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I Married the Dragon I Killed Chapter 1: To Kill My Fiancée

Chapter 1: To Kill My Fiancée

There‍ once lived a singular man who⁠ became a great​‌‌ mage solely through‍ hatred.

His​ name was Perda​⁠⁠ Rosnova.

Born‍⁠‌ as the third‍‌‍ son of the‍‍⁠ Rosnova knightly family,⁠​⁠ he was particularly⁠ frail in body.​​⁠

In‌​‍ addition to being​ the son of​​ a concubine, he⁠​ did not possess‌ the family’s distinctive‍ brown eyes passed‌​ down through generations,‌⁠⁠ but rather blue​‍ eyes, for which​‌​ even the household‍ servants despised him.⁠‍‌

Eventually,⁠⁠ his father, Eremvalt⁠​‌ Rosnova, gave him‍‍ some news when‌‍‍ Perda turned 18.‌⁠‍

“Your‌​⁠ engagement to the‌‍​ Queen of Valdrova‌‍ has been arranged.”‌​‌

It​ might have sounded​ like a mere⁠​‌ engagement ceremony, but‍ among nobles, “to‍‌‍ be engaged to⁠ the Queen of‍⁠‍ Valdrova” had already‍ become a common‌​ saying.

In⁠​‌ short, it was​‍ equivalent to a death sentence.

Accepting⁠​⁠ the engagement meant⁠⁠‍ dying along the‍‌‌ way, and rejecting‌ it meant defying⁠ the will of‍‍‍ the family, which⁠ implied exile.

“I⁠ will follow my‍‌‍ father’s will.”

“Good.”‍‍

For⁠⁠‍ Perda, life was‍ more important, so‌‍ he chose to​‍‍ live. He had‍​​ to abandon the‍ Rosnova name and‌⁠ head into the⁠ outside world.

A deep sense of‍‍ betrayal took root​​‌ in his young​ heart.

He⁠ could never forgive​⁠ the brothers who‌‌ belittled him, nor‍ the servants.

But‍⁠‌ what enraged him‍⁠ the most was‍‌ his father.

‘To⁠​⁠ think that all​ this time you⁠ knew how hard‍⁠​ I was trying…’‍‍

To⁠ be acknowledged as​‍ a member of‌ that house, he⁠⁠⁠ had forced his‍ frail body to⁠ bleed day after‌⁠⁠ day, training until⁠ his hands were​ covered in calluses.‍⁠‍

His‌ father had watched​‍‍ him with a gaze that seemed​‌​ to appreciate those‌⁠ efforts.

But⁠‌ as years passed​ and he showed‍‌ no real progress,‌‌ that expression gradually‍‍​ changed—until he looked‍‌ at Perda as‌​ if he were‍‌ nothing but a failure.

When‌‍‍ he was expelled,⁠​ his father’s gaze​ was that of‍‌⁠ someone discarding waste.‌

Even‍​‌ days later, that‍‌⁠ look still haunted‍‌ him.

‘I‌​ will never forgive‌‍‌ him.’

Sadness⁠​ turned into rage,‌​​ and that rage‌ ignited into the‌⁠ flames of vengeance.‍

‘I​‌ will make them​‍⁠ regret abandoning me.’‍

Perda⁠‌​ clenched his fists.‍‌ At that moment,⁠⁠‌ he felt something‍ stir within him.⁠

Mana‍⁠ began to swirl⁠ inside his body—the​⁠‌ moment a circle​‌ opened, the mark‍​‌ of a mage.​

On‍‍​ the very day​‍⁠ he was cast‌⁠ out of the​‌ Rosnova family, Perda‌ Rosnova awakened as‌⁠ a mage.

***‌

Awakening‍​ as a mage‌​‌ was a blessing.​‌ On the continent‌​ of Serdes, the⁠‌ mere ability to‍⁠⁠ wield magic changed‌ one’s social status‌‍​ entirely.

But​ for Perda to​ awaken at 18​ was pitiful—far too⁠‍‌ late.

