Episode 1
A harsh wind rattled the windows. In the early hours of the morning, a guest arrived at House Chester through the driving rain.
The butler, furious at such an unannounced visit, flung the door open with the intent to throw the intruder out immediately.
But the moment he opened the door, he recoiled in surprise.
The unexpected guest’s face was half-burned, horribly disfigured. Uneasy at the man’s appearance, the butler scrutinized him closely and asked,
“…Who are you? Who comes calling at this hour?”
The guest offered no words—only extended a letter.
Suspicion flickered in the butler’s eyes as he scanned the man before lowering his gaze to the envelope.
The seal on the letter made him gasp. He accepted it with a jolt.
“I will deliver this to the Count as soon as the sun rises.”
Just as he was about to shut the door, an arm shot through the crack and forced it back open. Startled, the butler shouted,
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Now.”
“Pardon? What did you just say?”
The low voice carried an eerie chill.
“Now. Deliver it. To the Count.”
It became clear now—the man with the burnt face was a foreigner.
His pronunciation and accent in the Imperial tongue were strange, and his speech, curt.
Unsure of what to do, the butler fidgeted with the letter.
Something told him this man could not be ignored, yet as the steward of this house, waking the Count at this hour would break every rule he had lived by.
But the seal on the envelope—that told him to break those rules.
The Duke of Valencia. A war hero of imperial blood.
After a moment of hesitation, the butler gave in.
“I will summon the Count. Please wait here.”
The ominous guest gave a slow nod.
The Count exploded at the butler who had roused him in the dead of night.
“Have you gone mad?! You’re telling me the Duke’s servant insists on seeing me now?!”
“I swear it’s true!”
The tension in the air was electric. The butler quickly held out the letter.
Suspicious, the Count took it—then froze.
It was indeed a letter from the Duke of Valencia.
“He says he must meet you at once. What shall I do?”
With careful hands, the Count broke the seal. The contents left him stunned.
“……”
“Count, what is it?”
“The Duke… wants to marry my daughter to his son.”
My daughter?
The butler blinked, waiting for the rest.
“He wants to wed his son to my daughter.”
“Is that true?!”
The butler brightened, letting out a breath of relief.
Thank goodness. A grim visitor, terrible weather, the Count’s frightened face—it had felt like some terrible omen, like they were about to be asked for a sacrifice. But surprisingly, it was good news.
“This is excellent, isn’t it? Tying our house to the Duke’s would give us wings!”
“That’s not why I’m reacting this way!”
“Pardon? What do you mean…?”
Still trembling with emotion, the Count pushed past the butler and marched off.
“I must see that man at once.”
The butler stood there puzzled.
Now that he thought about it—something was strange.
“Come to think of it… does the Duke even have a son?”
Clutching the marriage proposal from the Duke, Count Chester inhaled sharply.
What nonsense is this…!
His hands trembled.
He wants my daughter? My one and only daughter?!
He called it marriage, but it felt more like a sacrifice.
He recalled a recent encounter at an imperial council meeting. The Duke’s sinister gaze had lingered on him like someone assessing goods laid out at a market stall. So this was why.
Seizing a candlestick from his room, the Count strode down the hall toward the servant quarters.
He had to confront the Duke’s messenger.
“How dare he target my daughter?”
No matter the Duke’s power, he could not overlook this.
His daughter was the jewel of his eye. He hadn’t raised her with such care only to have her die in some stranger’s arms.
Reaching the side door, he spotted the man.
“…!”
He drew a deep breath.
The hideous-faced man stared back at him with chilling eyes.
“Did you read it?”
The voice was just as chilling.
The man’s gaze dropped to the Count’s hand, still gripping the letter.
“You read it. So. What is. Your answer?”
“Why demand a reply the moment the letter arrives? Is this how the Duke shows his disdain for House Chester?!”
“You know. What this means.”
The Count inhaled sharply at the man’s blunt reply.
“This is not a simple proposal.”
The man’s appearance alone made that clear. Who would send a grotesque, grim-faced servant to deliver a marriage proposal?
This was no polite request. It was a threat.
The Count understood, but he couldn’t accept it.
His daughter’s smiling face flashed in his mind—so precious to him. And now they wanted her as an offering?
The Count couldn’t take it. He lunged forward and grabbed the man by the collar.
“Tell the Duke—this proposal is refused!”
“You’ll regret it. Aren’t you afraid of the demon?”
“What…?!”
“The demon. Has chosen. Your daughter.”
One eye was dim and lifeless, as if blind, but the other burned with murderous intent.
The servant added in a trembling whisper,
“Your daughter. Rayana.”
…Rayana?
At that moment, the Count’s grip loosened.
The servant, freed, didn’t even bother fixing his clothes. He only waited for the Count’s response, his blind loyalty sending chills down the Count’s spine.
“…Tell the Duke I understand. I will accept.”
The servant gave a slow nod, threw on his robe, and left the manor.
As the oppressive air lifted, the Count muttered,
“Leveon. Call my daughter.”
“You mean Lady Isabel?”
“Isabel? No. I meant Rayana.”
Leveon the butler tilted his head in confusion.
The Chester family had two daughters—at least, publicly. But in truth, only the younger, Isabel, was of the Count’s blood. Everyone knew the elder daughter, Rayana, was adopted.
Recently, due to the empire’s long military campaigns, nobles were required to send at least one child to the front. Unable to risk his only daughter, the Count had taken notice of Rayana.
A fencing genius raised in a brothel.
The reason he adopted an older girl was solely for the sake of the family—and for Isabel.
He had never once called Rayana his daughter.
“Understood, my lord.”
But the seasoned butler didn’t question his master’s orders.
He simply followed them.
A curse had long plagued the imperial bloodline. It gnawed at the emperor’s flesh, stealing joy from his life—yet strangely, it also brought prosperity to the empire.
Those near the cursed emperor often died, but in return, the emperor gained great power. The empire had flourished on the blood of its own people.
They called it the Demon’s Curse.
All who experienced the curse firsthand grew terrified and distanced themselves from the emperor, afraid their lives would be consumed next. Count Chester was no exception.
Crociard Valencia—the empire’s sole duke—had once been crown prince and a pillar of the imperial family.
But he gave up his title and left the palace. Why? Because he, too, bore the demon’s curse.
People watched closely: the curse flowed in the veins of the imperial line. If Crociard was no longer a royal, where would the curse go?
[Who will inherit Crociard’s curse?]
His unborn son? The current crown prince? Or perhaps a future imperial child?
The Count glared at the letter on the table.
It seemed the demon’s curse had chosen the Duke’s son.
He gave up the throne, and still his life is one misfortune after another.
The problem was—that misfortune had now spilled over to Count Chester himself.
