Chapter 1
The Marquess Livia family, a house of merchants, was the wealthiest in the Herteon Empire.
Their estate, located on prime land in the imperial capital, was so vast that even the servants often lost their way.
The marquessate was involved in more than a dozen different businesses, and each one brought in astronomical profits.
The people of the Herteon Empire all believed the same thing. The Livia family, with its inexhaustible fortune, must have everything.
But contrary to what the world assumed, the Marquess of Livia had recently been living in despair.
On the third floor of the Livia estate was the room of the marquess’s only daughter, Schniela Livia. It was lavish and full of life.
Delicate furniture crafted over months by the finest artisans in the empire. Gilded porcelain imported from the East. Silk wallpaper embroidered with lace. A chandelier made of the purest crystal, without a single impurity.
Yet the marquess, seated in one corner of his daughter’s room, wore a face darkened with sorrow.
“…Schniela.”
He called his daughter’s name in a dry, worried voice as she lay on the bed.
It had been three days since she had lost consciousness.
When he placed his hand on her forehead, it burned like fire. Her body trembled like someone having a seizure. Her pale face was so white it nearly blended with the bedsheets, and the tips of her swollen fingers had turned dark.
At the age of nine, Schniela had developed an unknown illness. It was a disease with no cure, one that slowly weakened her day by day.
The greatest physician on the continent had diagnosed her and predicted that she would not live past twelve. Yet Schniela endured until she turned nineteen, the year she came of age.
Behind that miracle was the marquess’s unwavering devotion. Rare herbs and elixirs from across the continent filled her table every single day, and the High Priest personally blessed her once a week.
In that way, Schniela had clung to life by a thread.
But now, the marquess knew the end was near.
“A… Father…”
Her cracked lips twisted as she called out to him.
“S-Schniela? You’re awake? Father’s here.”
He struggled to steady his trembling voice as he answered.
Something was wrong. The watery blue eyes that once sparkled like jewels had no focus.
“Father… you’re beside me, right? You are? I can’t see anything.”
She weakly moved her fingers over the blanket, straining to turn her chin toward him.
In that moment, the marquess cursed the heavens.
‘She has fought this illness for ten years. And now you take her sight as well?’
His resentment toward the gods fell in heavy tears from his eyes. But he bit his lip until it bled and swallowed his sobs. As her father, he could not show weakness before his dying child.
Clearing his throat several times so she would not notice, he replied,
“Yes. Father is here.”
He reached out and gently clasped her hand. Her fingertips were cold.
“I’m going to die now, aren’t I?”
Her calm voice tore his heart apart.
“Don’t say such things. Yes… How about Father takes you for a walk tomorrow?”
“Shall we, Father?”
She smiled faintly at his suggestion. Both of them knew this conversation was a lie.
They knew, but they were too afraid of the coming farewell to speak the truth.
After blinking a few times, Schniela slowly turned her face toward him.
“Father, I have a wish.”
“A wish… Don’t say things like that.”
He stroked her face gently as if to soothe her.
The word “wish” terrified him. A wish from a dying daughter was no different from a final request.
“Schniela. Just tell me what you want. Father will give you anything.”
“The most wonderful father in the world…”
She forced her lips upward into the brightest smile she could manage, crumpling her sorrow and hiding it behind that expression.
Her breathing grew shallow. As her lungs stiffened, she sensed the end approaching. She did not want to face her final moment in tears.
“Father… please cremate me.”
At her final request, the marquess could not answer.
After that, Schniela gasped for breath again and again.
“This cursed body… I’ll leave it behind when I go to God. I love you. I love you. I love you…”
Her words were half air and barely intelligible, but her father understood every one.
After finishing her last words, her head fell limply to the side—toward him.
Soon, the long scream of the Marquess of Livia echoed throughout the estate.
***
When Schniela opened her eyes again, everything around her was dim and warm.
[Hm? Is this God’s embrace?