A mage needs inner‌‍⁠ strength as their‌‍⁠ engine. To master‌‍ that concept, one​ must begin training‌​‍ from childhood.

If⁠ not trained from‌ a young age,​⁠ the learning process‌⁠ as an adult‍ is several times​‍ more painful.

And‌‌ yet, for Perda,​​‍ this late awakening⁠⁠ posed no obstacle.‍‍⁠

Because⁠ the source of​‌ his mana was​⁠​ hatred and the​⁠ desire for revenge.‌‍⁠

— At that age⁠​ and still dreaming⁠ of becoming a mage…

— As long as​ he obeys orders,‍‌‌ he’ll be a useful slave until‌ graduation.

His⁠‍ drive came from‌‌ the veteran mages‌ who scorned him⁠‌ and the younger‍​ apprentices who mocked‌‍ him.

With‍ each passing day,‍‌‍ new reasons to⁠‍‌ hate piled up.‍

‘Bark‍‍‍ all you want.‍​​ I’ll make you‌‍ lick every corner‍‌ of my feet!’‍​

His​ obsession with becoming​⁠ stronger and his‍​ thirst for revenge​ never faded, and⁠‌‌ day by day,‌‌‌ they made him⁠‌‌ more powerful.

Soon,‌‍ he surpassed the‍⁠ most promising mages—even​⁠​ his own master.​‍⁠

For⁠‌⁠ a time, so‌ many subordinates walked‍‍​ at his feet‍‍‌ that they didn’t‍​‌ even have time⁠ to gather dust.​‍

Perda‌ believed his power‍ was a blessing.⁠‍⁠

‘As‌⁠‍ long as I hate someone, I will grow stronger.’‍‍⁠

And⁠ the world was‌⁠ full of targets⁠​ to hate.

His⁠‍​ rapid growth made‌⁠ his temperament increasingly​‌ brutal.

Thus,⁠ when Perda reached‌ the rank of​⁠‍ Archmage—one of fewer‌ than a hundred‍ across the continent⁠‍ capable of opening‌‍​ the sixth circle—he‌‌ crossed the forbidden​ line.

He​‌‍ returned to the‍‌ Rosnova household and‌​ annihilated them all.‌⁠

He⁠ forced the servants‍‌⁠ who had humiliated​ him to take​​ up knives and‍ kill one another.⁠‌

He​ manipulated his two‍⁠​ older brothers into‍‌​ hating and destroying⁠‌ each other.

And⁠‍⁠ his father, the‌‍ one he hated⁠​ most, was made‍⁠ to witness how​‍ everything he had‍⁠​ built crumbled into‍‌‍ misery.

Eremvalt​ went mad, aging⁠​​ rapidly as though‍​‌ he’d lost decades‍⁠‍ in a moment,⁠ becoming a living​​​ specter.

Everything‌​​ tied to the‌‌ Rosnova name disappeared—except‌‌​ Perda.

His‌‌​ vengeance, twisted though​‍ it was, brought​ him indescribable catharsis.‍⁠

‘…There⁠ are still enemies‌​​ left.’

And‍‍ with that, an⁠⁠ insatiable thirst.

Perda⁠​ was no longer‍⁠‍ human, but a monster driven by​​ a single emotion.⁠

‘I‌ must erase them‌⁠ all. For that,⁠⁠ I need even⁠​⁠ greater power.’

His‍‌ rage, once aimed⁠ at his family,‌ did not die.⁠‍‍ It shifted—and grew‌​ even larger.

In‌ the face of​‍ his atrocities, many​⁠‌ drew their swords.⁠​

He⁠​ was declared a public enemy of⁠⁠ the continent, and​‍ dozens of strategies‌ were devised to‌ take him down.‍‌

But‍‍ each trial only⁠ made him stronger.​‌​

At‍‌ the age of‌ 45, Perda reached‍⁠ the eighth circle—the⁠ level of Mana‍‍‍ Lord, the highest‍⁠ peak a human​ could attain.

The‍​ continent’s only great⁠ mage.

‘It’s‌ not enough.’

