Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Chapter 1

In the northeasternmost edge of Lüsenford, the northernmost tip of the Kranian Empire, where the border touched the Evil Dragon’s Domain that no one must cross, there stood the Abandoned Tower where criminals were imprisoned. Inside it lay the Duchess of Lüsenford. Barely twenty-five years old, she lay there with her hair fallen out, nothing but bones and skin left, waiting for death.

It was cold. And so very painful.

When had food last entered her mouth? Her mind, depleted from starvation, could no longer even think straight. She had melted snow for water, but even that had reached its limit now.

Kaella, the northern traitor, the emperor’s lackey, the cunning witch—whatever they called the Duchess of Lüsenford—she would starve to death, trapped in a tower where cold winds whistled through but she could never escape.

Her husband, the Duke of Lüsenford, had locked her in this tower himself, so it was probably his order that had cut off even the meager food deliveries.

‘What did I do wrong?’

Starvation was an excruciating agony, her head and stomach ached so badly she could barely think, but Kaella kept asking herself. Because she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. So perhaps her very existence was the mistake. She had tried so hard to endure the northerners’ harsh rejection as the Duchess of Lüsenford, scraping by in the shadow of a husband who loved another woman, only to end up here.

Her crime was said to be leaking military intelligence from Lüsenford—a strategic military zone and border outpost—to the emperor and sowing discord between the duke and the emperor. The emperor did despise her husband, the Duke of Lüsenford, but Kaella had no memory of such actions. So she must have been completely framed.

By whom?

‘…As if there’s anyone here who likes me.’

Kaella didn’t know. She was so thoroughly isolated that she had no information, not even on who had framed her.

Throughout her marriage, as a southerner, she had been treated as an outsider and shunned. Even though her father— the emperor’s half-brother—had been killed by the emperor, Kaella was still the emperor’s niece.

The people of Lüsenford had to battle the harsh climate, the rampaging Evil Dragon, and invading barbarians, relying on supplies from the emperor every time. And they hated him bitterly for using those supplies to bully and strong-arm them. So how much must they have despised Kaella, who had taken the place of the originally chosen lady?

The Duke of Lüsenford—Hyperion Sabrand Ferraro, illegitimate son of the empress, hated all his life by the emperor, chased to the border to live miserably, even failing in marriage to his beloved—loathed having Kaella de Shaser’s name engraved beside his own.

Hyperion Sabrand Ferraro. Even now, as consciousness faded amid unbearable pain, that name burned clear in Kaella’s mind. A name she’d loved since childhood was hard to forget, after all.

‘War is coming.’

The emperor, who had constantly surveilled, suspected, and hounded Pheon, had never treated Kaella as his niece. Her death would make a perfect excuse. How dare he kill the emperor’s niece, shatter the marriage the emperor had arranged— that fatherless bastard, that mongrel dog—whom he’d mercifully allowed into the imperial family out of regard for the empress’s face! It would pile on all sorts of crimes at once.

Pheon’s relationship with the emperor had been disastrous from the start, anyway—he was the empress’s bastard born of some nameless man. For his mother’s sake, whom the emperor kept imprisoned, Pheon would eventually wage full war against him.

To worry about her husband rushing into war even now—what an idiot she was. Powerless, without influence, useless no matter how hard she tried, yet her ideals were too high; she’d fallen for a brilliant man, another woman’s man.

‘…Ah. I did one thing wrong.’

If Kaella had one sin, it was that she could never give up on the man who had eyes only for one woman his whole life. Hyperion—no, Pheon oppa, whom she’d met as a child—had cherished and loved Lady Beatrice Lavalle of Monde, his childhood friend.

Pheon had kept his distance from Kaella, loving Beatrice desperately her whole life, simply because Beatrice shared his heart. That love was strange and blind. Much like—though comparing was unfair—how the emperor, Pheon’s stepfather, obsessed over the empress.

Pheon had made it his lifelong creed, no, his faith, never to betray Beatrice. Naturally, such a man treated Kaella as if she didn’t exist, and eventually came to despise her. And yet she’d kept loving him so brazenly—wasn’t that her sin?

