Edelmar and Bernaba looked dumbfounded.
“The Grand Duke will handle the advanced swordsmanship course, while Lord Bernaba will be responsible for the introductory magic course.”
“Do you really think that makes sense?”
“I don’t particularly like humans. Besides, does it make sense for a dragon to teach them?”
Ian calmly responded to their objections.
“Grand Duke, whether you’re teaching knights or students, it’s the same thing—there’s no difference. And Lord Bernaba, the first human mage learned magic from a dragon. Even if you don’t like humans, you do like children Rose’s age, don’t you? The students in the introductory magic course are all around her age. Rose will be attending the lectures as well.”
Bernaba let out a sigh.
“If it’s necessary for Rose’s studies, I will teach her separately.”
“No, Lord Bernaba, you know as well as I do that humans are social creatures. The reason I want Rose to attend the academy is so she can make friends. If she learns magic separately from you, the other children in her class will become envious of her. I don’t want Rose to be exceptional—I just want her to be happy, even if she is ordinary.”
At the mention of happiness, Bernaba recalled God’s will and fell silent.
Then Edelmar spoke up.
“But why should I become a teacher at the academy when I have no connection to Rose?”
“Well…”
“Well?” Edelmar frowned, tilting his head.
“Because I plan to use your reputation.”
Edelmar let out a small chuckle.
Not only was this person forcing him to teach, but they were also openly declaring their intention to exploit his fame.
“Although it’s an academy for commoners, I, a duke, founded it. I don’t want something in my hands to become a subject of gossip. Right now, all the academy’s teachers are unknown figures. To others, it might seem like the academy has lower status because it caters to commoners.”
“Didn’t you accept that when you established it?”
“Yes, at first, I did. But with you here, why should I have to endure such disgrace?”
“So you intend to use me?”
Ian smiled in satisfaction.
“Yes. It would be foolish not to use such a good card when I have it.”
“My brother won’t like this.”
Ian responded firmly.
“No. I will spread the rumor that His Majesty the Emperor, upon learning about the academy for commoners, personally requested the Grand Duke to become a teacher. That the only reason the Grand Duke took on the role was due to the Emperor’s great care for the commoners and his keen insight in recognizing talent.”
There was no ruler in the world who disliked hearing praise about themselves.
Otherwise, why would flatterers exist?
A wise ruler might be wary of sycophants, but they would gladly accept the sincere admiration of their people.
“And you only need to be a teacher for one year. After that, even if you wish to continue, you must step down.”
“Why?”
“Even though this is an academy for commoners, all the students enrolled are from the North. Do you think the Emperor will be pleased if only northern commoners benefit from it? And what about the nobles? Every noble knows that you are a Swordmaster. It’s not just commoners who would want to learn from you—the nobles would, too.
Once we have our first batch of graduates, the Emperor will start sending commoners from other territories, and the nobles will push their own sons and retainers into the academy.”
“So you’re saying I should build up the academy’s reputation for a year and then step away.”
“Exactly. Why should we continue doing something that only benefits others? One year is enough to establish the academy’s name. After that, the graduates will spread its reputation themselves.”
Edelmar considered Ian’s words.
In truth, his brother, the Emperor, wouldn’t care much about what he did—as long as it helped him forget his emptiness.
Even if he became a teacher at the academy, the Emperor might regret that it wasn’t an imperial academy in the South, but he wouldn’t stop him.
But earning the admiration of the commoners?
His brother, who had been raised to believe that commoners were the foundation and backbone of the empire, would undoubtedly be pleased.
‘But just as the Duke said, people will start pushing their way in.’
From his brother’s perspective, talent was valuable regardless of whether it came from nobles or commoners.
If talented individuals emerged from among the commoners, he would welcome them with open arms.
However, what if those talents were concentrated in the Duke’s territory—the farthest region from the imperial capital?
His brother wanted all territories of the empire to prosper, not just one.
A region that became too powerful would inevitably start harboring thoughts of rebellion.
So, as Ian predicted, the Emperor would soon begin sending his people to the North to study under Edelmar.
‘He really is smart.’
It was hard to understand how someone with a mind like his had spent so much time locked away in his room.
Edelmar silently nodded in agreement.
Ian’s gaze shifted to Bernaba.
With a sigh, Bernaba spoke.
“If you withdraw that proposal, I will give you a potion that can break the imprint between Rose and the wolf.”
“Didn’t you say the imprint couldn’t be removed?” Ian asked in surprise.
Bernaba responded, “Normally, it can’t.”
Normally, it can’t? Then that means…
A realization struck Ian, and he asked, “Did a god give it to you?”
“…To be precise, a god’s apostle did.”
Bernaba recalled the red-haired apostle who had suddenly appeared on his way back and handed him the potion.
She had been furious, questioning why Rose had to suffer because of an unwanted bond.
She had even scolded the gods, demanding to know how forcing an imprint that couldn’t be broken maintained the balance of the world.
Lord had tried to argue that forcibly breaking the imprint would disrupt the balance.
But she had retorted that any balance maintained at the cost of someone’s suffering should have collapsed long ago.
Both Bernaba and Lord had thought such words were unbecoming of a god’s apostle, yet they had been unable to argue.
An apostle was a messenger of the gods.
Thus, the will of an apostle was also the will of the gods.
“I’ll give this to you, so let’s end the discussion about the academy.”