Even​ with everything beneath⁠‌ his feet, the⁠ fire in his⁠ heart never extinguished.​⁠​

‘They⁠‍​ still hate me.⁠‌‌ One day, they’ll​⁠ try to kill‌⁠⁠ me again.’

Perda,⁠​⁠ fully aware of‍ the unending chain​ of hatred and⁠‌​ revenge, could not⁠‌‌ allow that.

‘I‍‌‍ must crush them,⁠⁠‍ eliminate them—forever.’

To​‍⁠ create his own⁠‌‌ utopia, he began‌‍‌ probing into the‌‍‌ realm of the‌ gods.

After‍‌‌ five years of‍‍‍ research, he discovered⁠ the supreme material‍​ the heart of​‌ a red dragon.​​

Fate⁠ mocked him.

‘The⁠ Queen of Valdrova…’‌​

His‌‌‍ fiancée.

The‍‌ pretext Eremvalt had‍ used to cast​‍‌ him out.

That⁠ being was none⁠‌‍ other than the‌⁠ red dragon.

***‍⁠⁠

— Fate is certainly⁠ cruel.

The​⁠ one who spoke‌​‍ was the dragon‍ himself, considered the⁠‍ most powerful being‍‍ on the continent.⁠

His⁠ red scales, magnificent‍ horns, imposing eyes,​⁠ and wings that‍⁠ covered the sky‍​‍ were symbols of⁠ his supremacy.

But​​‌ now, he was‍‌ different—his scales fallen,​ his horns broken,​‌​ and blood streaming‍‌ from his body.⁠‌

The​​ one who had‍​​ brought him to⁠‌​ that state was​ a single mage.⁠⁠⁠

— I never imagined⁠⁠ that the one⁠​‌ meant to be‌ engaged to me​​ would come to​ kill me.

Perda‍‍​ smiled. A smile⁠​‌ barely concealing arrogance.​‍

Though‌‌‌ he had reduced‍‍ the dragon to​ such a state,​‍‌ he himself was⁠‌‌ not unscathed.

“It‍ would be best‍​‌ if you died​‍⁠ quietly by my⁠‍ hand, Valdrova.”

— I know they⁠‍ call me a tyrant. But in‌‍ all these years,​ even before you‍ were born, I never revealed myself⁠⁠⁠ nor harmed any​⁠‍ human. So why‍ do you look‌‌ at me with⁠​ such hostility?

“You‌‍​ say you did​​ nothing?”

The⁠‍ dragon’s serene tone​ sounded irritatingly indifferent.​⁠‌ Perda felt fury‌​‍ boiling within him.⁠​‍

“You’re‍⁠ the cause of‌​⁠ my misery! It​ was because of⁠​⁠ your useless whim‍ to seek a fiancé that my‍ father found the‌‌ perfect excuse to‍ expel me.”

— Because of me…?‌

“Exactly!​⁠ Because of the‌ absurd greed of⁠⁠ a beast who‌ wanted to take‌‍‌ a human as‌‌ a partner, all‍​ my misfortune was‍‌⁠ born! Do you‌‌ understand?”

Perda‌⁠ breathed heavily, then‍ gave a crooked​​ smile.

“But⁠‌ I also thank‌​ you. Thanks to‌⁠ that, I made‍ it here.”

— I see…

The‍ dragon’s face tensed.‌ Rage? His last‌‌​ outburst before dying?‍‍ It didn’t matter.‍

As‌⁠​ those twisted emotions‌‌​ erupted, Perda activated‌​ the red circle.⁠ He was ready.‌

— Now I understand.⁠

The​‌⁠ dragon moved his⁠​ enormous body. He⁠ revealed his claws—sharp‍‍ as blades capable⁠‍ of tearing knights​ apart with a single swipe.

Perda‍ hastily prepared his‌ magic circle. Even‍⁠ if late, at​ least he could‍⁠⁠ drag the dragon⁠‍⁠ to death with⁠⁠⁠ him.

But​⁠‍ the claw didn’t⁠⁠⁠ strike him.

Thud!⁠​‌

The⁠​ claw plunged into⁠ his own chest.‌‍‌

Perda​‌‌ was stunned.

