Chapter 3
The Empire was abuzz with a single issue these days.
Even in a roadside café in the southern region, everyone was talking about the same thing.
Some passionately discussed the news with newspapers in hand, others scoffed, and still others wandered through the crowd selling postcards.
“They boasted so loudly across the Empire, and look what happened.”
“That kind of wedding was far too stimulating for an old man.”
“Indeed. Ha! Look at this. Even dressed in black from head to toe, her beauty still shines.”
“I could die happy if I could see her in person just once.”
As people gossiped, a man stepped into the café holding a newspaper. He took long strides with his long legs and found an empty seat.
His presence instantly silenced the noisy crowd.
The man had a striking appearance rarely seen not just in the south, but across the entire Empire. He radiated nobility and affluence from head to toe.
Golden hair like sunlight, icy blue eyes hidden beneath long lashes like sapphires, a high and sharp nose that flowed gracefully from his brow, and a sleek jawline—someone quietly murmured:
“Clen von Lechelle…”
The faint murmur sparked recognition in those nearby.
Clen von Lechelle had risen rapidly as a merchant in recent years, becoming one of the wealthiest men in the Empire. Over the past year, he’d also begun to make his way into high society in the provinces, drawing attention once more for his stunning looks.
Everyone stole glances at him, unable to help themselves.
Just then, a waiter brought out the coffee he had pre-ordered before sitting down.
“Here’s your coffee, sir.”
The waitress, her hair tightly braided into pigtails, placed the coffee down without taking her eyes off his dazzling face.
“Thank you,” Clen replied, gently raising his gaze.
The waitress felt her heart drop for a moment as their eyes met, overwhelmed by the deep timbre of his low, soft voice.
“You’re welcome. Please enjoy.”
She replied shyly, her cheeks flushing red, and reluctantly returned inside with a lingering glance.
Once she had completely disappeared, the chatter around Clen picked up again.
Clen unfolded the newspaper without a care for the attention he drew.
As soon as his eyes landed on the headline and photo, he let out a dry chuckle.
The front page read: “A Wedding Turns into a Funeral – What Awaits the Marquis Bartel’s Young Bride?”
Beneath it was a large photo of a woman dressed in a black gown.
Even a three-year-old could tell she was the Marquis’s new bride.
> “What was supposed to be the wedding of Marquis Bartel (age 69) in early March turned into a funeral.
> Marquis Bartel, who had previously lost two wives, passed away on the day of his third wedding. Cause of death: heart attack.
> According to a close aide, the Marquis had a pre-existing condition and had been overly excited about marrying the Empire’s most beautiful woman, Lavian Adelaide von Elder (age 20).
> The bride who truly stopped the groom’s heart — Lady Lavian is now being dubbed a widow, or worse, a witch who devoured her husband… (excerpt)
> As she did not complete the marriage vows, Lavian is not recognized as his legal wife. So who will inherit the enormous wealth left behind by the childless Marquis? Public curiosity is high.”*
“Want to buy a postcard?”
As Clen read through the article, a curly-haired boy approached and held out several postcards.
Clen glanced between the boy and the postcards before letting out a bitter laugh.
The postcards showed Lavian, clearly captured at the funeral in her black dress.
Clen stood up, pulling out a banknote from his wallet.
The boy smiled expectantly.
“How many would you like? I’ve got her from several angles.”
Standing nearly 188cm tall, Clen cast a long, dark shadow over the child.
It was an intimidating presence, but the boy didn’t lose his smile or hesitate in making the sale.
“What a vile hobby,” Clen said coldly.
The boy immediately sensed something was wrong and scurried off in a hurry.
Clen, his mood ruined, tucked the banknote beneath a vase and left the café.
—
Though it was still only March, the southern region of the Empire already carried the scent of summer.
As if trying to cover the traces of his past, Clen wore expensive clothes that fully concealed his well-toned body despite the heat. He only took off his jacket once he was inside his office.
“Master.”
Amelia, her lush red hair neatly tied up, knocked lightly before entering.
Clen didn’t even look up as he opened the stack of documents in front of him.
“What is it?”
“A marriage proposal has arrived.”
His hand stopped flipping through the papers, and he lifted his head.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering if he’d overworked her to the point of nonsense.
As he turned his head sharply, the muscles along his neck stood out, and sunlight landed gently across his cheek.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I only reported a marriage proposal, sir. I am neither mad nor suffering from heatstroke,” Amelia replied, her expression serious as she extended what she was holding.
She placed it squarely on his desk, making a sharp thud, and a crease appeared between Clen’s brows.
“Look. It clearly says ‘Baron Clen von Lechelle’, does it not?”
Amelia pointed at the envelope and emphasized the word Baron with particular weight.
“Which lunatic dared to call me a baron?”
Maybe it was her emphasis on Baron, but Clen’s gaze turned sharp and menacing.