She didn’t know. It was all meaningless now, everything hurt too much; she just wanted to die quickly. Her mother had died when she was young, her father murdered pointlessly by his half-brother the emperor. Stripped of his title, forced into marriage like chattel, branded a traitor and dying— what a pathetic, unhappy life.

In Lüsenford, Kaella had truly given her all, strived so hard, but received no reward. In the end, death returned as if it were only natural, or perhaps a consolation.

Ah, her vision was going black. The cold and starvation were so severe it was almost welcome. She hoped to die soon. Quickly, please. She wanted this pain to end.

Then came the screech of hinges, and the heavy, sealed door swung open.

“Let’s check.”

She heard a voice. Kaella, lying amid filth and stench, couldn’t even turn her head toward it. With nothing but bones and skin left, she had no strength to move. Granddaughter of the late emperor, niece of the current one, once an honorable imperial—yet her end was this miserable. The click of women’s boots on the floor.

“Oh dear. This is a problem.”

The stench whooshed out through the open door. In Kaella’s blurred vision appeared a woman leaning over her.

‘Beatrice?’

“You’re still alive, Kaella. You can see who I am, can’t you?”

Kaella stared blankly at the woman mocking her, her thoughts drifting.

Why is this woman here? Did Pheon call her? Well, with his wife branded a criminal and imprisoned in the tower, their marriage was over. So he must think he can finally call the one love he’d longed for all this time. The two of them could be happy.

But wasn’t Beatrice held hostage by the emperor? How did she get here? Ah, whatever.

Tormented by illness, starvation, and pain as death neared, Kaella had no strength left to think.

“Poor thing. To become so pathetic. But you’re still alive.”

Beatrice muttered in a tone of clear scorn. As Lady of Monde, she had always felt inferior to the precious Kaella, the Duke of Ostein’s daughter.

“A real inconvenience.”

It sounded like Kaella shouldn’t be alive anymore.

“You know, Kaella, they say the ears are the last organ to close before death. Want your sister to tell you a fun story? Then swallow this and die.”

Beatrice Lavalle smiled as she pulled a small vial from her bosom. Kaella, suffering from the bitter cold, rejection, and all manner of complications, couldn’t even resist.

“Don’t want to die?”

Of course she did. The pain was so intense that death would be liberation. Kaella wanted to die. She had for a long time—perhaps even before entering this tower.

“But no helping it. Innocent little Kaella de Shaser has to die, or the noble, righteous Duke of Lüsenford won’t be branded a criminal.”

Beatrice blabbered on, delighted.

‘I was fooled.’

Kaella sensed it. She had been deceived, and so had her husband. They’d both been played by Beatrice.

But it was too late. Kaella could only watch as Beatrice uncorked the vial and dripped poison into her parched lips. Far from anger at being tricked, the poison sliding down her throat felt welcome. So hungry she gulped it greedily. If this pain ended even a little sooner, she’d be glad. She could see her parents again. She was no longer in her right mind.

“It’ll be over soon. I’ll tell you a fun story while it works.”

As death flowed down her esophagus untouched for days, Beatrice sang out like a lullaby.

“Poor, young Kaella. Granddaughter of the noble late emperor, daughter of a bastard, Duke of Ostein’s daughter. You know what? Your father, the Duke of Ostein.”

Was the pain numbed by cold? Why did this woman’s words— from the woman she’d never caught up to despite a lifetime of effort— ring so clear now?

“My love killed him. His Majesty the Emperor. Our Vincent went bang with his pistol and killed your father, right?”

The woman whose husband had hanged himself called the emperor— her husband’s stepfather— ‘my love.’ Had her ears failed her already? But Beatrice continued in a dreamlike voice.

“Do you know why Vincent happened to be cleaning his pistol that day, when he was with your father?”

Kaella’s father, the late emperor’s beloved illegitimate son and Duke of Ostein, had officially died in a firearm accident. The emperor had ‘accidentally’ shot his half-brother while cleaning his pistol.

Beatrice poured poison into the dying Kaella’s mouth and ears. In Kaella’s fading vision, she looked utterly delighted.

