Chapter 118
The air inside the room was still and heavy, broken only by the sound of measured breathing. Marquis Andrew sat quietly at the bedside of the Marchioness Mayer, who lay wrapped in thick blankets, her face pale and damp with sweat. She had fallen ill shortly after receiving the devastating news about the capture of Duke Harold Baisen. It wasn’t just physical weakness—shock and grief had overwhelmed her.
Though Andrew had never considered the Marchioness his mother, but she had filled that place somewhat after the death of his birth mother, the late Empress. Her care, her presence—especially when he was young—had been a source of stability. That was why seeing her bedridden stirred feelings of guilt and sorrow in him.
He gently watched over her as she slept; her breathing gradually calmed under the effects of the medicine. Then, the door creaked open, and the Marquis entered with a somber look.
“Marquis,” Andrew said quietly, not wishing to disturb the resting woman. “How are the nobles responding to Harold Baisen’s arrest?”
The Marquis approached, his expression unreadable.
“They’re quiet on the surface, Your Highness,” he said. “But many are clearly confused and disturbed by the fact that Duke Harold was arrested on charges of treason. They don’t understand it.”
Andrew nodded, as he had expected this much. The Emperor had been in such a rush to detain Harold that he hadn’t seemed to care about how it would look to the other nobles. Or perhaps he did care—but figured he could fabricate evidence later, and that as long as he accomplished his ultimate goal, the murmurs of the aristocracy wouldn’t matter.
And what was that goal?
Immortality.
The word tasted strange in Andrew’s mind. When Harold had first explained it to him, Andrew had been so stunned that he hadn’t fully grasped its implications. But now, days later, the word echoed strangely in his thoughts—like something he had heard before, something dark and dangerous.
Then it hit him.
The witches from five years ago…
Yes, it was them. The witches who were caught trying to use humans as sacrifices. Their leader, Reina, had been the first to propose that horrifying idea—and seven others had followed her. The Imperial family had carefully concealed their true goals. It wasn’t merely about performing forbidden magic.
No, they had wanted to extend their lifespans—to become like the archmages of old ages, who had lived far longer than ordinary men. The witches believed that with the right magic and the right sacrifices, they could do the same.
And now… the Emperor was doing something eerily similar.
He wasn’t openly using magic, but he was taking people—people like Harold—and digging into them for answers, all in pursuit of the same thing: immortality.
Andrew’s gaze drifted to his arm. He could still see the faint mark left by the injection he’d received, supposedly for health inspection. But it reminded him of something else. That child—yes, the one that Harold and Diana had saved during the last festival. The one who had nearly been sacrificed by a witch. That boy had a similar injection mark on his arm.
And the witch who had been caught? She hadn’t seemed scared. Not at all. Even as she was dragged away, she had smiled coldly, as if she knew something they didn’t.
Andrew’s stomach twisted.
Is it possible? Is the Emperor really connected to them?
The witches had all been publicly executed. Their faces, once hidden behind veils and hoods, had been revealed to the whole Empire before they were burned at the stake. But the similarities were piling up, and the more Andrew thought about it, the more uneasy he became.
“We must keep watching the public sentiment,” Andrew said, turning to the Marquis. “Tell the others to prepare quietly, without drawing the Emperor’s attention. We cannot act hastily, no matter how urgent things may seem.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I will pass along your orders.”
Andrew gave him a weary smile. “I’m sorry for burdening you so much. I know you want to be by the Marchioness’s side.”
The Marquis shook his head. “It’s necessary. We have no choice right now. And I will stand with you, Your Highness, until the end.”
“Thank you. I’ll be leaving now then—”
Andrew turned to leave, adjusting his glasses. But just as he reached the door, a servant from House Mayer burst in, panting, his face full of urgency.
“I—I apologize for interrupting, Your Highness,” the servant stammered. “But we’ve just received an unexpected guest…”
The servant paused, glanced at the still-recovering Marchioness, and then coughed lightly before lowering his voice.
“Lady Diana Baisen has arrived. She’s currently waiting in the drawing room.”
Andrew blinked. “Lady Diana?”
But the person who responded first wasn’t him.
It was the Marchioness—who moments earlier had been lying half-unconscious in bed. She sat up straight, eyes wide, as if the fever had left her body in an instant.
“Diana?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Are you saying that Diana is here, in this house?”
“Yes, madam,” the servant confirmed. “She arrived only a few minutes ago. We’ve shown her to the drawing room.”
“I’m going to see her immediately.”
