept worrying. No matter how strong Aiden looked, Pablo could never forget the broken, helpless boy they first met.
“You were the one who brought that steadfast, half-broken fool to me, weren’t you?”
But—Aiden had always been stronger, colder, and more resilient than anyone believed. Even if a moment’s flame melted the surface, the glacier beneath would never shatter.
Pablo finally relaxed a little and even smiled.
“True. But he’s grown. In the old days, he wouldn’t have waited his turn to speak.”
“…Yes. I suppose a lot of time has passed.”
Everything was prepared. There was no turning back. Aiden no longer had the eyes of a beast with nothing left to lose. He was a man grown—ready to overturn the world that had cast him aside.
“Yes. The time is nearly here.”
Pablo’s reply carried a weight of countless emotions.
“What was the invitation from the palace?”
“A debutante ball for the fourth princess.”
“A debutante—when everyone knows the emperor’s siblings are practically imprisoned in the palace. A banquet with no host, I suppose.”
Aiden sneered, and Pablo nodded grimly.
“Perhaps… they intend to use it as a pretext for another scheme.”
“I’ll be attending with you. Prepare accordingly. The rest of the men will focus on the Saint’s Festival.”
Both men stared into empty space, calculating the next move.
A new season was coming. New life would soon be born. It was the perfect time for fresh beginnings—
To atone for past sins… or to commit one final, unforgivable one.
And the long winter of the north was finally coming to an end.
Three days later…
Time moved quickly in the north. Three days had passed since the banquet. Ever since that night, there was nothing required of Terezia as a “mistress,” so she spent her days with ordinary walks after meals. There was little else to do in Phaelon Castle.
Today was the same. While walking through the courtyard, Terezia stretched a hand toward the sky, letting the pale winter sunlight slip between her thin fingers.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Hm, I’m alright. I can bear this much.”
Anna, who quietly followed her, had asked. Terezia shook her head, watching the servants hurry past them. There were quite a few faces she didn’t recognize yet.
Now that she thought about it, the castle had been strangely busy since the banquet ended. Seeing Terezia’s confusion, Anna added:
“The Saint’s Festival is coming soon, so everyone is preparing.”
“The Saint’s Festival? What kind of event is that?”
Perhaps because the forest cut off the region, there was hardly any interaction between the north and the capital. News rarely traveled between them, so Terezia knew next to nothing about northern traditions.
Anna explained gently:
“Every new year, the north spends three days in penitence and abstinence, praying that the year will pass without major harm from monsters.”
It sounded like a religious ritual, but it felt less like worship of the Empire’s goddess, and more like a prayer to nature itself.
“So that’s what Sophia meant when she said she’d be busy.”
Terezia remembered Anna’s explanation—that Sophia would be assisting everywhere for a while, and Anna would stay by Terezia’s side instead.
“Yes, my lady. Many events take place during the festival, so we’re short on hands. You’ll likely see unfamiliar faces in the castle for a while—they’re just villagers, so please don’t be alarmed.”
Penitence…
Terezia silently nodded. She walked wherever her feet took her, repeating that word in her mind. The midday sun forced her to squint.
“If there’s anything I can help with, do let me know.”
“You, my lady?”
“Yes. If you’re short on workers, and I have nothing else to do…”
Anna stared at her, startled, as if she never expected such words.
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“…No. I will let you know later.”
“Alright.”
Terezia meant it. If there was something she could do, she wanted to offer her hands. But without any special skill—and without being asked—she didn’t intend to force herself on anyone. So she let the matter drop.
It suddenly felt hollow, realizing how little of her past education was of any use now. She opened and closed her hand slowly.
Nothing. Not a single strand of the passing season could be held in her empty palm.
