Within the Denique royal bloodline, there was a long-standing legend—one that began with the founder of their dynasty, George von Denique, during his youth. The tale starts on the day young George was sailing the southern seas and fell overboard, vanishing into the waves.
For a time no one thought he could have survived. He was lost for what seemed like a span even the strongest cultivators wouldn’t endure. Then, miraculously, he was discovered washed up on a southern shore, alive. When he regained his senses, he claimed he had been cared for by none other than—merfolk.
Merfolk.
A mythical race spoken of in ancient scriptures. Creatures believed to have vanished from the world in a bygone era.
At the time, few believed George. They dismissed his words as the delusions of a half-drowned boy. But when they investigated the location George described as the merfolk’s sanctuary, they stumbled upon—
—a mine of spirit stones with such purity, they outshone even the highest-tier cores found in spirit beasts.
If the average spirit stone mined from the corpses of orcs or giant boars held a spiritual potency of 1, then the stones in this newly discovered mine held a potency near 100. Thus arose a theory: such immense spiritual energy could only come from the remains of ancient, divine creatures—perhaps the merfolk themselves.
It was whispered that George had been watched over not by living beings, but by the lingering spirits of long-dead merfolk.
And so George, wielding this new source of immense wealth and power, declared it all a divine gift—the “Blessing of the Merfolk.”
George von Denique, the one blessed by the merfolk.
In time, he went on to conquer the Hellenian continent, which had previously been ruled by the House of Hixenburg, and established the Denique Dynasty.
…or so the legend goes.
In truth, no one can say whether George was ever truly lost at sea, or whether he encountered merfolk at all. Realistically speaking, the one who pulled him from the water was more likely a kindhearted old fisherman with too much free time.
But royal legends were never meant to be logical. The point of such stories was to declare:
our dynasty is blessed by otherworldly beings—tremble before us
.
Whatever the case, the spirit stone mine was real, and that wealth did indeed elevate George to founding monarch. Later, two more sites were discovered—each dubbed a “Grave of the Merfolk” for the purity of their spirit stones. Both times, the princes who found them were only second in line for the throne… and yet, they ascended as kings, surrounded by rumors that they too had received the merfolk’s blessing.
Of course, the “blessing” was less about divine favor and more about the vast spiritual fortune hidden beneath the ground.
And so it became tradition:
he who discovers a Grave of the Merfolk becomes the ruler
. Since then, princes and princesses have become obsessed with unearthing such places, combing the land for that elusive fortune.
Yet centuries have passed with no new discoveries… until now.
One of the few remaining "Graves of the Merfolk" on the continent was discovered—of all places—on a sliver of seaside land inherited by Baron Wedgewood.
“Astonishing, isn’t it?” Eric said.
I forced a solemn expression, nodding.
“Truly shocking. A piece of land like that…”
“You’re not seriously thinking it’d be best to sell it off, are you?”
Eric pierced straight through my thoughts—the very same ones I had when I first saw the documents. I flinched and laughed awkwardly.
“Of course not. If it’s really a Grave of the Merfolk, then Prince Robert—and even the Princess herself—would rush in to seize it…”
Sure, I had been tempted. But I wasn’t foolish enough to act on it. That site held more symbolic weight than any amount of gold. Besides, that land was buried in debt anyway.
But how did Eric even know about all this?
I was curious, but I had more urgent issues to address.
“The real problem,” I said, “is that the land is really only ours in name. The barony took out so many loans using that land as collateral that even the loan sharks themselves can’t agree who holds the actual claim anymore…”
“Wedgewood used the land as collateral?” Eric tilted his head. I nodded.
“Then even if we manage to reclaim the rights, you wouldn’t be able to legally sell it again for at least a year. You couldn’t even transfer ownership to Prince Robert during that time.”
“Regaining rights over collateral?”
I blinked in disbelief. Eric looked at me like I’d asked whether the sky was truly blue.
“If the debt is repaid, of course you can reclaim the rights to the collateral. The title’s still valid, isn’t it? Sorting out creditor priority might be tricky if there are too many involved, but it's not impossible.”
“...?”
Then why did the Duke try to annihilate us? No, why
did
he already
do
it?
“But,” Eric added, “even if you reclaim the rights and transfer the title, there's a one-year restriction before you can sell it again. It’s a royal decree—meant to stop dissolute nobles from selling off ancestral land on a whim.”