“That pistol? ‘Your husband’ Pheon brought it.”

Stressing ‘your husband,’ Beatrice was satisfied to see shock frost over Kaella’s lightless eyes. Seeing this irritating girl— always of higher status— shocked in such a wretched state was the sweetest revenge.

“Well, it might not suit your taste, but he had to play the good stepson well, or Lüsenford wouldn’t stay safe, the great empress wouldn’t be well, and his beloved I wouldn’t be safe.”

Amid it all, Beatrice spat on the empress, then referred to herself as if mocking Pheon.

“Your husband knew what it would be used for and still gifted it directly to Vincent. Well, where else would a fine pistol come from in this freezing place?”

Lüsenford was famous for weapon production, including ornate pistols.

“It started that way, so maybe it’ll end the same? You tried so hard for four years? Too stupid to realize everyone hated you.”

Beatrice cackled with unbearable glee. Her laughter grated like malice.

“You idiot. It was too easy, no fun. The harder you played duchess and tried to wield power, the more suspicious you looked—and you fell for it so pathetically?”

Ah. With her brain nearly stopped, Kaella at least knew now who had framed her. Beatrice was behind it. She was dying because of this woman.

“Well, with Pheon on my side, what could you do? I’ve had him as my dog since childhood. Brainwashed him good, so he’d never escape. You two idiots, husband and wife. Well, I made you idiots.”

Beatrice shrugged, looking down at Kaella.

“Poor Kaella. Married the man who killed your father, received no love, dying unjustly?”

Kaella couldn’t refute. Sweet sleep came instead, willingly.

Death.

The exhaustion and pain ending—it was bliss.

*

“…Miss, Lady!”

The piercingly clear voice jolted Kaella; she gasped and opened her eyes.

“Oh, forgive me. You were so startled. …Are you all right, miss?”

Cecil, the maid from the Duke of Ostein’s household, looked worriedly at her lady, who was panting heavily and glancing around.

“Miss, are you hurt? Bad dream?”

Sensations flooded in vividly: voices, warm air, the velvet sofa and cushions she’d briefly lain on, the soft dress draping her body, her plump, healthy arms. It was all so naturally clear it was eerie.

“Goodness, look how pale you are. Must’ve been a nightmare.”

Kaella grabbed Cecil’s outstretched hand, gasping. Rough, dry, callused—yet warm. So warm.

“Are you all right, miss? Calm down. It was just a bad dream. Were you scared?”

Scared? It had been agonizing terror. But now, no pain, no cold, not even that horrific hunger.

Kaella looked around the unfamiliar-yet-familiar room—it had been too long. This was clearly her bedroom in the Ostein ducal townhouse, before her marriage. The four-poster bed with white curtains, thick clean bedding, sturdy wardrobes, sofa full of cushions with subtle patterns. And opposite the bed, a mirror on the wall.

Kaella sprang up, dragging Cecil by the hand to the mirror.

“Miss?”

Cecil gasped as Ostein’s only daughter glared at the mirror, then slapped her own cheek hard with her free hand.

“Oh, miss! Miss!”

The Ostein lady struck her pale, baby-fat cheek with a sharp smack, shook her head to tousle her hair back roughly, then took a deep breath and turned to frantic Cecil.

“Why’d you wake me? What’s going on?”

Her cheek burned. The sensation was normal. Was her mind sharp? It always had been, razor-edged in the north, like walking a blade. And still she’d died—what was this now?

“The duke, His Grace is summoning you—miss, your cheek is red. At least put a compress on it.”

“It’ll fade on its own. Good job waking me. Thanks!”

“Miss…!”

Her hand trembled from slapping herself so hard, but Kaella left the room. She needed to think if that horrific long dream was real, or if this was the dream.

‘A dream? Ridiculous. Who dreams something so long and detailed?’

Days of torture-like existence in northern Lüsenford couldn’t be a dream. Either she was mad, or some vile magic—or perhaps a hallucination.

Tears welled; Kaella rubbed her eyes hastily. Maybe this was a dying hallucination, her desperate wish granting a glimpse of happier times.

