138.

Marguerite Fibrel de Sevrang.

She was the sole legitimate princess of the ancient magical kingdom of Sevrang and one of the kingdom’s most gifted sorceresses.

The kingdom, thought to be eternally prosperous, had suddenly met its demise. The reason was none other than the very magic they held so dear. Advanced magic demanded immense amounts of mana, and after exhausting its resources, the kingdom’s very foundations crumbled.

[Don’t worry about us.]

[You are what matters most.]

Her parents, who had resolved to perish with their people, looked down at Marguerite with fierce eyes.

[Marguerite, you must survive.]

Her older brother, usually so playful, spoke with a solemn expression.

[Please, your highness, stay safe.]

[You must find happiness.]

All the kingdom’s people loved their young princess dearly. As their radiant civilization crumbled, they chose to sacrifice themselves to save her alone.

Then, after a long passage of time…

As the world gradually restored the mana that Sevrang had once depleted to its very limits, and as humanity began to redevelop its civilization, Marguerite, who had been sealed away, finally awoke—alone.

Everything she had loved had long since disappeared in the currents of time.

Her emerald-green eyes trembled.

‘This world… is a fake.’

She felt like a lost child, thrown into an unfamiliar world.

It was a place without a path, a loneliness that would never end, no matter how far she wandered.

She couldn’t bear the thought of ever coming to love this current reality.

Marguerite knew.

She would spend her life wandering aimlessly, trapped in this false world with no landmarks to guide her.

And so, she resolved.

‘I will return.’

To the beautiful magical kingdom, bathed in sunlight.

To the Spring Garden where birds sang year-round, and to the palace that now felt like a distant dream.

To her beloved parents, her brother, and the kingdom’s people who cherished her.

Marguerite plunged herself into the study of magic.

The spell she set her sights on was a powerful one: the spell of “Reversal,” one that could turn back time itself.

It was a grand spell that not even the kingdom of Sevrang had ever succeeded in performing.

Of course, if the reversal spell worked, the current world would be erased completely.

‘But that doesn’t concern me.’

To Marguerite, the only real world was Sevrang, the place where her loved ones lived.

The present reality was nothing but a fabrication.

Whether this world vanished or not was of no consequence.

With that goal in mind, Marguerite boldly established a unique family.

She named it Kalleid.

It was a family designed specifically to assist with her time-reversal spell.

The founder of Kalleid received a portion of her mana, and with each generation, the bloodline accumulated and strengthened that power.

Finally, a child born with the essence of Kalleid came into being.

Lucian von Kalleid.

A child who held the maximum mana possible within a human form.

With a pounding heart, Marguerite cast the time-reversal spell…

And failed.

Lucian alone was not enough.

Far from returning to Sevrang, her efforts could only turn back a few mere decades.

“Why?!”

Marguerite screamed until her voice was raw.

She tore at her hair, thrashing wildly.

Her once-bright green eyes were now bloodshot, the light in them tainted red.

The despair crashing over her shattered Marguerite’s mind.

Yet still…

Even then…

She could not bring herself to give up.

‘Then…’

At the end of her endless struggle, Marguerite raised her head like a broken marionette.

‘I need to find others.’

If Lucian wasn’t enough, then she would find others to support the reversal spell.

Fueled by an unyielding obsession, Marguerite scoured the world.

And finally, she found him.

Dante Dessaby Offenheir.

Benedict Luneburg.

Unlike the ordinary people of this world, who were little more than bugs, with barely a thread of mana to their names, these two men still held the ancient mana within them. They could use the remnants of Sevrang’s magical relics without difficulty.

‘Perfect.’

Marguerite felt a renewed hope.

‘This time, I’ll succeed.’

Under Marguerite’s design, the three men came to love her unconditionally. They would sacrifice their lives, lend their mana, and tirelessly calculate magical formulas for her sake. Their loyalty to her was unwavering.

But.

“Another failure.”

Marguerite bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Again, and again, and again… countless failures piled up.

Marguerite became trapped within a repeating segment of time, like a hamster on a wheel. But now, there was no turning back. She had to escape this wretched false world and return to Sevrang, the place she loved. She had no doubt that she would one day succeed.

If she couldn’t…

‘No.’

She wouldn’t be able to endure any longer.

That was why she had to convince Dante standing before her, no matter what.

‘When did it begin?’

Marguerite stared expressionlessly at Dante.

‘When did he start defying me?’

Dante, bound in heavy chains, was on his knees before her. His once carefully combed black hair was now disheveled, his clothes tattered and torn. The state he was in was proof of how fiercely he had resisted being dragged to this cell.

And yet, what was remarkable was—

‘His spirit hasn’t broken.’

The fierce red eyes that glared up at her still blazed brightly.

As always.

Every time Elze came into the picture, Dante displayed an almost superhuman will.

But.

‘That spark will vanish soon enough.’

Marguerite gave him a gentle smile.

“Hello, Dante.”

“Oh, just wonderful.”

Dante sneered through gritted teeth.

Marguerite’s smile deepened.

“Still haven’t given up? No matter how much you struggle, nothing will change.”

She reached out, lightly brushing her hand over his cheek.

“How adorable.”

“Get off me.”

Dante jerked his head away in disgust, as if her touch had been something filthy.

At that moment, Benedict, who stood behind Marguerite like a vigilant guard, stepped forward.

He snarled, his face fierce.

“What kind of rudeness is that to Lady Marguerite?”

Not “Margaret,” but “Marguerite.”

The warmth of a friend had vanished, and Benedict addressed her with the utmost formality, like a knight before a princess.

As Dante looked at Benedict’s reverent stance…

‘Damn it, she’s already brainwashed him.’

Dante felt a wave of helplessness.

“It’s alright, Benedict.”

Marguerite put on a show of leniency, gently motioning Benedict to stand down.

“Dante has acted out like this countless times.”

Benedict frowned.

“You’re far too lenient with this disrespectful wretch, Lady Marguerite.”

The once-bright violet eyes now held only a fanatical devotion to Marguerite.

Dante glared at Benedict in sheer disgust.

‘He’s always like this.’

Every time Marguerite intervened in their lives, regardless of the life Benedict had lived, no matter the relationships he had formed…

It all disappeared without a trace.

Benedict would turn in an instant, swearing absolute loyalty to Marguerite, as if it were his life’s mission. And each time Dante witnessed it, he had to summon every ounce of restraint to stifle the urge to retch.

“But Benedict,” Marguerite’s eyes gleamed as she asked her question, “how much longer must I wait for the magic circle to be ready?”

“It seems we’ll need a bit more time, I’m afraid,” Benedict replied with a hint of reluctance.

“The spell formula for stabilizing Duke Kalleid’s mana has become somewhat tangled.”

A slight crack appeared in Marguerite’s expectant expression.

“The formula is tangled?”

“Yes. It will take some time to unravel it.”

“If you’re saying it’s tangled, Benedict, then it must be quite a mess.”

Marguerite pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing softly.

A shadow of weariness lingered over her beautiful face—a fatigue carved deep by countless failed attempts.

“I truly despise waiting.”