The transformation between the two spirit plants was, at its core, caused by an excessive accumulation of spiritual energy. And the territory of Leontheim, by geographical fortune, was a land where spiritual qi surged even more violently than the southern spirit stone mines.
‘If the Hellis Blossom isn’t blooming because it’s oversaturated with qi?’
Then what if one could extract the spiritual energy the flower had stored?
Without delay, Iris summoned an arcane engineer and opened her own tomes, searching for a method to draw out spiritual energy.
She found an old report from experiments conducted on Northern Rubber Trees, back when they attempted to refine them into spirit crystal ore.
“There it is.”
When infused with spiritual qi, the Northern Rubber Tree would cease growing—unlike typical spirit ores, which could be charged indefinitely.
On the other hand, when energy was drawn
out
, only unstable, useless qi would emerge—an experiment labeled a failure.
“Grand Consort, I was told you called for me. Rick is currently studying the Hellis Blossom, so I’ve come alone.”
Only Lyle, one of the twin arcane engineers, had responded to her summons.
Iris handed him the passage from the report to read over.
“Infusion and extraction…”
Lyle muttered absently, fully absorbed in the text, barely noticing Iris's presence.
“Come to think of it, growth stimulants are fundamentally composed of spiritual energy. But if we apply the Law of Aectraville in reverse…”
“Lyle?”
“Think of the western layered-qi phenomenon—apply the inversion method and… Yes! That must be it!”
His green eyes sparkled with sudden excitement.
“Your theory seems to be correct, Grand Consort. The excess qi may have halted the flower’s growth.”
“Then can we draw out enough qi to restore it to optimal cultivation?”
“Technically, yes! We’d need to determine the precise concentration threshold, but it’s certainly possible with experimentation!”
Until now, the twin engineers had maintained a composed front before Iris.
So watching Lyle now, hopping in place, unable to contain his enthusiasm, felt strangely unfamiliar.
“You must be a genius, Grand Consort! How did you even come up with this?”
Iris, unaccustomed to such direct praise, blushed slightly.
“It was just… a shallow insight.”
“To think a shallow insight could reach this level—Your Grace must truly be remarkable!”
“…Hmm?”
T-That wasn’t what she meant.
Feeling as if she’d accidentally bragged, Iris flailed her hands—but Lyle caught them in his own and jumped with joy.
“I’m honored to be conducting research at your side, Grand Consort!”
“I… I really didn’t do anything.”
Her face flushed so hot she couldn’t even look up.
She hadn’t
done
much, really—only shared an idea anyone might have thought of. The real effort came from Zelda and the twin engineers.
“This was all their—”
“Then we’ll proceed with the instructions at once!”
Before Iris could correct him, Lyle had already bolted from the room.
Left alone, she covered her face with her hands.
She truly hadn’t meant to boast…
But spilled water cannot be gathered again—and so the next day arrived.
Oliver returned to the Leontheim domain bearing the soul-seal contract.
“My Lady! Baron Hansen has arrived.”
Earlier than scheduled.
Oliver had made the trip from the capital in haste.
Last time, the Grand Consort had ruined the ritual by misspelling a character in her spiritual signature.
‘But it won’t be the same this time.’
Now he had prepared for every possible misstep. He carried a brand-new soul-seal contract that addressed all the previous complications.
‘All that’s left is the binding ritual.’
Of course, he had no choice but to invoke the name of His Imperial Majesty to secure it… but so be it.
The magical inscription contract required this time was something that could only be crafted by an imperial-grade spell master to begin with.
“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”
Oliver’s gaze shifted to a newly-bloomed flower sitting on the desk.
‘Was that always there?’
For some reason, the unfamiliar flower seemed to radiate heat.
But that had to be a misperception. Flowers that emit spiritual heat simply don’t exist in this world.
‘That’s not what matters right now.’
Wearing a confident smile, Oliver produced a fresh inscription contract imbued with arcane script.
