For a brief moment, the Tower Master’s magic unraveled. It happened after the funeral had ended, when everyone had left, and the memorial hall stood empty. For some reason, Calion was nowhere to be seen either.
Looking down at her own coffin while staring at her very-much-alive older sister, Milena felt an overwhelming sense of cognitive dissonance.
Had the Tower Master made a mistake in crafting the illusion of her corpse?
Her green eyes, which had been flickering sluggishly, now held a faint but unprecedented clarity.
“La… Larriete? How…?”
Are you really here? But you died. Then why… why am I here?
As if answering the unspoken questions swirling in Milena’s mind, Larriete spoke.
“Milena, it’s not time for you to wake up yet. You won’t remember this anyway, so it doesn’t matter if I tell you now.”
Gone was the fragile image of death. Larriete looked completely healthy, without a trace of suffering. But since the magic hadn’t fully dissipated, Milena couldn’t fully grasp the situation or follow her sister’s words.
“When you place the fifth white rose on my corpse, you will learn the truth. This is that kind of magic.”
Larriete turned her gaze to the fake corpse the Tower Master had conjured.
“I will return—whether or not you remember. Well, even if you never learn the truth, it won’t stop you from living your life.”
A mere illusion, crafted by a mage whose skills were praised across generations, had become indistinguishable from reality. Though it was a mirage, the body appeared tangible to the eye and touch.
“I will return. So go ahead and covet my man to your heart’s content—shamelessly.”
“Larriete!”
Milena lunged to grab Larriete, but it was no use. The man who always stood by her sister’s side stepped between them.
“Move. Move aside! I need to speak with my sister—!”
The man, now standing right before Milena, whispered in a low voice, almost like an incantation.
“When you regain your memories… break the coffin using the Grand Duke’s heirloom.”
The voice was unfamiliar, yet it did not resonate in her ears but directly in her mind. And before she realized it, he was no longer in front of her. He had returned to Larriete’s side, their figures beginning to fade, turning translucent.
“Wait! At least take the child! Larriete!”
“You take care of him. My son. Never let him out of your sight—not even for a moment. This is a warning. If you ever neglect Ashid, I won’t forgive you when I return.”
And with that, Larriete disappeared alongside the Tower Master.
As soon as they vanished, so did Milena’s memories. She spent the next five years at the Grand Duke’s castle, living in a world without her sister.
Her cruelty remained unchanged. She clung desperately to the man she could never have. She resented her dead sister, wallowed in jealousy, and raged in disgrace.
Just as Larriete had foretold, Milena’s life spiraled into ruin, controlled by forces beyond her comprehension.
—So? Now that you’ve remembered, do you really think you can escape?
As fragmented memories fell into place, a chilling echo of Larriete’s voice seemed to fill the void.
Like that day long ago, when she was bullied and locked inside a cramped wooden chest, Milena once again found herself trapped in darkness, screaming.
“Sister! Let me out of here! Larriete!”
How could you ruin my life like this?!
The woman, who had been limp like a corpse, trembled as her eyelids fluttered. It was as if a doll had been given life—her vacant green eyes slowly opened.
Blood, pooled within those hollow irises, streamed down her cheeks like tears. The crimson trail against her pale skin was pitiful, yet even that sorrowful sight was eerily beautiful, like a master sculptor’s finest work.
“Hah… finally, you’re awake.”
She was suspended in midair, entangled in thorny vines, unable to fully grasp the situation.
“I thought you’d need a fairytale-like kiss to wake up.”
With those words, Rexion incinerated the thorns that had ensnared Milena’s body. As the fierce flames devoured the once-unyielding vines, her body plummeted—but before she could hit the ground, he caught her.
Or rather, the moment he secured her in his arms, he collapsed to the ground with her.
“Miss… are you alright?”
His entire body was covered in wounds, exhaustion written all over his face. And yet, his sharp nose and striking features remained as captivating as ever. His crimson eyes, slightly unfocused, held a strangely sultry glow.
“Rexion…?”
“Phew. You have no idea how much pain I’m in right now. Thanks to someone.”
His tone was completely different from when he had posed as a knight—more casual, almost teasing. But Milena, still reeling from excruciating pain, could barely respond.
The sensation of the magic unraveling was horrifying. The malice that had tainted her heart was wiped clean, and as the spell that had bound her finally dissolved, she could finally reclaim herself.
She didn’t even have the energy to be furious at her sister’s actions, at the truths that had deceived her. The overwhelming fatigue left her completely drained.
“Miss… do you even realize the state you’re in? Just who the hell did you piss off this badly?”
So this was why people called her a villainess.
Muttering to herself, she didn’t have the strength to answer.
As she stared blankly at Rexion, supporting her, she barely managed to open her mouth.
“You…”
Her throat was hoarse, strained by the vines that had wrapped around her neck. The man before her… looked just like someone from her memories.
Silver hair. Red eyes. Strikingly handsome features.
Could someone truly resemble another so much?
And he could use magic as well. She had to ask.
“Are you… the Tower Master?”
The man, unfazed, immediately denied it. He scoffed, as if the idea were ridiculous.
“Hah. If I were the Tower Master, do you think I’d be suffering like this?”
“Then… a mage?”
“Mm… something like that.”
Something like that?
What was this man?
He was nothing like an ordinary spy infiltrating the Grand Duke’s estate.
As Milena was lost in thought, the raging flames around them slowly died down.
Even as he kept up casual conversation, he was battling against his own magic. The veins bulging against his temple betrayed his growing struggle—he was nearing his limit.
‘He used too much mana.’
His condition was worsening. His bloodshot eyes looked ready to burst.
Yet the only reason he was still holding on… was because of her.
It had seemed like an illusion, but the moment the magic binding her dissipated, traces of her own magic began to emerge.
It was a radiant white, as dazzling as divine power.
To Rexion, it looked utterly irresistible.
Like a starving predator spotting prey, his eyes instinctively drifted to her lips.
“Rexion…?”
Lowering his head, he pressed his forehead against hers. His voice, strained and raw, slipped past his clenched jaw.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
Time seemed to slow as she blinked at him, puzzled.
His throat was dry. His lips, parched.
“What is it? You… your body…”
Her words were cut off.
“Can I kiss you?”
The desperate plea in his gaze was undeniable.
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
The deep, growling timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
Before she could even answer, the luminous white magic seeping from her lips lured him in.
“…Sorry.”
It was futile.
Her breath, laced with that intoxicating power, shattered his restraint.
“I’ll be the bastard, then.”
He devoured everything.
