Chapter 6
Following Winter’s orders, Maydillian was given a new place to stay.
It was a little small, but it was right next door to Winter’s room.
Of course, it was only “small” by Winter’s standards.
To Maydillian, it was incredibly spacious—a proper room with a window.
No one understood why the mad executioner young lady of the ducal house was lavishing such care and resources on the stablemaster’s son, but after hearing about Tyge’s fate, no one dared add another word.
After all, no one wanted to lose their wrist.
Waking early in the morning, Maydillian rubbed his cheek against the soft pillow and blanket, savoring a peace he had never known before.
‘Did you touch my Mei?’
‘You dared touch my Mei? You were prepared to give up at least a wrist, right?’
Everything that had been happening lately felt like a dream.
“My Mei…”
Muttering absentmindedly, Maydillian’s face flushed red.
“She said… my Mei.”
With a small shriek, he pulled the blanket over his head and thrashed around before suddenly springing upright.
His silver hair crackled with static, shimmering like downy feathers in the morning sunlight.
This was no time to be like this. He needed to get ready.
After quickly washing his face and neatly dressing, Maydillian hurried to stand before the mirror.
The bruises from his father’s beating hadn’t fully healed yet—lifting his clothes revealed dark marks all over—but at least on the surface, he looked presentable enough.
“Hehe.”
Smiling foolishly, his expression soon fell again.
His reflection barely filled the mirror. Suddenly, his body felt unbearably small and pathetic.
At the same time, the image of the knight who had stood beside Winter yesterday came to mind.
The sharp face that guarded her without wavering, effortlessly wielding a long, heavy sword. Broad shoulders. A solid, powerful body.
The strength that had pinned down his father—whom Maydillian couldn’t even push away—with one hand was awe-inspiring. And enviable.
‘Ugh… when is this tiny thing ever going to grow?’
Remembering Winter’s muttered words from yesterday made Maydillian’s expression darken further.
“I’m not that small. I’ll grow soon.”
Suddenly, his father’s image filled his mind.
They said a child’s height came from their parents—if that were true, he probably wouldn’t grow much at all.
He needed to be at least as big as that knight to lift Lady Winter effortlessly and carry her anywhere.
Pouting, Maydillian glared fiercely at the mirror.
He wanted to be strong.
Strong enough to protect her.
Within his glass-like crimson eyes, a strange yearning ignited.
“Hm hm.”
Though things weren’t progressing quickly, the stable had been cleared, and everything was unfolding according to plan. Winter found herself humming without realizing it.
Walking beside her, Nyla glanced at Winter’s unusually cheerful demeanor and spoke casually.
“Did you know?”
“Huh? Know what?”
“You’ve gotten a new nickname lately, Miss.”
“A nickname?”
“Yes. They’re calling you the Wrist Collector.”
Winter’s eyes widened.
It had only happened once, and rumors were already spreading?
At this rate, she was smoothly walking the path of a true hidden villain.
Smiling proudly, Winter said,
“If someone wants to mess with my game, they should be ready to put at least a wrist on the line.”
Nyla responded with a look of utter exasperation.
“Miss, please stop talking like a gambler.”
“Why? It is gambling. A life-on-the-line gamble—for the future! Muahaha!”
“…Good grief.”
Watching her young lady grow increasingly unhinged, Nyla pressed a hand to her forehead.
Then Winter suddenly spotted something. Her eyes widened, and she rushed forward.
“Mei!”
It was Maydillian, waiting in front of Winter’s room.
His head had been drooping dejectedly, but at the sound of her voice, he snapped it up.
The moment he spotted Winter, his face lit up.
“What brings you here?”
Since they were staying right next to each other, Winter tilted her head, puzzled as to why he would wait outside her door.
Maydillian had been agonizing over what to say, but now that the moment had come, he grew shy and lowered his head.
“L-Lady Winter. I… I have a request…”
“A request? What is it?”
She had asked him countless times if he wanted anything, only to hear “no” every time. Winter brightened at the sudden request.
“Um, I…”
“Yes? You what?”
Overwhelmed by her focused gaze, Maydillian squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out,
“I want to learn swordsmanship!”
“…A sword?”
“Yes. A-a sword.”
Now that he had said it, the tension drained from his tightly clenched fists. Maydillian pressed his burning cheeks with his hands.
A mere stablemaster’s son daring to ask to learn the sword.
