MLWBH 18

Seeing the light rapidly drain from the rookie mage’s eyes, Terry hastily added,
“Just think of it as something that’ll pass. It’s easier that way.”
“…But what if it leaves a scar even after it passes?”
“Then you soothe it with a potion.”
“What kind of potion…?”
“A stamina potion.”

Looking utterly dazed, the rookie mage stared blankly at the coastline beside Terry before lifting his gaze to the horizon.
“I still can’t believe we’re not going home tomorrow, but have to keep touring this region instead.”

Terry replied calmly,
“This is the first time in history that a venom dragon has awakened before winter. We have to get to the bottom of it.”
“Do you think… the world is really headed for ruin?”
Terry frowned.
“…Let’s hope not.”
“…Still, I’m glad the Count is in this world.”

It was a remark that made Terry’s thoughts tangle.
The rookie mage’s expression practically screamed, I’m a citizen of a nation protected by a grand archmage.
That innocent, pure soul wouldn’t know, would he? That if Terry failed to find that damned “fated partner,” the world would end regardless.
For a fleeting moment, Terry wondered how this rookie mage’s attitude would change if he learned that the fate of the world hinged on Terry’s romance story.

At the same time, Terry thought of Lily’s cousin.
More precisely, Lily’s cousin—the prophet.

That’s right. Before setting out on this mission, she had gone so far as to consult a prophet in her frantic struggle to find her destined partner.
As was typical of mythical oracles, the prophecy was frustratingly vague, to the point of being nearly incomprehensible.

If you reject the arranged bond, divergence will occur.
Divergence leads to fractures, and that is destruction.
Beware that the black mark you carry does not swell.
Accept the stars drawn to the great star.

At the time, Terry’s impression had been simple.

What kind of bullshit is this?

Terry stared out at the sea with a heavy heart.
The fact that the ocean—black until an hour ago—had somehow regained its natural color was both a relief and a bitter sight.
The beach was crowded.
Most of the people there were members of the Hesron Knight Order, investigating the venom dragon’s corpse laid out in a long row along the shore.
Among them was Liam.

The way he commanded the knights was practiced—he really looked the part of a knight commander.
He was meticulous in examining the body, too.
It was that distinctive air of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done.
Who would believe that this same man had been receiving treatment until just moments ago due to the aftermath of battle?

I hope he’s not pushing himself.

Half trust that Liam would manage himself, half proper concern.
As Terry surveyed the tents being erected, he headed toward the shoreline.
His shoes crunched softly against the gravel.

The first person to react to the sound was Liam.
He snapped his head up with an animal’s alertness, his sharp expression softening when he recognized Terry.
“How’s the investigation going?”

Instead of Liam, an elderly mage standing beside him adjusted his glasses and replied with a weary face.
“Count, you’ve arrived. We’ve just finished the autopsy. And to give you only the conclusion—there is definitely something… strange.”
Suppressing the ominous hypotheses flooding his mind, Terry asked as calmly as possible,
“Strange enough that you need to emphasize ‘definitely’?”
“Yes. We found traces of magic on the corpse.”
Terry’s face tightened instantly.
“Dark magic?”
“Most likely. We won’t know the exact form until we return to the capital, but one thing is certain—it wasn’t cast recently. The caster must have spent at least ten years just setting up the spell.”
“Ten years means this was deliberate. Someone intended this.”
“And not just one person. A spell of this scale would require a group working together over a long period, and even then, success wouldn’t be guaranteed.”

With a complexion paler and more ominous than Terry’s earlier fears, the old mage muttered,
“I have a dreadful feeling, Count. The fact that they invested this much effort means their malice is anything but small.”

His trembling voice sounded like a warning—that this would not be the end.
Terry slowly shifted his gaze. Liam, who had remained silent, met his eyes.

At that moment, the sun dipped completely beyond the horizon, and darkness swallowed them whole.
Aside from the torches around the knightly encampment and the moon above, there wasn’t a single point of light—only complete night.

Meanwhile, unlike the southern coast where Terry stood, the capital Sarbana was beginning to take on a lively air.
The Spring Festival was just around the corner.

People had trembled in fear only briefly over the unprecedented venom dragon incident.
The news that Grand Archmage Terry Romance and the Hesron Knight Order had brilliantly resolved the disaster quickly turned that fear into relief.
No matter what calamity strikes, there is someone who will overcome it for us.
That belief soon made the public complacent.
They had no way of knowing how grueling the march had been, who had fallen in battle, how many were wounded—or who had died.

But some wise individuals always foresee such things.
That was why Dante Garvan couldn’t bring himself to smile as he looked out over the capital, now filling with colorful decorations.

“Your Highness, are you all right?”
Noticing Dante’s darkened expression as he surveyed the festival preparations, a guard asked quietly.
“I’m fine. …Still no word from the knight order?”
“My apologies. Other than the telegram announcing victory, we’ve received nothing yet.”

The magical messengers used by the royal family and the Hesron Knight Order had the advantage of instant long-distance communication, but the drawback of conveying only a few short phrases.
Since the victory report had already arrived, it would take at least ten more days for the knights to return to the capital.

“I see. As long as they come back safely.”
But “safely” was a relative term.
The grand archmage’s participation had led to the miraculous result of no fatalities.
That didn’t mean there were no severely injured soldiers.
They said there were over fifty wounded.
A number that spoke volumes about how brutal the battle had been.

“Count Romance will be fine,” the guard said respectfully.
“…The Count is always fine. There’s no one I worry about less than him.”
Murmuring bitterly, Dante suddenly turned to the guard.
“Then why single out the Count?”
The guard hesitated under Dante’s narrow gaze before carefully opening his mouth.
“Well…”
“Well?”
“There are rumors that Your Highness and the Count are meeting with… good intentions.”

“….”

How was he supposed to explain this?
For a moment, Dante’s mind went completely blank as he stared into empty space.
Meeting with good intentions, my foot.
Anyone could see that he was the only one with good intentions. Someone really needed to take a look at Terry Romance when he went on those so-called dates.

But Dante’s hollow feeling didn’t last long.
A burst of noisy commotion swept over him from the market district, where merchants from across the sea had begun setting up stalls for the Spring Festival.
The crowd was thick—onlookers mixed with other merchants.
Dante gazed toward the gathering with curiosity.
“What’s going on over there?”
“Ah, among the foreign merchants who arrived this time, there’s one selling magic orbs. They seem to be quite popular.”
“Magic orbs?”
“Yes.”

The guard lifted his chin slightly, peering through a small gap in the crowd.
“That appears to be the merchant.”

At the quiet whisper, Dante fixed his gaze in the same direction.
And Dante Garvan was seized by a deeply strange sensation.

What he saw was a stunning beauty.
Beneath jet-black hair, an aura that seemed to enchant all who looked upon him shimmered faintly.
Someone who would inevitably draw attention from anyone passing by.
And yet, Dante couldn’t pinpoint the source of the discomfort he felt.

Only one thing was certain.
The man was looking straight at him.
He had been staring for quite some time.
And then—

He smiled.

A smile that, inexplicably, sent a chill down Dante’s spine.