“—Good grief.”
Still cursing her husband’s ever-loyal knight, Zurin Baltos, who had always been cold to her, she wiped the sweat off her face as she looked into the fountain and noticed a dark red blotch appearing below her collarbone.
Bright as fire, and burning hot—
It was a sign of the curse, one that burned through the body like wildfire.
“I’ll have to start wearing high-collared clothes from now on. Around tonight, perhaps?”
Karia Pandeon had inherited a genetic disease passed down through the imperial bloodline. Dark patches would occasionally erupt on her body, accompanied by a searing pain. The intervals were getting shorter, and the illness, always fatal, ended in death.
Not a single person had survived after showing symptoms.
And the truth was, it was the result of a vicious curse she had completed in her previous life—at the cost of her own.
“To be honest, I didn’t expect it to last this long—.”
Asmoph had allowed the blood of Rubal to pass into two princes. Rubal’s first son became the second emperor, had children, and died due to the curse triggered by the shift in balance.
Later, Rubal’s second son became the third emperor. He only had one child. Quite some time passed, and only after the daughter of the second emperor died did the third emperor feel safe enough to have grandchildren.
The imperial family of Castaros had carefully diluted Rubal’s bloodline over generations.
It had been roughly 800 years since the curse began. The once-unified empire of Castaros had split into three; alchemists had vanished, and the current emperor, Ilegenes Rubal Castaros, was the 18th of his line.
“Rubal’s blood should be diluted beyond recognition by now. So why is the curse still going strong?”
Maybe it was because of this “genetic illness,” but Castaros kept meticulous records of not only direct descendants but even the most distant relatives—anyone with even a drop of imperial blood.
There were around 4,000 such individuals, with only 7 direct royals. That might seem like a lot, but considering the dilution over 18 generations, the curse continuing to activate made no logical sense.
“Is someone meddling? Or has the festering hatred twisted into something unrecognizable?”
Back then, she had lost her reason to fury. In that unstable state, she forced her emotions into magic—there was no way it could’ve been executed properly.
“But it’s too late to undo it now.”
If there was anyone in the world who could lift the curse, it would be her. But she had no intention of doing so.
She had cursed Rubal for his betrayal, and many had suffered and died because of it.
If they were guilty of anything, it was simply being born with the blood of the first emperor. That same blood ran in Karia’s veins.
Now that her turn had come, she couldn’t very well cry foul.
“But this time, I don’t want to forget.”
The beautiful and cherished memories of long ago. Her accomplishments. Her family’s faces. She didn’t want to live again as someone else, forgetting it all.
“—Maybe I’ll make an Elixir.”
The Elixir—now just a mythical substance said to grant immortality—was her greatest masterpiece, developed over six years of research.
Unlike typical medicine made from herbs to cure ailments, the Elixir was a different breed. Calling it “medicine” might not even be accurate.
Its ingredients were rare plants filled with dense mana, precisely combined in the right proportions at the right times to form a structured magic.
The result was a thick, potent spell that no ordinary mage could imitate. By ingesting it, a human became part of that magic—an unbreakable, eternal one.
However, sourcing those ingredients had brought severe conflict with the forest-dwelling races.
‘Especially those “big-eared bastards” who think the forest belongs to them—their tenacity was incredible. They even stole failed elixirs.’
Elves had long quarreled with humans over land. Gifted with innate magic from nature, they had been pushed aside by human mages, who advanced through research and study.
Thus, they always sought to weaponize the Elixir, desperate for its magical power.
Not just the elves—anyone greedy enough to seek another war was her enemy.
The first emperor Rudvalt, once her “friend,” had opposed her development of such a dangerous substance. But when he did, she would kneel and beg.
She swore to make just enough for her loved ones, then destroy the formula forever—just let her continue.
But he never gave his approval. They remained at an impasse.
And when the Elixir was finally complete, those who were meant to live forever with her… were all dead.
“What’s the point of living forever alone now?”
Karia snorted at her past self.
Whinny!
The horse she had tethered by the fountain was startled by a bee sting and reared up in panic.
The metal fence it was tied to rattled and nearly came loose, so Karia hurried to calm it down—only for a small child to appear first and skillfully soothe the animal.
“Whoa, whoa—.”
The horse calmed in the child’s tiny hands, and Karia approached and took the reins with a slight delay.
“Thank you.”
“It was nothing.”
The boy, maybe five or six years old, had jet-black hair like the night sky. Compared to the screaming child she had dealt with hours earlier, he looked like a cherubic little angel.
“But you seem troubled.”
“Hm?”
“Are you worried about something? Sadness doesn’t suit a beauty like you.”
The boy widened his eyes and spoke in oddly mature tones. Was he mimicking an adult? Karia, perplexed, gently touched her chin as she looked down at him.
Seeing she didn’t answer, the boy smiled sheepishly, rummaged in his clothes, and handed her a promotional flyer made of tough paper. Karia burst into laughter when she read it.
—
[★ Call us, and we’ll come running! ★ All across the capital and beyond! ★ Strong mercenaries always on standby! ★ We’ll do anything—just leave it to us! ★]
—
In sloppy handwriting, there was a crude drawing of a muscular man with a triangle-shaped torso… or maybe it was a squid.
Karia laughed so hard her ears turned red, and the boy beamed as he enthusiastically explained about the “Black Night Mercenary Corps.”
“If you’re ever troubled, come find us! We’ll solve anything—though we do charge.”
“Did you make this?”
“No, my brother did.”
Brother? He couldn’t be much older than ten. Still, using terms like “on standby” and “every corner” was impressive. She admired them for their effort.
Promising to visit when she had time, Karia said goodbye. It wouldn’t hurt to boost their business after the help she’d received.
“First, I need to buy a carriage.”
Mounting her horse despite the pain in her thighs, she rode off. Whether she’d make the Elixir or get a divorce, what she needed most right now was transportation.
—
—
—
“Greetings, Your Grace.”
“You’ve arrived.”
Considering how he said “you’ve arrived,” it had already been quite a while since Karia reached the duke’s castle.
The castle stood as majestic as ever, unchanged since she last left it—but the old butler who greeted her had aged visibly.
When she said she wanted to meet the duke, the butler escorted her to a guest parlor. She was served tea and refreshments, then left waiting for nearly two hours before the duke finally showed.
“I sent word to Alkard that I’d be visiting. It seems he didn’t receive it.”
The duke, about to sit casually on the sofa, paused at her pointed comment. Frowning slightly, he took a moment before responding in a calm voice.
“There was an urgent matter.”
“Of course, duty comes first. I’m used to waiting, after all. I’ve always waited until Your Grace had time for me.”
Isn’t that right? Karia smiled sweetly, but her words were laced with sarcasm—petty, almost childish provocation.
The duke neither scolded her nor apologized for being late. He simply paused, then changed the subject.
“You’ve returned after a long time. Have you looked around the castle?”
“No. I rode here, and my legs hurt.”
“You should have rested in your room.”
“No, I wanted to see Your Grace.”
“You have something to say?”
Still smiling, Karia replied swiftly—but there was no warmth in her expression. She looked furious.
Three years ago, when she last stood beside her husband, she couldn’t even meet his eyes before fleeing. But today she wore a cold, venomous look.
The duke had thought her return after six years might be due to homesickness—but not this. He hadn’t expected her to change so much.
Was the woman before him really his daughter? He wasn’t sure anymore.
“Your Grace, something terrible
happened to me recently.”
“A terrible thing?”
“I fell down the stairs and was unconscious for five days. I almost died.”