Wait—
So the Duke needed that coastal land immediately. But upon learning that its ownership was fragmented among loan sharks, and that even if reclaimed, it couldn't be transferred and sold for a whole year...
“That means his contract with Robert would fall through.”
And instead of explaining the situation, persuading Helena, repaying the debt, and properly selling the Sirens’ Grave to Robert, he just figured—it’s easier to
slaughter
us all and deal with it cleanly.
Wow...
To those lofty aristocrats, our scammer family was no more than stray ants underfoot?
“Heh...”
That son of a beast.
I clenched my fists tightly.
Eric scowled, hearing the bitter laugh seeping through my teeth. “What?”
“Pardon the bluntness in front of a noble young master, but... your father is a damned scumbag.”
I expected Eric to blow up, but he remained quiet. Then he gave a grim, bitter look and muttered,
“If all this is true… then yeah. He should be punished. No exceptions.”
Punished?
I furrowed my brows.
If the Duke were to be charged with treason and murder, the family estate could be seized entirely by the royal court.
“Wait—hold on. You’re really going to expose all of this? You’re not just gonna hush it up and quietly help us flee in exchange for silence?”
“Are you insane? A crime’s a crime. There must be retribution.”
Eric spoke like a stubborn elder cultivator clinging to the Dao of Justice. I gave a hollow laugh.
“Ha. Didn’t you say you were done with those ‘good triumphs over evil’ clichés?”
“I’m not interested in cheap virtue. Evil must be crushed by a greater evil.”
He looked me over once more, his gaze unusually focused—
again
. What’s with the way he keeps scanning me like I’m some ancient artifact?
“And in my eyes, there’s no evil more reliable than you, Emelline.”
“...Huh?”
Without warning, Eric dropped to one knee before me. I tilted my head, baffled.
At that moment, soft light began to bloom across the shadowed garden. The electric lanterns strung along the royal hedges flickered to life, casting warm glow over Eric’s previously shadowed face.
Ah… so this was that overly romantic timing the Duke had rigged ahead of time?
Panicked, I scanned the clearing—someone might see us.
“What are you doing down there like that? Get up. If someone sees...”
They’ll think the photo I printed yesterday was real.
I thought back to the image I had developed just before coming here—from the shop where I’d stopped by in secret. The photo of Eric and me.
Why is that image surfacing
now
of all times?
His sculpted upper body. Me perched on top of him. His lips slightly parted in that moment…
I stared again at his lips—the same crimson hue as in the photo.
That face, that body—every time I see it, it stirs something strange deep within my core.
“So this... is what people mean by dark intentions.”
Unable to tear my gaze from his lips, I murmured,
“This… is the kind of moment that’s just perfect for… misunderstanding…”
Despite my murmuring, Eric began to speak, resolute.
“Whatever the case, I must prevent that coastal land deed from falling into my father's hands, and you—your goal is to stop your mother from marrying him, yes? With the wedding only two days away.”
“Y-Yes, well… that’s right…”
I snapped out of my daze and replied hastily.
The moment our eyes met, Eric’s face and ears flushed a deep crimson, as though he’d just been exposed. Like someone caught red-handed.
But… exposed?
Up to this point, Eric hadn’t struck me as someone with anything
to
hide. He was the kind of righteous fool who would choose virtue over his own clan’s survival—a cultivator whose core was refined more by morality than ambition.
Then why is he acting like this in front of me?
Eric cleared his throat awkwardly, sweat visibly beading on his forehead.
“I’m about to make a truly ridiculous proposal. But I sincerely hope you’ll accept it. Because I… really do need your help. And it seems like you need mine, too.”
“Just say it already. You’ve been turning red like a tomato for a while now…”
Now I was starting to blush too!
“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.
“I
am
talking quietly…?”
I stared at him, baffled.
Also, wasn’t kneeling like that uncomfortable?
Finally, Eric opened his mouth.
“There’s only one way to stop this wedding in the two days we have left… and it’s this: instead of being my sister, you become my wife.”
The words, soaked in his nervous sweat, didn’t register at first.
“…What?”
But before I could process anything, Eric pulled something from his robes with clenched teeth, as though trying to drown out his own thoughts with movement. It was a small box—small enough that even a passerby in a carriage could probably guess its contents with a glance.
No way…
A chill ran down my spine. My eyes widened.
“Of course, this would be a fraudulent… no, a sham marriage,” he said hurriedly. “But I still believe marriage is sacred, and a proposal must be made properly, so—”
“W-Wait, wait a second!”