“There’s no need to go through the hassle of imprinting a personal seal. The Imperial Spell Master has already stamped it.”
“This is the Imperial Spell Master's sigil?”
“Correct. That’s why even if spiritual ink spills, it won’t affect the inscription.”
The Archduchess Iris skimmed through the contract with sparkling eyes, her gaze innocent and sharp.
It must have seemed different from the usual contracts.
Oliver spoke with an air of triumph.
“All you have to do is press the Leontheim sigil onto this enchanted ink.”
Watching his proud expression, Iris gave a subtle smile.
“I heard something quite interesting about you from Vincent.”
“What is it this time?”
Oliver replied a bit curtly. He clearly thought everything had already gone his way, his face unwittingly revealing his inner tension.
“I heard that Baron Hansen might be a conman.”
“…What? A conman?”
Startled, Oliver sprang to his feet.
“Who dares to spread such baseless slander?!”
Though his tone was fiery, his eyes quivered with unease he couldn’t fully suppress.
‘Where did this leak from? Someone’s been investigating me behind the scenes.’
He had been wondering why only the Archduchess kept showing up when, by now, the Archduke or at least Steward Vincent should have intervened.
‘…If I fail, His Majesty might have my head.’
He was too deeply entangled now, even receiving backing from the imperial throne.
“You don’t actually believe such rumors, do you? You’ve witnessed my dedication firsthand.”
“I believe in Baron Hansen.”
“Then why—”
“Until I received this ledger, that is.”
With calm grace, Iris pulled out a logbook.
[Fourth Quarter Report – Winter Chain Merchant Guild.]
“W-why would such a document from our guild be in your hands…?”
“Does it matter?”
“There must be a misunderstanding.”
Panicking, Oliver snatched the ledger from her hands.
‘The numbers are wrong! This is a setup!’
It was true that Oliver had deliberately selected lower-quality goods for certain orders. But the figures in this ledger were grossly inflated.
Feeling framed, he hastily retrieved a pocket journal from inside his robe—his personal record of the guild’s transactions.
“Look! These are the figures from my own notebook! See how the numbers differ?”
“I see.”
Iris accepted the ledger from Oliver without hesitation, flipping through it leisurely.
“You’re right, Baron.”
She gave him a faint smile as she studied the notebook.
“That ledger was forged—on purpose—to bait a real confession.”
“…What?”
“I lied. The one I gave you.”
Speaking as though it were nothing, Iris casually flipped through Oliver’s private records.
Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Oliver stood frozen, as if time itself had stopped.
‘What is even happening right now?’
His eyes were fixed solely on the journal in Iris’s hands—his secret account book.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
His perfect plan had been to swindle the naïve Archduchess, gain the Emperor’s trust, and expand his business empire into the capital.
Everything had seemed to favor him.
The Grand Consort—who had once knelt before him, falsely accused by fabricated ledgers—was now about to seal the soul contract.
“W-What do you mean, the ledgers were falsified?”
“That’s right. Didn’t you say as much yourself?”
“Well, yes, but—!”
That wasn’t the point!
Oliver’s gaze trembled.
No… impossible.
“I deliberately adjusted the figures to closely resemble the records of your merchant guild. Inflated the numbers just enough to seem believable.”
Then all this time—
It wasn’t
her
who had been played.
It was
him.
Where did the performance begin, and where did it end?
Oliver could no longer tell.
The rumors that had spread through the capital…
The image of the naive Grand Consort he thought he knew…
Now, before him, stood Iris—graceful, refined—with not even a trace of the innocence she once wore.
With slender, pale fingers, Iris tapped lightly on Oliver’s notebook, then flipped through it with practiced ease.
“So you didn’t keep a second ledger. That’s truly fortunate for me. I won’t need to initiate the secondary contingency.”
Smiling sweetly, she rose to her feet, holding the
real
account book in her hand.
“Fortunately, I have a very capable subordinate. That forged ledger—it looked convincing, didn’t it?”