She barely had time to feel the comfort before her body lifted into the air, a strange floating sensation surrounding her.
It felt as if she were being pulled somewhere.
Ah, I must really be going into God’s arms. I’ll give Him a slap when I see Him.]
As she guessed at her situation, she thought about what she wanted to say to God.
Beauty, wealth, status. God had given her all of these. But because of ten years of illness, she had never truly enjoyed any of them.
No—more accurately, the ordinary days that other children took for granted had never been hers.
‘I wanted to visit restaurants with delicious food. Walk through the streets and browse market stalls. Go to flower festivals in spring. Stroll along the beach in summer.’
The more she thought about it, the more unfair it seemed.
[Well, since my life has already faded away, surely He can accept a little complaint.]
As she muttered inwardly, a faint sobbing sound reached her ears.
Hic… sob…
It was a familiar voice. Someone who had always been by her side, even at the moment her breath stopped.
[Father…]
She pictured the face of the Marquess of Livia in her mind. Hearing his voice made her want to see him, to touch him. Without thinking, she tried to stretch out her arm.
And something strange happened. Strength entered her arm.
[I’m sure I died. So why can I move?]
That was not the only surprising thing.
Before I died, I had gone blind. So why …]
A pale, slender hand with neatly trimmed nails came into view.
It was slightly translucent, like that of a ghost.
[A g-ghost?]
Startled, Schniela shot upright. Strength flowed into her waist, her body, and her legs.
Only then was she certain. She had become a ghost. Since falling ill, she has never been able to move her body freely.
Soon, bright light filled her vision. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut and raised a hand to shield her face.
But there was no blinding glare. She could see clearly.
The first figures she saw were a middle-aged man with sky-blue hair dressed in black and a beautiful noblewoman with dark blonde hair.
Her parents.
Her father’s face was gaunt. Her mother’s eyes were swollen from crying. Pain tightened her chest.
“Oh, my lady. How could you leave us at such a young age!”
Startled by the wailing cry, she turned her head. An elderly man came into view. Baron Felsia, her personal physician and the greatest doctor in the empire.
Before her, he had always been calm and composed. Now he was completely broken, sobbing openly.
“My God. I have served you my entire life, yet sometimes I cannot understand. Must you truly take such a young life?”
Beside him stood an elderly woman gazing blankly at the sky. She was the high priest who had blessed Schniela every week.
Seeing the people she loved drowning in grief tore at her heart. She wanted to comfort them.
Even as a ghost, she wanted to embrace them at least once.
As she took a step toward the funeral crowd—
She saw what they were all staring at.
A blackened coffin, burned beyond recognition. Long, red flames licking high above it. Smoke rising thick as storm clouds.
Her body was being cremated, just as she had requested.
[I only asked to be cremated out of frustration at this cursed body… Now that I’m a ghost and seeing it, I kind of regret it.]
She clicked her tongue softly.
She felt no pain from the body that was already dead. Still, the thought that nothing would remain felt strange.
Watching the crowd weep loudly as her body burned made her chest ache.
Then—
A ripple of commotion stirred among the mourners.
“W-what?”
“How could he be here…?”
Unconsciously, Schniela followed their gazes.
At the center of the disturbance stood a tall man dressed entirely in black.
She recognized him at once. Though ten years had passed since their first meeting, those blood-red eyes were unforgettable.
The Grand Duke of Lindenberg.
The ruler of the North, known by the terrifying title of “Slayer of Demonic Beasts.”
As he strode forward on long legs, the crowd stepped aside without a word.
In moments, he stood before the Marquess of Livia.
“I greet the Marquess and Marchioness of Livia.”
He gave a brief bow, meeting the marquess’s eyes.
“…Your Grace. Why have you come here again?”
The marquess looked up at him in surprise.
At their exchange, Schniela tilted her head.
[Again? Does that mean he’s visited my funeral before?]
But the grand duke’s next words made her forget that question entirely.
“Do you recall that your daughter once proposed a marriage alliance with me?”
