Chapter 16
“Why did you snap at Bella?”
As soon as the carriage began moving, Lassel asked in an anxious tone.
Martin opened a drawer beneath the seat, pulled out a freshly laundered, fluffy blanket, and laid it over Lassel’s lap as he replied.
“Is that really such a big deal?”
“She’s dangerous. It’s best not to approach her, speak to her, or pick a fight. Because she—”
“—can use sorcery?”
Lassel’s eyes widened in shock.
She hadn’t told anyone about that. How did Martin know?
“How do you know that?”
“Wouldn’t it be weirder if I didn’t?” Martin tossed the words casually.
“You were clearly affected by sorcery but never reported it to anyone. Probably because you lacked proof and couldn’t afford to confront her—or the forces behind her.”
“…”
“So considering all that, and the fact that you’ve been inexplicably wary of that girl for no reason, it’s safe to guess that she’s a sorcerer. I don’t know how you found out, but you did.”
Was it that obvious she was wary of Bella?
Lassel’s heart dropped. She asked carefully:
“Was it that obvious?”
“A bit. But since you never picked a fight with her first, most people probably just think, ‘Oh, the Saintess doesn’t like Bella.’ Which isn’t surprising, really.”
He was referring to the widely known fact that, despite her age, Bella stood out among the saintess candidates and was often touted as the next saintess.
It would be hard for the current Saintess to like someone so widely considered her successor.
But Martin saw through that convenient surface-level reasoning with sharp insight.
“Weren’t you scared, knowing she might be using sorcery?”
“Not at all.” Martin answered firmly.
“Sorcery is just a trick to manipulate the mind. It can’t actually create or erase anything. Only the weak fall for that kind of thing.”
It wasn’t reckless bravado, but a cool confidence backed by solid reasoning.
Lassel remembered reading in a book once that casting sorcery on someone with strong willpower and a firm sense of self was extremely difficult.
Martin’s words weren’t wrong.
…In her previous life—at least in her childhood—Lassel had harbored a deep longing to rely on someone.
Casting sorcery on such a fragile mind must have been as easy as breathing.
‘So it was my fault after all…’
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Just as Lassel was about to blame herself, Martin interrupted.
Could he read minds? How did he always do this?
She looked at him, startled.
“What do you mean?”
“Getting abducted because of the sorcery. That wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh… Right. Yeah. It wasn’t my fault.”
Come to think of it, even in this life, she had been affected by sorcery—but it had broken.
Maybe the change in her mindset between this life and the last had made a difference.
“Still, be careful of Bella. No matter how strong your mind is, sorcery can catch you off guard when you’re distracted or unconscious.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid.”
‘He really doesn’t listen to others.’
Lassel sighed inwardly. At this point, maybe the ducal house had some kind of secret sorcery defense passed down through generations. It was probably best not to pry.
The capital’s outskirts housed the Umbraqulum, the main temple of the Ederion faith.
If one were to ask whether the city of Santra came first or the Umbraqulum, the answer was clear: the Umbraqulum.
Thousands of years ago, Ederion’s priests and believers had built the temple here. Over time, agriculture and commerce developed around it, eventually forming a large city with a long history.
And when the king of the kingdom that claimed Santra as its capital declared himself emperor, the city became known as the Imperial Capital—Santra.
Because of this history, the Ederion clergy proudly claimed credit for founding one of the world’s major cities.
But in reality, the temple struggled financially, with some even arguing that they should sell the land and relocate the Umbraqulum entirely. Their pride was little more than a remnant of faded glory.
“The ducal estate is in the opposite direction from the Umbraqulum. You should sleep until we arrive.”
Just as Martin said, even though the carriage traveled all day, switching horses and drivers along the way, they still didn’t reach the ducal estate by nightfall.
Lassel borrowed a book Martin had brought, read it, reread it, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle.
‘I didn’t realize the ducal estate was so far away… Did Martin really travel this far every time in my past life just to scold me?’
His sheer persistence was astounding. With that level of determination, no wonder he was immune to sorcery.
‘Did he hate me that much? Was I really ruining the temple so badly back then?’
A gloomy thought, even if it was all in the past.
‘It still feels strange, getting help from Martin like this.’
Even being engaged to him.
But Lassel saw it as nothing more than a contract. Because it was.
When she turned twenty, the contract would end—meaning they would officially break off the engagement.