What if she scolded him for overstepping his place? Worry surged too late.
Contrary to his fears, Winter couldn’t suppress her widening grin.
As expected of my favorite.
She had been planning to arrange it anyway—and now he was asking on his own? What a blessing.
“Nyla.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“The thing I instructed you about last time? Proceed as planned.”
“Understood.”
Just then, a butler approached from afar with a tense expression.
“Miss, there you are.”
“So many people are looking for me today. What is it?”
“There is a guest who has come to see you. Would you come with me?”
“Well, alright.”
For a butler who rarely showed emotion to look like that—though he said “guest,” Winter already knew who it was.
At this time, there was only one person who would come to the ducal house.
For a brief moment, Winter’s gaze sharpened.
In the original story, she had called him this:
‘That apathetic money-grubber!’
His name was Aisel Matthias.
The sole disciple of the Great Sage Hercule Monestier, and the second greatest mage in the world.
A few years ago, the Great Sage vanished from the world—and Aisel disappeared as well.
In reality, he had simply been wandering around, drinking and gaming, living the life of a carefree drifter.
Desperate to cure his only daughter’s illness, Duke Vladimir mobilized all his wealth and connections to track Aisel down and invited him with a massive sum of money.
Normally, Aisel despised serving nobles—but his funds had completely run dry, leaving him no choice but to accept.
“You’re Winter?”
The moment Winter entered the reception room, Aisel asked bluntly.
His narrow, mocking eyes were a cold ice-blue. His unkempt hair barely covered the nape of his neck.
In the original story, Winter had disliked Aisel from the start.
Having ruled the ducal house as an absolute tyrant since birth, there was no way she would like a mage who showed neither respect nor courtesy toward her.
And even if he was short on money, Aisel’s terrible personality wasn’t something that would change easily.
In the end, the two clashed constantly until Aisel abandoned both the money and the treatment and left the ducal house.
But this life, Winter had no intention of repeating that outcome.
She would die at eighteen anyway—but until then, she intended to reduce her suffering as much as possible.
“Hello, Mage!”
Winter sat before Aisel, flashing him a bright, innocent smile.
Her sparkling eyes made Aisel’s gaze sharpen with interest.
“Oh? How did you know I’m a mage?”
“The butler told me.”
All the way here, Winter had heard endlessly about how great a mage Aisel was.
Normally, she wouldn’t have listened at all.
Seeing Winter politely address him as “Mage” left the butler staring in shock.
Already familiar with the rumors surrounding Winter, Aisel examined the small child seated before him.
The jet-black hair that symbolized the Vladimir direct line glimmered in the sunlight.
Her bloodless pale face looked even more fragile in contrast.
Her body, rapidly wasting away as her stamina declined, was pitiful to behold.
Yet one thing captured Aisel’s attention above all else—her eyes.
Despite a body that looked ready to collapse at any moment, Winter’s golden eyes burned with an eerie intensity.
“You’re a funny little one.”
Aisel chuckled, then turned to the butler.
“Leave us for a moment.”
“P-Pardon? B-but—”
The flustered butler trailed off, but Aisel didn’t budge.
“To examine her condition properly, it’s best to clear the area.”
“That’s fine, Butler. Do as he says.”
With Winter’s agreement, the butler had no choice but to comply. She dismissed everyone as instructed.
Soon, silence fell, leaving only the two of them in the room.
“Shall we begin, then?”
Aisel rose and approached Winter. She remained still, meeting his clear gaze.
“No matter what happens, don’t move recklessly.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Aisel placed his large hand on Winter’s forehead.
A low humming vibration filled the air, and the furniture in the room trembled.
As he murmured an incantation, a massive magic circle appeared around Winter.
Seeing such a sight for the first time, Winter’s eyes widened.
In the original story, Aisel—irritated by Winter’s arrogance—had only provided mana-suppressing medicine and a few spells.
“That should do it.”
“…What is?”
“A barrier.”
“A barrier?”
Winter frowned slightly, confused.
“There’s now a defensive shield that can withstand most impacts. With this, I can safely measure just how much power you have. Can you see it?”
A cluster of tiny stars formed in Aisel’s left hand.
Silvery-blue mana gathered at his fingertips before shooting upward.
As he said, an invisible, dome-shaped shield filled the reception room.
“Break it—with all your strength.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