Ian shook his head.
“You said a god’s apostle gave it to you. That means it originally belonged to Rose. I can’t negotiate over something that rightfully belongs to her.”
Bernaba was left speechless.
He knew his offer had been unfair.
He had assumed Ian would eagerly accept without questioning it, but instead, Ian was scrutinizing every detail.
With another sigh, Bernaba conceded.
“Do we really have to do this?”
“This is for Rose as well.”
“The child? Why?”
“It has been difficult to find a mage to teach. So, for the introductory magic class, we hired an artisan capable of crafting artifacts instead. However, he is a man.”
Bernaba looked puzzled.
“Rose is afraid of adult men. It’s similar to shyness—if she sees them frequently, she’ll get used to them—but until then, just being near one can throw her into a panic.”
“Panic? It’s one thing for a child to be shy around new people, but panic? What happened to her?”
Ian explained the abuse Rose had suffered before he and her parents found her.
Bernaba sighed heavily.
“How can humans be so cruel? Even dragons, known for their selfishness, are gentle with their hatchlings.”
“……”
“It’s because they are human, isn’t it?”
Edelmar smirked as he spoke.
“If something stands in the way of their interests, humans won’t hesitate to kill their own kin. So to them, abusing a child is hardly significant.”
Ian nodded but offered a counterpoint.
“But not all humans are like that. Some are willing to sacrifice their own lives for others. I hope you won’t judge all of humanity based on the actions of a few cruel individuals.”
“Ah, I know. But hearing stories like this always leaves me frustrated.”
Clicking his tongue, Bernaba stood up.
“I’ll think over the academy matter a little more. If I do take the position, I won’t approach it half-heartedly.”
“Understood.”
“As for the imprint-breaking potion, I’ll discuss it with the young wolf tomorrow and take care of it.”
Ian nodded but then stopped Bernaba just as he was about to leave.
“Tie your hair before you go.”
“Ah, right. Very well.”
Ian neatly gathered Bernaba’s hair into a single, tidy ponytail.
“This is much better.”
Bernaba shook his head slightly in satisfaction before heading toward the door. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back.
“By the way, what happened to that wandering knight?”
Ian glanced at Edelmar.
With a smirk, Edelmar answered,
“I’m sure he’s having a very… productive day.”
Hearing the ominous tone in his voice, Bernaba smiled in satisfaction and left the study.
***
Beneath the Grand Duke’s townhouse, in the underground dungeon.
Unlike the warmth above, the prison below was as cold as the dead of winter.
The prisoners shivered at the slightest breeze, letting out faint groans.
All of them had endured such severe torture that they could barely move a finger.
The man in the innermost cell was no exception.
One of his eyes had long been lost.
His entire body was covered in dried blood from countless lashings.
His hair was a tangled mess, yanked and pulled at every opportunity.
His gums were swollen from where his teeth had been forcibly removed, leaving him unable to close his mouth.
His fingernails and toenails had all been torn out, exposing raw, bloody flesh.
With no food and no rest, his body had wasted away.
The relentless torture had shattered his mind.
At first, he resisted.
He shouted in outrage, demanding to know why he was there, why he was being subjected to such suffering.
He even invoked the Emperor’s name, believing it would grant him protection.
But as time passed, he began to beg.
He pleaded with his torturers, promising to do anything if they spared him.
He swore he would even apologize to the child if that’s what they wanted.
He admitted to all his wrongdoings, desperate for mercy.
But the torturers did not stop.
The torture continued every day, growing more intense with each session.
Now, even the slightest movement of his fingers sent waves of agony through his body.
And so, another day passed—a day where he lived, but only barely.
The prison was devoid of light, making it impossible to track time. The man trembled constantly, dreading the moment his torturers would return.
Despite everything, he cursed Marianne and her daughter, Rose, blaming them for all that had befallen him.
If he could escape—no, if he could turn back time—he would kill them first.
He clenched his remaining teeth, vowing to rip them apart and feed their flesh to wild dogs.
When he was being tortured, he wished for death.
But in truth, he didn’t want to die.
More than anything, he wanted to survive.
And he wanted revenge.
The same suffering he had endured—he would make Rose pay for it.
Just as he was gritting his teeth and swearing vengeance, he heard footsteps.
Step. Step.
‘The torturer? No, their footsteps…’
The torturers always had heavy, deliberate steps.
But these footsteps were light—almost playful, like someone on a leisurely stroll.
The wandering knight, Sybel, curled up as much as his battered body would allow.
Every movement sent fresh pain shooting through him, but he bit down and endured it.
The footsteps came to a halt.
Slowly, he shifted his gaze.
Someone was already inside the cell, staring at him.
The inside of their black robe was shrouded in darkness, but their half-moon eyes gleamed, curved in amusement.
“Ugh…”
Sybel trembled, trying to scream, but the figure in the black robe clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Shh. You don’t want to die here, do you?”
Sybel frantically shook his head.
“Good. At least you’re not completely brainless.”
The black-robed figure withdrew their hand and whispered to him.
“I’ll give you a choice. Do you want to die here? Or do you want revenge?”
“…Revenge.”
With the last of his strength, he forced out the word.
A chuckle echoed from within the black robe.
“Good choice.”
The figure raised a hand.
Snap.
The sound of fingers snapping rang through the prison.
And in the next instant, the cell was empty— as if no one had ever been there at all.