She threw aside the blankets and tried to stand. Andrew and the Marquis rushed to her side to support her.
“You’re still feverish,” the Marquis said gently. “Please, rest a little longer. The Prince and I will go speak with her on your behalf.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I know my body better than anyone. I’m well enough to walk.”
The Marquis tried to change her mind, but she was resolute. Seeing it was no use, Andrew handed her a thick shawl and supported her as they walked together.
When they entered the drawing room, Diana rose from the sofa. She wore a heavy gray cloak that covered most of her figure, but she looked pale and visibly thinner than the last time they had seen her.
The Marchioness, forgetting her own condition, rushed forward and cupped Diana’s face in both hands.
“My goodness, look at you,” she said. “You’ve lost so much weight—your face is half what it used to be!”
Diana gave a weak, awkward smile. “It’s… true. I haven’t been eating well lately.”
The Marchioness frowned, eyes tearing up, and looked her over from head to toe.
“Are you hurt anywhere? How did you manage to get past all the imperial guards at the Duke’s estate?”
“I’m okay,” Diana replied. “I wasn’t harmed. And… I escaped thanks to Harold.”
She hesitated, then explained, “When Harold told me about the secret passages, he didn’t keep anything hidden—not even the ones usually only known to the head of the household. Thanks to that, I avoided the guards and made it safely to the Aneis Guild.”
“And they brought you here,” Andrew guessed.
Diana nodded. “Yes. But I won’t stay long. I don’t want to cause trouble for House Mayer.”
“You can stay as long as you like,” the Marchioness said firmly. “And if you want, we can even help you leave the country.”
“No,” Diana said, her voice growing strong and clear. “I didn’t escape to run away.”
She turned her eyes to Andrew. There was determination in them—more fire than he had ever seen in her before.
“Actually, I came here to ask the Prince a favor,” she said. “I was going to ask someone to relay a message, but since you’re here already, Your Highness…”
“Yes?” Andrew looked surprised but intrigued.
Diana straightened her back and looked him directly in the eye.
“I’m going to get Harold out of the palace.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Andrew stared at her, trying to process her words. The Marchioness covered her mouth in disbelief. The Marquis looked equally shocked.
“There isn’t much time left,” Diana continued. “Your Highness, I’m asking—please grant me one favor.”
***
Inside the palace’s interrogation room, Harold lay with his eyes closed. His body ached all over, bruised and sore from repeated torture. But he had endured worse pain throughout his life—his long illness had hardened him. Compared to that, this was tolerable.
Andrew… I hope you’re doing well.
He hadn’t seen Andrew since that day. That secret meeting had been risky enough. He didn’t expect more.
Even though he had no way of knowing what was happening outside, he wasn’t too anxious. If Andrew had been unreliable, he never would have included him in the plan to begin with.
Suddenly, he sensed someone approaching.
Harold opened his eyes slowly.
It was Jaina.
She stepped inside with a coy smile.
“You were probably so happy to be healthy again,” she said. “And now you’re broken all over again. Isn’t that just tragic?”
Harold said nothing, but the icy glare in his navy-blue eyes was as sharp as ever. Jaina raised her eyebrows, clearly amused by his stubbornness.
“You’re still holding out,” she said. “Still won’t talk, even after all this? What if you go into shock and die before you tell us? Wouldn’t that be a waste of your miraculous second chance?”
“I’ve already told you many times,” Harold said coldly. “It was a miracle. That’s all.”
Jaina smirked. “Ah yes… the miracle story.”
Then, as if she’d just remembered something delightful, her eyes lit up.
“Well, Duke, I’ve got a surprise for you. Someone special came to see you today. Someone I think you’ll be very happy to see.”
She clapped twice.
The door opened—and Harold’s eyes widened in shock.
It was the first emotion he had shown since his capture.
Jaina watched with interest. Even after all the beatings, he had barely flinched. But now, one person’s arrival had shaken him to his core.
“…Diana.”
“Harold.”
Her eyes swept over him from head to toe. She gasped as she saw the marks of torture on his skin, her heart sinking.
She instinctively stepped forward—but the guards blocked her.
Diana froze and took a deep breath, locking eyes with Harold from across the room.
He didn’t look happy to see her. His face was full of tension, worry… maybe even resentment.
But Diana smiled anyway.
It was worth coming, she thought. He’s alive. And now I can do something.
She turned to Jaina.
“I heard from Kaiden that you’re curious about how Harold was cured,” she said. “I think I can get him to talk.”
“But only—”
She paused, then made her request:
“Let me speak to him alone.”
Do they know
.
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