"Still, not finding even one..."
"Creatures like the Jaegar start spawning as soon as they find a suitable cave. You know they don’t even need food for their first clutch of eggs."
That wasn’t what Adrian had meant to say, but Orgen seemed fixated on how
strange
everything was. It wasn’t like him, but Adrian found himself explaining more than usual.
When Orgen nodded in response, his brown hair swayed gently.
It was possible.
Still, dealing with the aftermath would be a pain.
"Even if something was missed, it’s in the past. Worrying won’t change anything."
"It’s just... disappointing."
Normally, that would’ve ended the conversation.
But this time, Adrian asked,
"What is?"
Orgen replied plainly.
"It means Your Grace will have less time with the Grand Duchess."
"..."
At that, a face—ashen as death and eyes tightly shut—rose in Adrian’s mind.
Another flash: her wide, clear eyes darting, her absurdly gentle voice trying to make a run for it.
Then—her pale face, trembling in front of a mutated slime.
"Enough."
There were too many expressions. No matter how many came to mind, they never ended.
He had enough.
Adrian flicked his fingers.
Snap.
With a soft crack of frozen fingers rubbing together, the snow that had reached their thighs melted away completely.
"Oh!"
"Oooh!"
The snow piled along the forest trail vanished.
There was no need to ask who did it.
The knights trailing behind cheered.
"Since when did you use magic? We thought you hated it."
"If I burn through all my strength now, I’ll end up having to throw spells around later anyway."
"Ah... well, sure."
Realizing the practical reason behind the gesture, Orgen stumbled over his words, then sighed.
"Thank you."
The nest they found wasn’t large.
Adrian set a barrier to trap the monsters trying to flee.
The group was small, and so was the leader—neither big nor especially strong.
Clearing them out took less time than expected.
"I was worried, but that went surprisingly smoothly."
"Not bad."
Not a strand of Adrian’s hair was out of place.
"We’ve collected quite a bit of byproduct, too."
Orgen grinned as he looked around the nest and signaled for the carts to come in.
"Same with the last Jaegar. Today too. If every hunt were this smooth, it’d almost be enjoyable. Don’t you think, Avril?"
"Honestly, yeah. At this level, even I could handle one on my own."
Avril, deputy master of the northern magic tower, laughed with Orgen.
But the ease didn’t last long.
There wasn’t just one nest.
They kept finding more—small ones, sprouting up like potatoes.
That night, they cleared nests until dawn.
By sunrise, they had destroyed
seven
in total.
"Are we sure the knights actually missed all of these?"
Orgen asked, shaking monster blood from his heavy blade.
"This area was scouted just a month ago."
"..."
Even Adrian couldn’t brush this off as a simple mistake.
He, too, found it odd.
"Avril Sonnet. Are there more traces of nests nearby?"
Once his incantation ended, and the forest sank back into silence—
"They’re everywhere."
It was the kind of answer no one wanted to hear.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
She’d planned to arrive quietly and leave just as unnoticed.
But out of nowhere, the perfectly composed magician
snapped
.
No warning, no signs.
If he’d shown any
hint
of a shift, maybe she wouldn’t be this suspicious.
'Why did he suddenly change like that?'
Ione thought back to Seton’s hand, which had grasped her own.
She’d assumed a mage’s hands would be thin and frail.
She even imagined him waving a twig-like wand around.
But the hand she held had thick calluses—like someone used to wielding a sword.
It was big, strong, firm.
The only part that fit her assumptions was his pale skin.
Especially his fingertips—they were rough and hardened.
She rubbed the tips of her fingers together, where he’d touched her.
Her own hands weren’t soft either.
She’d done everything imaginable trying to keep the Clark barony from falling apart.
Before joining the palace, maids had soaked her hands in warm water, slathered them with oils and creams—but all it did was wrinkle them, never soften them.