‘And if by then the Duke has fulfilled his wish, or I’ve managed to survive to adulthood, I’ll take the payment and start a life of my own!’
That was for the future—a future ten years away, like a crescent moon hanging in promise.
No matter how far, she would reach it.
This time, she would live a life for herself.
‘I’ll figure out what I want to do later. First, I need to decide what I can do at the ducal estate—’
“What are you thinking about?”
Martin asked suddenly. Lassel flinched and shook her head.
“Just wondering when we’ll arrive.”
“No need to wonder. We’re here.”
At that exact moment, the heavy creaking of iron hinges echoed from outside.
Lassel quickly pulled back the curtain and peeked through the clear window.
A towering iron gate—massive enough to rival the palace entrance—was slowly opening.
Once it fully opened, the carriage rolled forward again.
Lassel peered outside with curiosity.
And at last, she understood why Aiden could act so confidently in front of Tarren.
‘Oh, my god.’
It was early spring, and the chill hadn’t completely faded, yet the gardens were already bursting with blooming flowers.
Rows of tulips were neatly planted—pale purple ones with bluish undertones and white-streaked petals stood out.
Cherry blossoms lined the paths: royal cherry trees, double-flowered cherries, weeping cherries—each blooming profusely like clouds of petals.
There were also geraniums, daffodils, magnolias, marguerites—all grouped by type and color in a stunning display.
The sheer scale made the place look more like a flower exhibition than a noble’s garden.
‘And this is just spring… They’ll probably redo the garden for summer and fall, too.’
The cost of maintaining all this must be enormous.
Given that Duke Avril was a high-ranking noble, it made sense to keep such a lavish garden where countless nobles would come and go. At least, at first glance.
‘But this isn’t Avril—it’s Santra. This isn’t even the main estate.’
This was just a residence where the Duke stayed temporarily—most of the time it was managed by stewards and staff.
And yet they poured this much money into landscaping?
“Why are there so many flowers planted here?” Lassel muttered to herself.
“That’s just how it is.”
Surprisingly, Martin answered her.
“What is?”
“The flowers. They always plant a lot here. I don’t know why.”
“…It’s your house and you don’t know the reason?”
“It’s not mine yet.”
Martin spoke plainly, though there was a hint of sharpness in his words.
Lassel was caught off guard for a moment but quickly adjusted her thinking.
‘If you live in a house big enough to need a road from the gate to the door, you probably care a lot about succession.’
Even if Martin was an only child with no apparent rivals, if Aiden remarried and had a new heir, Martin’s position could become unstable.
Yet he showed no sign of worry or ambition.
He seemed to say those words simply because they were true.
As they fell silent and admired the scenery, the carriage finally reached the grand entrance.
The moment it stopped, Lassel felt a wave of nausea. She’d ridden carriages before, but not in this young body.
Sensing this, Martin opened the door himself before the footman could, stepped down, and offered Lassel his hand.
As Lassel placed her hand on his and leaned into him, Martin slipped his other hand beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms in one smooth motion.
“Ah!”
“Hold still.”
Martin held the startled Lassel securely and gently lowered her to the ground.
All she could do was feel his heartbeat and body warmth as he held her.
Once her feet touched the ground, Martin released her and quickly stepped back.
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah… Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Though his tone was cold, he stayed close—as if worried she might stumble again.
For some reason, Lassel felt her face grow warm.
“I can walk on my own. Really.”
“Alright.”
Though he replied, he didn’t step away, leaving Lassel flustered.
“Young Master, aren’t you making the Saintess uncomfortable? You should be more perceptive than that.”
A playful male voice interjected.
To Lassel’s surprise, Martin frowned slightly and looked toward the voice.
A silver-haired young man in a knight’s uniform emerged from the front steps, a crowd of servants behind him.
‘Who’s that?’
“Lindros, you’re out of line. Don’t interrupt.”
Martin’s voice turned icy, startling Lassel.
‘So… he doesn’t talk to me that coldly.’
“Pardon me. But the Saintess seemed a little uncomfortable.”
“Lassel isn’t uncomfortable. Your eyes must be rotting.”
Tension sparked between Martin and the knight named Lindros. Lassel looked between them, puzzled.
“Um, are you two fighting?”
“No.”
“Not at all. We wouldn’t dare fight in front of the Saintess.”
Both answered immediately. Lindros even winked at Lassel as he replied in a smooth tone.
Martin’s expression twisted further.