“What…?”‍

The‌‌ scales tore apart,‌​ revealing viscera.

— Your magic requires‍ my heart, doesn’t⁠ it?

Crrrack—!‍⁠‌

The​⁠‌ sound of veins‌​‌ tearing.

In‍‍ that instant, Perda​​ understood. He was‌‌​ destroying his own‌ heart.

“No!”‍⁠‌

Perda‌​ hurled his spells​​‍ at the dragon’s​ face.

“No,‍ you damned lizard!⁠ Stop right now!”‍‌⁠

He‍‌ couldn’t let the​‍ dragon destroy himself.‌ It was his⁠‌‍ only chance to‍​‌ reach the ninth‍‍​ circle.

The‌‍⁠ dragon’s head scales​⁠ shattered into fragments,​‌ but his hand​​ did not stop.‌

The‍ sound of muscles​‍ and vessels tearing‍​‌ continued.

— You need my‌ heart, don’t you?⁠‍

As‍ he pulled the‌⁠ claw from his⁠⁠ entrails, a piece⁠ of flesh larger​⁠⁠ than Perda’s head​ appeared.

“…A‌​ heart?”

It‌​ was intact. He⁠​ hadn’t destroyed it—he⁠​‌ had extracted it.​

— Take it.

Half⁠‌‍ of the dragon’s‌⁠​ face, crumbling away,‌ uttered those words.‍

Any‍‍ other Perda would‍ have accepted it⁠‍‌ with gratitude.

But‌‍‍ even he, twisted​ as he was,⁠ could not understand‌ this act.

He‌‍‌ stared at the⁠‍ heart in silence.‍⁠⁠

“…Why‌⁠‍ did you choose‌⁠ to do this?”‍⁠‌

Perda​‍⁠ asked the question.‍

“If⁠‍ you had attacked…‍ couldn’t you have⁠ easily killed me?‌ You couldn’t ignore‍ that.”

“If⁠‍⁠ I had resisted‌​‌ with my final⁠ breath… surely you​​ would’ve died as‌‍ well. I knew⁠‍‍ that.”

“Then⁠⁠‌ why didn’t you?”​⁠​

“Because‌ you were unhappy‌⁠ because of me.”‍⁠⁠

Even​​‌ then, Perda froze.⁠​​

Valdrova‌⁠⁠ no longer had‍ the strength to⁠​ hold up his⁠ own neck.

“For‌ a long time…⁠‌‍ I’ve hated myself.”⁠​

In⁠⁠ his serene tone⁠ was a dense‌⁠‌ trace of loathing.​‌‍

“I‍ hate the cruel‌⁠‌ blood that runs​‌‍ through these veins.‌ I hate that‌​‍ senseless rage, that​⁠ urge to destroy.‍‌‍ And most of‍⁠ all, I hate​ that this part​​‍ of me frightens​⁠ others.”

The‌​ gold in his​‌​ eyes was fading.⁠⁠ Something swelled in‌⁠⁠ them and rolled‌‍​ down his cheek.​

It‌ was a tear.‌

A dragon’s tears are⁠​​ unlike those of​⁠ humans. A dragon⁠​⁠ is not sentimental‍ enough to cry‌‌ from sorrow.

And‍​ yet, that tear‌ seemed to be‍‍‌ made of pure⁠​ grief.

“If​ I die, everything​ will be resolved…​ but I wanted​ to live, hoping⁠‍⁠ for happiness. My⁠ foolish dream only‌​‌ brought misfortune to‍⁠​ too many people.”⁠

“……”⁠

“Because⁠ of me, you​‍ were unhappy. Mortal,⁠‍​ you who suffered‍​​ due to my​‍‌ selfishness—I want you‌⁠ to be happy⁠ because of me.‍ That will be​ my final…”

With‍⁠‍ his last breath,⁠​ a whisper was‍⁠⁠ etched into the​‌ air.

“Be⁠​‌ happy, my betrothed.”​‌

Thus​‌​ died Valdrova, the⁠⁠ hidden tyrant of​ the continent.

