Episode 3 –
"I told him I regretted not being able to give him the birthday gift I had prepared. He looked a little shaken."
Of course, Diarin had never said any such thing to Ezet. But that hardly mattered.
Even if the Duke of Concl had planted spies, there was no way they could've caught every whispered word. She only needed to report the lines she had spoken aloud—truthfully enough to pass scrutiny.
"Did the 8th Prince seem curious?"
"To some extent."
Clinging to old ties. Appealing to sentiment.
The Duke of Concl seemed content with that answer.
"And I also said I'd try to ask you to let me have the key."
"The key?"
"The extra armory key. It's necessary for the regular subjugation of magical beasts."
"Ah, yes. I took it for repairs. Forgot to return it to the 8th Prince."
Diarin smiled politely. As if he had truly forgotten something that critical. But she let the lie pass, playing her part.
That key—the one to the North Gate's extra armory—was hers to reclaim. One way or another.
"Duke, may I ask for the key as an engagement gift?"
"An engagement gift?"
Bold. She knew it. And she smiled with practiced softness.
"Feelings can only take you so far. Since His Highness is the protector of the North Gate, he won't refuse me if I ask under such a condition."
"But what if he steals the key and deceives you?"
"I'm not asking for it now. I'll need a safety net. Once His Highness takes me to the North Gate as his fiancée—send it then, through someone you trust."
"After he takes you?"
"Yes."
The Duke stroked his chin.
The Akir Royal Family was hypersensitive to rumors. Even an adopted daughter, once escorted to a territory as a fiancée of a prince, couldn't be dismissed without political fallout.
It was a clever strategy.
"When are you meeting the 8th Prince again?"
"He first said a week, but later changed it to three days from now."
"Good."
What Diarin claimed aligned precisely with what his spies had overheard. For now, that was enough.
The Duke of Concl leaned back, smug.
Ezet Asperk Kirchen... just a child once, and still just a pawn.
To him, Ezet had always been insignificant. A token prince stationed far north at the cursed Gate. Dutiful, forgotten, replaceable.
Until now.
Now, Ezet was the Empire's most promising candidate for Crown Prince. And the Duke couldn't afford to lose control over him.
Frankly, if he could, he'd throw Diarin straight into Ezet's bed himself.
"Duke Kelstuder is trying to marry off his youngest daughter to the 8th Prince. I'm using your engagement to block him."
Click.
The Duke clicked his tongue, irritated.
He despised Kelstuder. The man was an opportunistic viper, and worst of all—a legalist. Sooner or later, the Kelstuder camp would dig up the truth from two years ago. That Diarin was recalled under the pretense of a broken engagement.
That couldn't be allowed.
"Don't disappoint me, Diarin Conclister. If you do..."
"..."
"You hate the cold, don't you? I hear Marquis Philip visited again."
Her hands clenched white over her knees. Cold. Ice storage. Darkness. A child's silent scream.
Philip had raised her after her parents' deaths—or rather, tormented her. Molded her into the perfect puppet, even if it meant beatings and isolation. The worst was the punishment room—an old ice cellar.
Freezing. Pitch black. She'd thought she'd die in there more than once.
The Duke watched her quiver. Pleased.
"I raised you like a daughter, Diarin. After the plague closed off Conclister territory, I took you in. I trust you'll repay my kindness."
"Of course... Duke."
Kindness?
Trash. That bastard would rot in some grave, overgrown with weeds the moment she stepped near it.
A father? No.
She remembered everything. All three of her past lives.
In one, she had been the youngest Archmage in history. Even with her body broken, her mind had survived the torment.
But she hated the cold. With every fiber of her being.
She shivered.
Marriage politics? Fine. She could handle that. Especially with Ezet—someone she didn't hate.
But the Duke? He'd gone far beyond politics.
He had used her in human experiments.
And he still dared to call himself noble?
"Damn this empire," she whispered through clenched teeth.
Two years ago, when Ezet vanished beneath the North Gate, she had been summoned back.
Never allowed to return.
The reason?
The Duke was obsessed—with ancient legends, forbidden rituals, and divine beasts from foreign lore: the Four Guardians—Black Tortoise, White Tiger, Azure Dragon... and the Vermilion Bird.
He wanted to summon the last. And he needed a human medium.
Diarin.
She had been kept in a drugged stupor for two whole years, experimented on again and again.
Dozens, maybe hundreds of others weren't so lucky. They never left that underground lab alive.
Only the latent magic in her blood—born from a past life—had protected her. Kept her mind from shattering.
Only that let her survive to see daylight again.
Only that let her see Ezet again.
And the Duke? He believed she remembered none of it.
He thought she was still the quiet, obedient daughter.
He had no idea she remembered everything.
If not for her inner magic, she would've become a mindless husk, like the rest. A failed vessel for a mythical beast.
Now, back in the light, she had one question.
"What does Ezet look like now?"
Because of her unique bloodline—blending opposing magical traits—she had lost the ability to clearly see him.
She wanted to see him.
The boy she had once been engaged to. The one who had disappeared into the dark beneath the North Gate.
Had he... seen her down there?
Had he seen the half-cons
cious girl caught in the ritual to summon the Vermilion Bird?
The one who had wandered underground—not as a prince, but as a beast—for two years?