Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Chapter 1

Svergen Empire Year 321. Spring of the 7th year of Emperor Bolshtark II's reign. Vivid droplets of blood fell onto the leaves of freshly sprouted dark opal basil seedlings.

“Oh my!”

Before Frida's startled hand could even touch her nose, the people around her erupted into a frantic commotion and gathered by her side.

“Ma, Madam. Are you alright?”

“Oh dear, what do we do? You're bleeding, blood is coming out.”

Ricardo Molly, who had tossed the basil seedling he was holding onto the ground, came rushing over in a fluster and knelt before her. The dirt-covered hands of the man over fifty, who had lived his life wielding a sword, hovered uncertainly in the air, lost for where to go. The servants who had been planting herbs around her also jumped to their feet, stomping about in panic. Before they knew it, Ricardo's son Dominic had arrived, swiftly untying the cloth from around his neck and handing it to her.

“First, press this against it. You lot, don't just stand there—go fetch some water!”

“Yes, we'll be right back.”

The servants scurried off the field at his command.

“Father, what are you doing? Go call the doctor.”

At his son's urging, Ricardo turned to dash into the castle, but he froze in place, unable to move because Frida was clutching the hem of his clothes. As she shook her head, the brim of her hat swayed gracefully.

“I'm fine, Sir Ricardo. It's just a nosebleed. Nothing serious, so stay here.”

Ricardo made a face as if he'd been told the sun rises at night and sets in the morning, then shouted.

“How can a nosebleed from our most precious Duchess be 'nothing serious'? This is a huge deal! Just wait a moment. I'll fetch the doctor right away.”

Even as he hurriedly moved, his touch detaching her hand from his clothes was as gentle as handling a child. With one last plea to bear with it just a bit longer, Ricardo bolted into the castle like a shot.

“Duchess, please stay still. You might collapse like last time. Sit here. Come on.”

Dominic took off his jacket, spread it on the ground, and urged her to sit.

“That was ages ago...”

Frida let out a long sigh and sat on his clothes, stretching out her legs. If she didn't, he'd probably carry her straight into the castle. In truth, it had only happened once. In the past three years, she'd only collapsed once in front of them. It was because Frida, born in the north, hadn't adapted to the intense sun of the southern region. Yet ever since that day, the Molly father and son treated her like a frail woman who fainted daily. No wonder—they hailed from Milabo south of the notoriously rugged Rapas mountains. In their eyes, even Frida walking around might seem miraculous, given she was half their size. Frida pressed the cloth Dominic gave her to her nose and slightly lifted the bothersome brim of her hat above her bonnet.

“Is the bleeding not stopping?”

Dominic alternated between the increasingly blood-soaked cloth and Frida, pacing restlessly just like his father, at a loss for what to do. How could so much blood pour from such a delicate body? Her face, smaller than his palm, was turning entirely red, and it made his hands twitch with worry. Deciding this wouldn't do, Dominic quickly turned his back to her.

“This won't do. Let me carry you on my back. It's faster than waiting for the doctor. Hurry.”

Instead of climbing on Dominic's back, Frida's pale purple eyes sparkled as she made a request.

“Dominic. Keep this a secret from Muriel. If she finds out, she'll lock me in my room for days.”

“If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn't have let a loudmouth like Captain Molly into the inner castle.”

A voice too chilling and heavy for a woman's came from behind Frida's shoulder. Knowing Muriel had already arrived, Dominic whispered advice into Frida's ear.

“Say you'll stay inside the castle for three days first. Better than being locked up for a week like last time.”

As Dominic winked and stepped back, Frida hunched her shoulders and slowly turned around. Muriel Rossivalt, the escort knight who had followed Frida from her family home, was glaring at her with gray eyes as cold as her voice.

“I clearly said no more than two days a week outside...”

“Move aside. I'm in a hurry—why are you blocking the way?”

Ricardo, who had arrived unnoticed, shoved the famously cold and merciless lady knight aside. He dumped the doctor he had slung over his shoulder onto the dirt field and bellowed so loudly the whole castle seemed to shake.

“Examine the Duchess at once! If anything happens to our lady, I'll chop off your head first.”

A gentle spring breeze, laden with warm air, wafted softly into the midst of the noisy chaos.

*** Thanks to the quick hemostasis, the Duchess's nosebleed commotion ended with a short confinement to the castle.

“You must stay quietly inside the castle for three days.”

“I know. I got it.”

Frida, who had been filling a basket with colorful flowers, nodded vaguely while half-listening to Muriel's nagging.

“How can there be so many different flowers here? I've never seen these in the north—they're everywhere. Muriel, you've never seen these before either, right?”

“No. I've seen plenty.”

“Really? No way. This is my first time.”

“Because you always stayed inside the mansion, Miss.”

“Ah...”

Right. That was true. Frida muttered to herself and lifted the flower-filled basket, smiling brightly.

“Pretty, aren't they, Muriel? The Duke will like them too, right?”