Nowadays, thanks to Catherine’s daily care and the absence of hard labor, her hands were softer—almost unbelievably so.
Still, they were no match for those of noble ladies.
And yet, Seton’s hands were rougher than hers.
Rougher than the hands that had hammered nails into falling shingles or drawn water to wash clothes.
The place he touched still tingled.
"..."
She rubbed her fingertips again, but the tingling didn’t return.
It had felt like someone had slipped a feather
into
her body and tickled her from head to toe.
All he’d touched were her fingertips, but the sensation had zapped straight up to her scalp.
"Was I really that touch-starved?"
Well... he
was
handsome.
That soft, flowing rose-colored hair.
The curve of his eyes when he smiled—it was almost sultry.
His rough hands had been a surprise, but of course he had looked
down
at her.
He was tall, even for someone from the south.
Ione, tall even by northern standards, barely reached his shoulder.
"What kind of magician looks like that?"
There was
nothing
lacking.
Like a classic second male lead.
"Huh?!"
Ione turned pale and collapsed onto her bed with a thud.
Her legs had gone weak—she couldn’t stay standing.
It was a ridiculous thought, and yet... it wasn’t
entirely
implausible.
After all, she was essentially an eel, slipping and dodging around the original story.
She was supposed to be head-over-heels for Adrian—but instead, she was running for her life.
From the story’s perspective, this was a serious deviation.
And now, a handsome magician appeared—one who wasn’t even
mentioned
in the original?
Plus, on their first meeting, he had mocked her, looked at her like she was beneath him.
Then suddenly he was offering her an escort, casting warming spells?
Who wouldn’t find that suspicious?
"..."
Ione clenched the hand he had touched and let out a small groan.
Even now, she couldn’t deny it—it
had
been a shock.
Her whole body had prickled, every hair on edge.
‘I shouldn’t ignore this.’
She had no room to deceive herself. Every step was a tightrope.
‘Turns out… I’m weak to good-looking men.’
It was a painful but necessary realization.
Her willpower was even more pathetic than she’d expected.
Life in the Clark estate had been hard.
Too poor to afford even a single proper servant, with ailing family to care for.
There had been no time—or room—for distractions.
Work. Work. Work.
That was all her life had been.
There hadn’t even been a chance to figure out if she had a weakness for handsome men.
And now?
"..."
Looking back, she’d never even had the opportunity to know.
Was that sad… or lucky?
With a quiet sigh, Ione rolled onto her side.
It was humiliating to feel a spark from a magician who used to look down his nose at her—but still, at least now she knew: she was susceptible to
visual stimuli
.
Better to know than not.
Beware the pretty ones. Always.
"Ugh."
Seriously—what a mess.
To get all fluttery over that smug magician...
Was this just
so
Ione? Or was the original story just too cruel?
But something told her this wasn’t going to be the last time it happened.
And she sighed again.
No one could match Adrian when it came to raw magical power or skill.
After all, he wielded the power of a dragon.
Even someone like Seton, who had achieved great heights as a human, couldn’t compare.
And that was exactly why Adrian had to entrust Ione to someone
weaker
than himself.
His power wasn’t human.
He couldn’t recklessly use his magic on Ione—especially when she showed signs of magical irregularities.
If there had been even the smallest guarantee of her safety, Adrian would’ve dissected his magic into strands finer than silk and gently scanned her state.
Seton understood that better than anyone.
So when Adrian asked for help, Seton had smiled—ready to find out everything there was to know about the Grand Duchess.
With just a few of his spies, he could dig up her ancestors, her past lives, and everything in between.
And yet…
"..."
Seton rubbed his fingertips over and over.
The sensation from that brief touch was still too strange.
He could still feel it buzzing in his skin.
Thankfully, she wasn’t without magic. But that didn’t mean the situation had improved.
This was—
“What was that again...?”
He’d felt this once before.
Only once.
But he’d forgotten—
Along with everything else from that day, long ago.