This is not the kind of development I was expecting!
Even as I waved my hands frantically, Eric pressed on with stubborn determination.
“Will you marry me, Emelline Wedgewood?”
I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
But some curses still slipped out between my teeth.
“…This lunatic—!”
Eric’s face twisted into a grimace of pure pain.
✵
✵
✵
Behind the ballroom was a private chamber reserved for royalty.
Princess Ella had just stepped away from the dance floor to rest, though she wasn’t alone. Beside her sat a young nobleman—just twenty and freshly debuted for the season—fidgeting nervously.
Ella glanced at him as if he were an adorable pet.
“Nervous?”
“Huh? Ah, no… I mean—yes. Yes, I am. I’ve never spoken with someone so, uh, exalted…”
“Not beautiful, then?”
“…Pardon?”
“I asked if all I am to you is exalted.”
With a giggle, Ella picked up her glass.
The young man broke out into a cold sweat.
“N-No! You are beautiful! Absolutely stunning, Your Highness!”
Ella’s gaze turned sharp, like a hunter eyeing her quarry.
And judging by the look in her eyes—she had no intention of letting her prey go.
Ella set her goblet down and gently cupped the young heir’s face. Just as her lips neared his for a sip of stolen warmth—
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness.”
Someone had breached the inner chamber.
Ella turned in irritation—and there stood Eric d’Orléans, staring blankly at the half-dressed heir and the princess entangled before him.
Just as Ella clenched her jaw, ready to unleash fury, the young man—face red as a peach blossom—scrambled to collect his robes.
“I-I got lost looking for the lavatory! I swear—I wasn’t—!”
“H-Hold on a moment—!”
But before Ella could stop him, the man bolted.
The moment he disappeared through the door, Ella whirled on Eric and snapped,
“What the hell was that? I even helped you and that cute red-haired girl earlier!”
She rubbed the back of her neck in frustration.
To let such a fine-faced boy slip away right under her nose—damn it all.
Eric remained resolute. “It’s urgent.”
“You’d better mean life-or-death urgent, because unless you want to be thrown in the dungeon for trespassing in a royal chamber, you’ll be rotting for three days—and miss your father’s wedding!”
But even faced with Ella’s fury, Eric didn’t flinch. He simply said,
“You might want to compose your appearance. I’m not alone.”
“Then who the hell did you bring?”
Ella huffed, throwing herself dramatically onto the now-vacant sofa. That’s when the chamber door creaked open just a little farther… and a flash of crimson hair peeked through.
“…?”
Ella narrowed her eyes.
Red hair. Brown eyes… ah, yes. The woman meant to become Eric’s future Dao partner. The same one who’d been humiliated earlier by that smug daughter of a marquess and had fled looking like she might shatter.
Ella studied the girl’s face, trying to remember her name—when suddenly, the girl dropped to her knees before her.
“Please… allow me to take your young lord for myself!”
“…?”
Thunk!
Her knees hit the ground with a heavy sound. Eric grimaced and rushed forward, whispering urgently to the girl.
“I know what you’re trying to do, but this isn’t the way. Get up—Emelline Wedgwood.”
Ah. That was it.
Emelline Wedgwood.
✵
✵
✵
“This isn’t the way? But… you said I had to get the princess’s permission…”
I murmured, and Eric swept his hair back like he had a pounding headache. His face said it all—exasperation.
“What made you think
this
is how you ask permission? Get up already.”
He grasped my hand and pulled me upright.
His gaze lingered—just briefly—on my dress and shoes. Only for a moment.
But I couldn’t focus on him at all, because the princess’s next words snatched all of my attention:
“What do you even want him for?”
She referred to Eric with the casual disdain of someone used to getting what she wanted.
So they really were entangled like that…?
I shrank in fear, remembering the rumors that this princess was fiercely territorial in matters of the heart.
“U-Um… I intend to make good use of him and return him… later…”
Because this is just a fake marriage, right?
A
fraudulent marriage
.
The masterstroke of chaos that would shatter everything—the one Eric had proposed to me—was our own union.
Wait… was it really so shameful? To marry someone like me? Even though he’s the one who said he wanted to marry me first…
Good grief… I even saw you ranked in those tabloid surveys…
So the young lord actually reads that kind of stuff, huh?
“Speak softly, speak softly.”
“I
am
speaking softly…”
Eric, still crimson in the face, continued speaking.
