Chapter 74
Adel looked at Gandaju as if to show him something.
The teacher could not believe the reality unfolding before his eyes, even though he had witnessed it himself.
“He made you fly with just a word?”
Spirits were extremely difficult to control, and by nature, they were malevolent beings. One could even imagine that if demons existed, they would resemble spirits.
Gandaju’s belief in this had only grown stronger after losing his father, who had been a spirit sorcerer, to such cruelty.
Yet, in an instant, Adel shattered that belief with a calm, light expression.
“He’s not a slave. He’s my friend.”
What do you know?
He shouldn’t have, but for a moment, Gandaju felt his mind spin.
Even knowing Adel was small and young, he felt the threat of his convictions being utterly demolished.
“…This is impossible.”
“But I’m flying…”
“You were just lucky, that’s all!”
The words tore out like a scream, voice strained to the maximum.
Gandaju bared his teeth and twisted his face in a raw, feral expression.
It was momentary, but he looked like a human who had become a beast from extreme anger.
Seeing such a raw expression, Adel froze.
“He must have used some trick! Like magic! Or… maybe… he was just lucky…”
At that moment, the Crown Prince, who had been listening silently, slowly tilted his head.
“You think it’s luck because a child doesn’t know better, yet succeeds…”
Though spoken softly, the words carried enough charisma to fill the room.
The teacher, regaining some composure, blushed belatedly. But admitting one’s own mistake is difficult for an adult, especially in front of students. Even if it was the Crown Prince, this was a classroom, and the teacher was clearly subordinate to the students in that environment.
Gandaju closed his lips but still trembled.
Kasmahan glanced at the teacher and clicked his tongue.
“Adel, you’re a genius. That one doesn’t look like he’s fit to teach you.”
The evaluation was sharp, precise, and brutally clear.
“…Your Highness…”
Gandaju was startled, but when Kasmahan’s gaze fell on him, he immediately shut his mouth.
The Crown Prince did not reveal any threat to Adel, but for a brief instant, his mask had opened slightly. Only the teacher, not the students, could perceive it.
‘A monster.’
Gandaju stood at the podium while the Crown Prince remained seated, yet the teacher felt as if Kasmahan was looking down on him.
It was an instinctive, chilling realization: the overwhelming difference in power, an insurmountable wall of an entirely different dimension.
Even from a distance, it was chilling enough to make one instinctively step back.
“….”
The Crown Prince had essentially declared that the teacher was unworthy of teaching Adel—a statement equivalent to dismissal.
Had Adel been alone, perhaps Gandaju would have intervened more aggressively…
‘What… just happened?’
The teacher grabbed his textbook and fled the classroom. His face, pale as snow, reflected not anger but sheer fear—an instinctive escape.
Bang!
The door slammed loudly.
‘The Duke will probably handle it himself.’
Kasmahan thought quietly, alone in the suddenly cold classroom.
If the Duke did not, he would take care of it himself.
The students of the special class froze, watching the Crown Prince and Adel in alternation, gauging the situation.
Yet what they felt for Kasmahan was fear; for Adel, it was awe.
“Impressive.”
“Truly… a genius.”
Witnessing an almost unreal existence, and someone so small and seemingly fragile, made the gap all the more striking.
“It’s okay, Adel. There will always be teachers.”
The Crown Prince spoke to Adel in a gentle, friendly tone.
If Gandaju had heard it after witnessing the masked face, he would have shivered—the voice was tender, almost comforting.
Even the wind spirit, typically disdainful of humans, perched on the Crown Prince’s shoulder.
Perhaps that was why Adel trusted him completely.
‘Friend.’
A princess who had cruel spirits as her friends.
The Crown Prince, too, was a “friend”—the “Prophetic Child.”
Everyone else sensed something off, but Adel simply widened her eyes and nodded.
The Duke had received a report.
“The first to act rudely was Lady Retia, the Baroness’ daughter.”
Michael, who was present at the scene, testified.
“Blake killed that woman?”
His fingers moved through the documents without hesitation. Even though the woman he had shared a night of reckless intimacy with was dead, he remained composed.