Amelia thought she would never get used to those predator-like eyes and tried her best to keep a calm expression.
“You’ll understand once you see it.”
“The world truly has gone mad,” Clen muttered, frowning as the content of the newspaper resurfaced in his mind. He opened the ivory photo album adorned with gold trimming.
As he flipped the album open, his hand momentarily paused when a partially visible portrait caught his eye—then, as if nothing had happened, he opened it all the way.
“It reeks of rot already. What a proposal.”
Clen couldn’t hold back a sarcastic laugh.
This wasn’t a marriage proposal—it was, by all accounts, a transaction, a contract.
Chuckling under his breath, he toyed with the corner of the album. The woman in the portrait was none other than the daughter of Count Elder, the same woman from the newspaper.
Keeping his eyes on the portrait, Clen murmured,
“Lavian Adelaide von Elder.”
“Yes. The now-infamous eldest daughter of the Elder family. It seems Count Elder is quite desperate. Their family had prestige until the last generation, but now…”
Amelia trailed off, thinking what a pitiful man Count Elder must be, though she had never seen his face.
“Wasn’t the Marquis supposed to pay off his debt in exchange for the marriage?”
“He paid off half, apparently. The rest was promised after the wedding.”
“Clever.”
“They did receive a condolence payment after the Marquis’s sudden death, but it’s not enough to keep them afloat. Their capital mansion is reportedly on the verge of being taken.”
“After raising her with such care, this is what they’re doing with her.”
“And why do you think she was raised that way? It’s common enough among noble families, but the Elder family doesn’t have a son, so it’s all the more obvious why the daughter was so well groomed.”
Amelia shrugged.
Clen’s gaze flicked briefly to the sway of Amelia’s red hair near her elbow, then returned to the portrait.
“They probably planned to marry her into a prestigious family. Now that they’re desperate for money, they’re just trying to sell her off to the highest bidder.”
“Even though the wedding didn’t happen, because of all the preparations the Marquis made, Lady Lavian is still treated as his wife. Some are even calling her a widow.”
Amelia shook her head in faint pity as she looked at the portrait. She usually didn’t spare sympathy for nobles, who always seemed to live well no matter what, but this time, she couldn’t help feeling something.
“No respectable family will be eager to reach out. Nobles are very particular about such things.”
“And if they wait too long for the gossip to fade, it’ll be too late—for marriage, for clearing the debt, for everything.”
Clen lightly tapped the portrait with his fingers, agreeing.
“True.”
“With hopes for a prestigious house gone, they’ll settle for money. If the match is wealthy, that’ll be good enough.”
“Titles like mine are just names, yet they go on pretending to be noble and pure while doing the dirtiest things. The most elegant and the most vulgar group all at once.”
“It almost makes you prefer the ones who are blatantly corrupt.”
Amelia responded plainly with a bitter smile.
Clen chuckled too, then rested his chin on his hand as he stared at the portrait.
“What do you plan to do?”
Since Clen had never shown interest in matters like this before, Amelia cautiously asked, hoping to get a read on his intentions.
“Who knows,” Clen replied indifferently, eyes still fixed on the portrait.
The woman in the open album was smiling. It almost felt as if she were looking straight at him.
‘Portraits, in this day and age?’
Most people now preferred photographs over painted portraits. He thought the Elder family was a bit behind the times. Still, he couldn’t deny that it made the image all the more striking.
“If it were the previous Earl, maybe. But the current Count Elder doesn’t hold much power, and who knows how far he’ll fall. I wouldn’t recommend it. If you’re going to marry anyway, wouldn’t it be better to choose a family with more promise?”
Despite Amelia’s suggestion, Clen gave no response.
With no change in his expression, it was impossible for her to read what he was thinking.
He lowered his arm from where it had been propping his chin, turned his chair, and quietly closed his eyes.
‘I hate to admit it, but breaking into the central political scene has its limits for someone like me. A count’s family… it could be just the thing to blend in with the highborn crowd. This might be a good opportunity.’
After sitting silently for some time, he straightened his chair and slowly opened his mouth.
“Isn’t that what makes it even better? A noble with pure bloodline, and a weakness I can exploit.”
Clen looked over the portrait again, admiring the gold-embellished album. It was an ideal setup for a contract marriage.
A faint, satisfied curve played at his lips as he took another long look at the platinum-haired beauty smiling softly in the sunlight.
He soon closed the album, stood up with it in hand, paced for a moment, then casually dropped it into the desk drawer.
Taking out his pocket watch, he checked the time before slipping it back into his pocket and speaking.
“Look into airship tickets. I’m moving up my schedule—I’m going to the capital.”
Clen had scrapped his existing plans in a heartbeat and made new ones.
He would first secure a dignified wife from a noble lineage—someone whose noble blood would mask his origins and the murky path he’d taken to amass his fortune.