He told me plainly—my family’s secrets weren’t the only ones the Duke had tucked away in his sleeve. Once the Duke began to move, leveraging those weaknesses, our clan could be completely isolated on this vast continent. Even if my mother escaped the marriage, the Duke wouldn’t simply let us go.
So, from where I stood, there was only one path: dissolve the marriage, protect my family’s safety, while Eric secured a key witness and stopped the Duke from claiming the
Mermaid’s Grave
. And to accomplish all that, we had one method.
“Until I expose every last one of my father’s secrets, I’ll protect you and your family. Through marriage. You said you wanted to become my tactician, didn’t you? Think of this as forming a contract.”
A
contract
, he says—then why the hell is his face so red?
Eric pulled out a ring, hand trembling as he reached for mine—
—or
not
. He just shoved it into my palm.
“If you’re willing to form an alliance, take it.”
It probably took… five seconds?
That’s how long it took me to put the ring on without a word.
“Yup.”
Sure, all the reasons Eric listed factored into my decision—but the
real
reason I decided to side with him was simple:
Eric Orléans is a good man—and good men never beat villains.
And me? I’m a villain. I’m the type who could use Eric to the bone and toss him aside without blinking.
But… was Eric already claimed by the princess?
“What nonsense is this? Am I an object to be handed over? There are limits to jesting.”
Eric’s voice was firm as he addressed the princess. She gave him a shrug and a playful smile.
“Why not?
She
asked for you first, didn’t she? You may not be an object, but you’re
useful
, aren’t you? Whether it’s as decoration, emergency rations, or perhaps for satisfying more… instinctual needs—”
“Your Highness.”
Eric turned his head away, his voice sharp.
But me? I was… impressed.
The princess’s wit and bluntness were downright refreshing.
Damn, I want to be friends with her. That’s the kind of vocabulary you only pick up from living life.
Of course, someone like me could never be friends with someone like
her
.
“Enough. I’m not here to play games.”
The princess’s smile vanished. Her tone dropped ice-cold.
“Nor am I. The girl who was supposed to become your sister-in-law got on her knees in front of me and
begged
for you. Does that sound like a joke? The capital’s going to explode when this gets out. And I’m not even allowed to ask what use you are?”
Her gaze cut through me like a blade.
The lighthearted, teasing air she had worn back in the audience chamber had vanished, replaced by something cold, honed—
regal
. The playful smile was gone. Now she looked at me with sharp, probing eyes.
“Emelline Wedgewood. As passionate as your hair, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t meet her eyes. I swallowed hard, my whole body tensing like I’d been encased in ice.
The princess leaned back against the sofa, lounging like a lioness at ease. Eric guided me, frozen as I was, into the seat opposite her.
“Well. That’s all been quite entertaining,” she said. “But not entertaining
enough
to forgive you for disrupting my night. So—speak clearly now, Miss Emelline Wedgewood. What exactly are you planning to do with Eric Orléans?”
Ella’s eyes gleamed like lightning ready to strike.
Just as her gaze began to squeeze the breath from my lungs, Eric reached out a hand toward me. I turned to him in surprise.
Then, in a low voice, he said,
“Give me the scroll.”
I blinked at him.
“…Are you serious?”
Seriously? Can someone actually be
this
honest?
Lily did say he was a man whose outer self matched his inner self, but this is beyond belief. He’s really going to hand this over to the princess? A document holding his
own clan’s secrets
?
Cold sweat dripped down my back as I pulled the scroll from my robe.
I shot Eric a desperate glance.
What if handing this over gets us both executed on the spot? The House of Orléans is still aligned with Prince Robert, isn’t it?
Eric calmly pried each of my fingers off the scroll, one by one, and took it. Then he extended it toward the princess.
“You need to read this.”
It didn’t take long for the princess to finish reading.
“Well, well. Valdek Orléans. I actually thought of him as a fine middle-aged cultivator—charming and dependable… What a disappointment.”
She murmured this with a bitter laugh.
“Fine middle-aged cultivator”…?
Do princesses normally talk like this?
After setting the scroll down, the princess crossed one leg over the other and stared at Eric.
“And yet… you brought this to
me
?”
Exactly,
I screamed internally, clutching my chest.
That’s what I want to know!
“You brought a scroll that could very well be used as evidence of treason against your own clan, especially now that Robert has been embezzling spirit stones from the imperial treasury? You even went through the trouble of recovering it after handing it over once already?”
I looked to Eric.
Well? Now what? You’ve got a plan, right? Please tell me you have a plan.
Chapter 24