She wanted to agree, but how could she answer that? Frida's husband, Duke Daniel Rihardt, had been unconscious for three years after injuring his head. How could that man, who hadn't woken since, possibly like these flowers? Reading the answer in Muriel's indifferent expression, Frida pouted and walked past her.

“Even without consciousness, he's breathing. So maybe he can smell the fragrance.”

“Well, perhaps.”

“Sometimes I feel like he understands me. Last night, his finger... Look, it moved like this, like this.”

Muriel looked at Frida pityingly as she wiggled her index finger. Yes. She had to cling to some hope to keep watch by the side of her comatose husband. Even if it was futile, it was better than nothing. Upon reaching the bedroom door, Frida removed the hat with its brim she had been wearing. Her skin was so transparently white that veins faintly showed. Dazzlingly white hair. Mysterious purple eyes were revealed.

“Muriel. I'm really fine. Truly.”

“Three days. No less. Remember that. You're not like ordinary people, Miss.”

Muriel knew Frida hated being called different, but she had no choice. It was the truth. To rein in this recklessly brave young lady, even she couldn't turn a blind eye to reality.

“I know. I got it.”

The Duchess, hurt by Muriel's words, didn't hide her sulkiness.

“Who doesn't know that? Tch...”

Frida slammed the door shut with a bang, grumbling.

“Ah!”

Out of habit, Frida's gaze went straight to the bed, and she gasped in shock, dropping the flower basket from her hands. The flowers spilled out messily onto the floor.

“D-Duke?”

*** Duke Daniel Rihardt, who had been asleep for three years, regained consciousness in an instant, without warning.

“Mm...”

His sense of smell returned first, catching the faint charred scent of burnt wood. Next was touch. A gentle breeze carried warmth, tickling his nose repeatedly. Along with these senses, a frail voice buried deep in his memories pierced through his mind. “...Stia. Hestia... Waaah.” The whimpering voice of a little girl mingled with the ambient noises his restored hearing picked up, lingering briefly before fading. “Stop crying. Crying won't bring the dead back.” If the gruff teenage voice that followed hadn't surfaced, it might have been forgotten in an instant. Then, his late mother's voice suddenly flooded in. “Survive, Daniel. Staying alive is what matters. No matter what comes, just hold on to your life.” But the disjointed fragments of memory scattered without a trace. At the same time, Daniel's eyelids, which hadn't twitched once in three years, slowly lifted. His blurry vision gradually took in the surroundings. The familiar pattern of ash trees on the canopy above sharpened. Blink... Blink... After closing and opening his eyes a couple of times, he realized he was lying in his bedroom at Munheim Castle in the Duchy of Utrecht.

'Heh, survived... again.'

At this point, he might as well be immortal. Amazed by his tenacious life force, Daniel tried to raise his shoulders, only to be startled by his unexpected bodily response. What was this stiff, heavy, unfamiliar body, like leather boots soaked in rain? As far as he remembered, this was a first; he struggled to find the right word. Achy? Sore? No, it felt like it wasn't even his body? Even after camping for nearly a month in the infamous winter mountains of Altas, it hadn't been this bad. Far from it—he'd risen first each morning, full of energy. So sensitive he could detect a small bird's wingbeats through the leaves. No wonder Mercenary Captain Ricardo teased that his lord's veins held bandit blood, not noble.

Daniel tried moving what felt like his but not-his arm, tensing his fingertips. After wiggling his fingers a few times and clenching and unclenching his fist, the stiffness eased, and sensation returned to his arm. He slowly moved his ankle too. Fortunately, feeling returned quickly there. Using his arm, he pressed his palm to the bed and pushed.

“Ngh...”

With an unseemly grunt, his shoulders lifted, and his back straightened.

“Haa, haa. Hoo...”

The window must be open. A breeze carrying a faint floral scent cooled the sweat trickling down his nape.

“Mm...”

Gathering strength again, his arm finally rose. Daniel cradled his throbbing forehead with the effortfully lifted hand and desperately rummaged through his memories. What was the last thing he remembered? Ah, damn that Arthur Notingen—he'd thrown a spear at Dominic. Without thinking, he'd leaped from his horse. Then his head hit something with a thud... Bang! The door flew open soundlessly. Daniel instinctively reached for his waist and looked up. Realizing he had no sword for an intruder, he was momentarily flustered. But upon seeing who was entering, his eyes narrowed.

So dazzlingly white was the woman before him that he wondered if he'd lost his newly regained sight.

'What is this? Am I not alive but dead?'

For a moment, seeing what seemed like an angel, he doubted his own survival.

“D-Duke?”

But he'd never heard that angels spoke Svergenian.

“Oh my god... You've really woken up?”

Then it hit him. Before receiving news of the escaped son of the Notingen Duke being found, where he had been. Daniel realized she was no other than the woman he had married in Altas forest, carrying its fresh grassy scent into their wedding hall. Realizing who she was, Daniel pressed his aching forehead and replied indifferently.

“That's what I want to ask.”