That day hadn’t been the kind of day where one could afford to focus on something as subtle as the sensation at their fingertips.
Blood had flowed like rivers.
Countless people had become corpses.
Seton had pushed himself to the brink trying to stabilize the situation, draining his magic until it was nearly gone and leaving his body in chaos.
He had simply assumed his senses were failing him.
That’s how he had brushed off the bizarre sensation.
But now—Seton’s head snapped toward the direction of the Grand Duchess’s chamber, like a gust of wind had turned it.
“No way... it couldn’t be the same person, could it?”
His eyes grew colder than ice.
It was a look Ione had never seen from him before.
Not a hint of emotion—only the glint of a killer.
“Your Grace! May I have a moment?”
“What is it?”
“I have a report.”
The urgency in the knight captain’s voice was echoed by the gravity of the news.
Adrian rose the moment he heard that their armory had been compromised.
“We should return to the ducal estate at once.”
“Right now, Your Grace?”
The mountain weather was fickle.
The Black Forest lay in the heart of the Preses mountain range.
The terrain wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t easy either—perfect for sudden snowstorms and bitter winds.
Outside, thick flakes were beginning to fall again.
The snow that had reached their waists by day was now starting to freeze.
And now Adrian wanted them to descend the mountain—at night—on a path they couldn’t even see?
Orgen immediately protested.
“That’s suicide. We can’t.”
“And leaving our knights in the middle of monster-infested woods with no proper weapons? Isn’t
that
suicide?”
Adrian’s retort left Orgen speechless.
“No, that would be murder, wouldn’t it?”
“Your Grace!”
“Whether they’re torn apart by monsters or fall and break their necks on the trail—it’s death either way. So we might as well go.”
“But...!”
“But what?”
“We just cleared
seven
nests. Everyone’s completely exhausted. Asking them to climb down a mountain in the dead of night is asking for death.”
Orgen’s voice was desperate.
“Why not take shifts, hold our position until dawn, and then—”
“Until dawn?”
Adrian's short reply carried far too much weight.
Would waiting until morning really make a difference?
“Isn’t morning at least a bit better?”
“Wait out the night—
without
weapons? Monsters prefer the dark. They
thrive
in it. This night is going to be spectacular for them.”
Orgen’s protest faltered.
“But... navigating this darkness is almost impossible, isn’t it? We didn’t pace ourselves for an overnight camp—we’re all running on empty.”
“...”
“You’re right—monsters do roam at night. And there’s nothing they’d love more than a group of tired, unarmed humans wandering in the open.”
Though Orgen tried to argue for staying put, even he wasn’t sure they’d survive the night.
That uncertainty drained the strength from his voice.
“So, staying here is safe?”
“No, it’s not. But it might give us a slightly higher chance of making it back alive...”
He trailed off, looking helpless.
Both choices meant loss.
And in such conditions, trying to weigh them was pointless.
Orgen lowered his head, unable to speak further.
“What should we do, Your Grace? We have to get the knights back safely... their families are probably waiting for them, worried sick.”
Adrian frowned slightly, a strange voice echoing in his mind.
“Please come back safely.”
Was it that word—“
waiting
”—that triggered it?
That shameless, tactless farewell from his scandalous wife rang louder than it should have.
“Waiting at home, huh...”
Adrian murmured under his breath, running a hand across his face.
Just that brief recollection made everything clear again.
“I’ll teleport us.”
“Are you insane?!”
That response was so typical of Orgen that Adrian couldn’t help but laugh instead of scolding him.
“You said leaving is suicide and staying is murder. So I’m trying to get everyone home safely, and your first reaction is yelling?”
“Then let me add this: If you push yourself to use high-level magic now,
you
could die.”
“I’m a Dragon’s Blessed. I don’t die that easily.”
Even so, teleporting
everyone
in the hunting party back to the ducal estate was no easy feat.
Orgen could see Adrian’s expression shift in irritation.
“What exactly do you think I am?”
Adrian ran a hand through his hair.
His fingertips glowed softly, pulsing with golden light.
“Your Grace! If you overdo it, this could end terribly!”
Seeing that magic, Orgen practically jumped in panic.
But Adrian wasn’t going to back down.
“Even now, my magic is steadily leaking out.”
At that, Orgen dared to glare at him.
But it didn’t last.
Adrian van Preses was the most stubborn man alive.
If Orgen didn’t bring the knights now, Adrian would wait, pouring magic out until he collapsed.
To protect Adrian, the best course of action was to hurry.
“You really are the most underhanded person I know!”
“Oh? I’m flattered.”
“Who even
taught
you to be that shameless?!”
Despite grumbling, Orgen packed up Adrian’s gear and shouted for the sentries to assemble the men.
Fast, precise, efficient—as if he had clones.
Adrian watched him work, then asked,
“You’re angry, but why do you look so happy?”
“...Why? Isn’t it obvious? I may be mad, but I’m also happy.”
“Why?”
“I know I was arguing against it earlier, but it’s
home
, Your Grace. Who
wouldn’t
be glad to return home? Warm food, a soft bed... and people waiting for me.”
Clack. Clack.
Even while speaking, Orgen kept his hands busy, finishing the last of the packing.
“You probably didn’t realize it, but you looked happy too.”
“I see.”
Adrian gave a simple answer to Oregen’s beaming face.
He didn’t understand what “
being happy
” truly meant, but if that’s how it looked, then fine.
He’d always been willing to accept other people’s interpretations of emotion.
Books and teachers had only taught him so much.
He’d learned that people cry when they’re sad—but they also cry when they’re moved, or happy, or just peeling onions.
There were too many possibilities.
And why do people smile when they’re sad?
Fighting against something he didn’t understand was pointless.
“Still, it’s better than a tent.”
His body felt everything, even if his heart didn’t.
The cot in the tent was uncomfortable, the mountains were cold, and rations were barely edible.
Of course going home would feel good.
“So this is happiness,”
he muttered, almost like he was trying to memorize it.
“Please come back safely.”
Yet, instead of warm food or a soft bed, the image that kept surfacing—
Was his radiant, ridiculous wife, grinning like she owned the world.
Why
was
that?
Before Adrian could sort it out, a voice came from outside the tent.
“Everyone is assembled!”
Adrian rose to his feet and stepped out.
“We’re going home.”
No reply was needed.
With a snap of his fingers, the entire murmuring company vanished into thin air.
“Eek!”
Catherine and Ione both let out strange little shrieks.
It was late into the night.
Snow was falling, the cold was biting, and Ione had been
desperate
for a midnight snack.
So she’d dragged Catherine to the kitchen and successfully raided it—now her bowl was full of roasted sweet potatoes.
They were just giggling their way back out...
When they ran straight into the returned Duke.
“Oh dear…”
Adrian’s gaze drifted slowly down to Ione’s hand, wrapped in a humble shawl.
“Who’s been making the Grand Duchess so frugal?”
“Y-you’re back?”
Ione clumsily hid the bowl behind her and greeted him.
“Welcome back, everyone.”
She didn’t forget to address the surprised knights standing nearby.
“And what might that be?”
Adrian gestured toward what she was hiding.
“Didn’t you say it would take a while to return?”
“You sound disappointed that I came back early.”
“Not at all! You’ve misunderstood! I’m just… sad I didn’t prepare better to welcome you.”
“Sad?”
“If only I’d known, I would’ve made proper arrangements!”
“The Grand Duchess really has a way with words.”
Ione flinched but smiled brightly.
Now was the time to smile.
Getting flustered or angry would only make her look guilty.
Seriously, was a single sweet potato such a crime?
Isn’t roasted sweet potato a must on a snowy winter night?