“Yes. And the Princess pleaded with the Duke to ensure that people are not killed so easily again.”
The Duke’s fingers paused for a moment.
Even through his uniform, the muscles in his back tensed.
When he spoke, Michael lit a cigarette and obeyed.
The Duke massaged his stiff neck, feeling a headache coming on.
“That feels… unsettling.”
“During today’s special class, the teacher handled it himself after crossing the line.”
Tch, how does one manage things like that?
“Who is the current head of the Academy?”
“…Marquis Hubert.”
“Change him.”
“…Yes.”
Changing the final authority often made things work more smoothly. The Royal Fest Academy was separate from the crown, but Alcibiades’ authority was absolute.
The Duke smoked and thought of his daughter.
“…Why did I come here?”
“To give you a gift.”
After a night consumed with chaotic work, the Duke wandered into the garden, half thinking of a one-night break.
He hadn’t expected to meet Adel.
He didn’t know what to feel—it was as if she had become his own daughter.
‘Not an adopted child.’
Even in the dark, her pink hair drew the eye.
A little shy, she still looked straight at him with her blue eyes. Always that gaze.
Eyes that knew nothing of the brutality he had seen in war, the tyrannical acts even the Emperor would be shocked by, the reckless way he had lived.
Or maybe she did know, but being his daughter, she was blindly loyal.
Adel extended a small hand holding a green potted plant. The soil was hidden; only green grass filled the pot.
‘Lord Beashirta had green eyes.’
Adel liked Michael, who had purple eyes, and purple things reminded her of him: grapes, candy, brooches.
So…
‘When Dad sees this, he’ll think of Lord Beashirta.’
Adel persisted, even though it was just her innocent idea. Of course, the Duke’s heart and freedom remained his own. Adel was also conflicted.
Even though it was miraculous that Kahn saved Lord Beashirta, and many said Beashirta was effectively dead, she hoped he would not forget.
“…A gift.”
Though simple and innocent, the Duke didn’t think of Beashirta when seeing the grass. He simply thought it cute that his daughter had brought a plant.
“They say you must protect what is precious while you have it.”
“The grass is precious?”
“…Yes.”
Adel nodded, wide-eyed.
‘So small, yet Retia made such a fuss about kneeling.’
Knowing Blake killed her left a sour taste, and so did Gandaju—the teacher who didn’t know his place.
‘They all don’t know their place.’
Though clearly his daughter, these fools treated her like a temporarily adopted child.
‘My daughter.’
The Duke knelt to match her height, taking the grass pot. Perhaps Adel had dug the soil herself, as traces were on her hands.
“Last time it was a bouquet, now a potted plant.”
“…I hope you like it.”
“I do, my daughter.”
Adel blinked.
‘The most precious things cannot be bought with money,’ the book said.
Life cannot be bought—hence the gift of green grass. Her father seemed to understand her intent without words, and she was delighted. He even patted her head.
Of course, the Duke was a simple man. Without words, he would never understand that she wanted him to remember Beashirta. It was just satisfaction from a cute gift—complete parallel dreams.
“They’re carrying offspring.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
The Marquis saw the bound, screaming people. Those placed on the sacred altar.
‘Oh, Master…’
He prayed silently, bending his body.
The servants offered a bowl of water—must be ice from the Arctic where the Master was born.
The Marquis shivered while washing his hands. His joy seemed almost insane.
Humans, realizing their imminent deaths, moved in panic, but could not escape.
The servants under Marquis Rozov (the eighth Levercher) lowered their heads.
“The sword.”
The Marquis received it. The next moment, he calmly beheaded the docile sheep.
Blood splattered across his face and body, yet he remained serene.
The ritual proceeded smoothly, and the sheep did not bleat as usual.
‘A good omen.’
After inspecting the dismembered sheep, he approached the humans—they would soon share the same fate.
They were sacrifices. This was the official ritual before hunting the “Prophetic Child.”
The altar was soon soaked in blood. Screams did nothing to stop the Marquis.