Vincent, who had once lived off criminal pursuits, had a special talent for ledger manipulation.
He had gathered intelligence on Baron Hansen’s network and crafted the counterfeit with Iris.
Vincent had deduced that Oliver likely held not just one, but multiple sets of books.
‘This scheme’s far too elaborate.’
Even with the Emperor backing him, Hansen’s crimes were woven into too many layers to remain hidden.
‘Still, there’s always only one true record. These kinds of people—afraid of being caught—only keep one genuine copy.’
So Vincent had crafted a forgery so precise that only one person could possibly identify it as fake—Oliver himself.
Convincing enough to fool him at first glance, yet just imperfect enough to trigger his suspicion.
“You intentionally sourced low-grade wares from disreputable vendors for the Leontheim shipments, didn’t you?”
And thus, Oliver fell straight into the trap.
“Even the name of the supplying guild listed in the contract doesn’t match the one that actually delivered the goods.”
The merchant name Baron Hansen had mentioned earlier—
Iris already knew it well.
‘Baron Oliver Hansen? I don’t recall ever doing business with such a man.’
‘So it’s true, then. Thank you.’
The prices recorded on the invoices varied dramatically from the contract’s listed offers.
He had clearly colluded with a different vendor to bring in inferior goods under the guise of legitimate trade.
And with the Emperor’s support… what did he have to fear?
As Iris turned to leave, Oliver hastily dropped to his knees in front of her, pressing his forehead to the ground.
“P-Please, I must’ve given you the wrong ledger in my haste!”
With trembling hands, he pulled out another notebook.
“Th-this one! This is my
real
ledger!”
“Is that so.”
“Yes! Please—verify the contents of this one instead. I beg of you!”
He held out the new book with a desperate gulp.
He was still the rightful owner of the ledger, after all. He could bluff his way out if needed.
He’d fallen into the trap… but it wasn’t over yet.
‘If I can just deceive her in this moment—’
Iris accepted the book with the same gentle smile Oliver had seen so often.
“I understand. A nobleman may have grievances too. I see your side.”
“Ahh, as expected, the wise Grand Consort sees my—”
“Which is why you may plead your case properly… from prison.”
Iris smiled faintly.
Once again, she had outmaneuvered him.
This proved it—she had never been fooled by his little schemes, not even for a moment.
“I sincerely hope your innocence will be proven, and the truth revealed in full clarity.”
Behind her, the door swung open.
“My lady.”
There stood Vincent, firm and composed—and beside him, Leontheim’s elite cultivator-guards in perfect formation.
Their eyes, sharp as sword-light, pierced straight through Oliver.
“Shall we simply drag this wretch to the prison?”
Oliver’s face turned deathly pale.
The northern prisons—where criminals often fled—were infamous for being far more brutal than any others.
As Oliver stood in stunned silence, Iris spoke with gentle grace.
“For the record, all those cultivation contracts you’ve handed over until now are still in my possession. I gave them a fresh read—not without amusement.”
Oliver’s face stiffened like cracked bark.
A magical contract was indisputable evidence.
Every time he had thought Iris a simpleton, Oliver had secretly slipped poison clauses into the new contracts.
Such reckless moves, taken without imperial sanction, were far beyond what even Ludwig could defend.
“I suggest you pray that the information in this so-called ‘authentic’ ledger of yours aligns as closely as possible.”
As time passed, the tides turned ever further against him.
But humans are creatures of habit.
Even with a noose tightening around his throat, Oliver’s instinct was still to try and beguile Iris.
“Please, Lady Consort! I beg of you, show mercy just this once!”
Now trembling and pale, Oliver dropped to his knees and groveled, clasping his hands together.
“I was blind—blinded by the glory of my House. But if you grant me one more chance, I swear I will bring you a proper spiritual artifact.”
“Spare me the embellishments.”
Iris, her expression now cold as frost, stared down at him.
“The sins you’ve committed are far too grave to be wrapped up in such excuses.”