Ah, this corridor with its regular large windows flooding sunlight felt familiar. Forgotten paths revived in memory. Kaella headed to her father’s study, a bit hesitantly yet deftly. Grand stairs, open terrace, warm beige stone floors instead of carpet—all Ostein style.

She knocked on the study door, heart pounding. Was this a pretty dream? Or Lüsenford folk toying with her?

“Come in.”

Her heart dropped. The voice from within was long unheard in memory, yet vivid. What was happening? Kaella cautiously opened the door, heart racing.

“Father has to go to the palace today, so you’ll eat dinner alone. Might be late—go to bed first.”

Father. It was him. The father whose head had been shattered beyond recognition stood whole, adjusting his collar. Kaella stared, dazed.

“G-going to the palace?”

“His Majesty summoned me.”

Déjà vu. The situation replayed exactly as in her memory—unsettling, bizarre. She knew the navy coat, gray vest, light tan trousers he wore. And how blood would soon soak them. Yes, that’s what he’d died in.

“Why?”

Kaella didn’t know why he’d gone to the palace that day. So she asked.

“Who knows. You’ll find out eventually.”

His curt reply hinted reluctance. Kaella clutched her confused head.

“But why’s your face like that? Wait, did someone hit you? What’s with your cheek?”

The face from her last memory approached, full of worry, grasping her reddened cheek.

“It’s nothing.”

She rummaged the study. No time for reunions or reminiscing. Even if a dream, she’d regret not acting straight.

“Nothing? Your cheek’s bright red! And why are you taking that out?”

Duke Adeo de Shaser was shocked to see his swollen-cheeked daughter open the safe, pull out a family heirloom—the Protective Magic Artifact necklace—and plead earnestly.

“You never know, so please wear this.”

“What, suddenly…?”

“It protects you once. Anything could happen anytime. Please wear it. Don’t take it off. Promise? Please, Father.”

Standing on tiptoe to clasp the gold necklace around her much taller father and tuck it into his shirt, she left him speechless. He was always weak to his only daughter, a typical doting dad.

“And…”

No time. Kaella practically begged before he left.

“Don’t trust His Majesty, Father. Never. Please.”

Everyone knew. The emperor was a mad tyrant in noble guise, a lunatic. Seeing off her speechless father, Kaella chewed her lip, then bolted up.

If she intruded where he met the emperor, both might die. He was terrifying. Legitimate heir yet paranoid, he’d slaughtered siblings from the same womb on flimsy pretexts, shattered betrothals with foreign powers to kidnap and marry the current empress, whom he still kept confined.

After she bore the bastard Pheon, his cruelty peaked tormenting the boy. He’d mentally abused teenaged Pheon, held his mother hostage, and exiled him to barren Lüsenford to face the Evil Dragon.

Miss your mom? Grovel like a dog and obey.

He abused the child, insulted the empress as a filthy whore one day and praised her as noble the next. Yet he sired bastards left and right, pitting his assorted children against each other for the throne like sport. A lunatic wielding absolute imperial power wildly.

But Kaella had to protect her father from that madman somehow. That artifact blocked one attack—a bullet, surely. But would there be only one?

Realizing this, Kaella jumped up.

“Prepare the carriage!”

She’d been ravenous, craving cake, melting lamb, stewed vegetables—anything. Hands aching to grab food like a savage, she’d forgotten manners long ago. But ignoring the urge, Kaella raced to the palace. Better to die with Father than alone and unjustly in the north—even in a dream, she was sick of it.

“To the palace.”

The Ostein carriage passed the palace gates again that evening. As it stopped, Kaella tumbled out and ran to the ‘Sacred Forest’ where her father was killed. Everyone but the emperor called it the Monster’s Garden.

Better die by the emperor’s bullet with Father. Or at least stop the Duke of Lüsenford here—her husband.

Sure enough, far ahead at the garden entrance loomed a hugely tall man with broad shoulders. In his hand, a box holding the pistol to kill her father.

“Your Grace!”

In this nightmare, she ran wildly, halting the man she’d never dared touch.

Ostein’s daughter, Kaella de Shaser, burst before Duke Hyperion Sabrand Ferraro of Lüsenford like a torrent.