Perda⁠‍‍ looked at him‍‌​ in silence, eyes‍ closed.

For‍ the first time‌‍ since he became⁠⁠ a mage out‍⁠ of pure rage,⁠‍ he felt something​⁠⁠ strange.

‘Why‍ does this leave‍‍⁠ such a bitter‌⁠ taste?’

He​​‌ instinctively brought his⁠‍ hand to his‌ chest.

He‍‌ had come this‌‌⁠ far over piles⁠‍‍ of corpses.

He⁠ had killed anyone⁠‌ who stood in⁠ his way, stolen⁠‌ what he needed​​ to grow strong.⁠‍

He‌‌⁠ knew he was‌ a broken being,⁠ without conscience or⁠‍‍ empathy.

And​​ yet, her death‍​ held him back.‍‌‌

As​‌ if it were⁠⁠​ a curse cast‍⁠⁠ upon him.

‘Don’t‌⁠​ think about it,⁠‍‍ Perda.’

He‍‍⁠ had to keep⁠‌ going.

Take​​‍ what he had⁠‍ always wanted.

He⁠​​ had already crossed​‌ a river he‌⁠ could never return⁠ from.

He⁠​ took what she‌‌ had left behind.‌

The‍ heart of a dragon.

The​​⁠ origin that allowed⁠‍​ one to reach‍‍ the ninth circle—the⁠‌ dream of every​‌‌ mage.

The​‌ object capable of‍ raising him from​‍⁠ great mage to‍​‍ demigod.

He​ would absorb it.‍​​

And,⁠⁠ as always, he⁠ would continue to‌‌‌ take revenge on‍​ all that had‍⁠​ made him unhappy.‌⁠‍ Even though he‌⁠​ had long forgotten​‌‌ the reasons behind​ that vengeance.

Perda‍‍‌ absorbed the essence‌ contained in that​‍ heart.

When⁠‍ the energy of⁠ the dragon, alive​ since ancient days,‍ coursed through his⁠⁠ veins, his blood‍ began to boil.‍‍

Along‌ with that torrent‍⁠ of power, he​ felt something unusual.‌​⁠

‘This⁠‌ is…’

A sensation—the entire life‌‍⁠ of Valdrova.

‘Her​​ emotions?’

Those​‍‍ emotions embedded themselves‍ in Perda before​ he could resist.‍​‌

“Ah…”​‌​

A gasp escaped his‍​⁠ lips.

His‍ mind began to‌​ clear.

The​​ hatred and thirst‌⁠⁠ for vengeance that‍ had fueled his⁠‍ power faded.

Was‍ it her blood⁠⁠ that was purifying‍‌ his mind?

‘No.’‌

What‌‍‍ he perceived from‍ the heart was⁠‌ closer to absolute⁠‍ denial.

A feeling far deeper‌​ than his own‌‌‌ hate or rage,‍‍ as if he⁠​ stood on the‌​​ edge of an⁠‍ infinite abyss.

The⁠‌ red dragon who‌‍⁠ had lived for‍ millennia without being​ loved even once.​‍​

Uncontrollable⁠​ rage, “Evil Dragon,”⁠⁠⁠ “Slayer of Men”…‍‌ titles soaked in​‌ infamy that painted‍​ her as a true tyrant.

They‌‌ were curses accumulated‍⁠ over the years.​

But⁠ Valdrova had even‌​⁠ loved those burdens.⁠​

That’s‌ why she chose‍‍‌ to hide.

She​ loved everyone and​ endured the loneliness‍ and pain in​‌‍ silence.

And⁠ Perda had severed​​ that final thread.⁠​‌

That’s‍⁠ why his mind‌ now felt so‍‍​ clear.

He​ understood how insignificant‍​ his hatred and‌​ rage had been.‍

“Ah…”​‌​

A weak sigh left‍​ his lips.

For⁠ twenty years, he​ had never been​⁠‌ in his right‌ mind.

Now,‍​ for the first‌‌ time, he was⁠‌ fully himself.

“What…⁠‍ have I done?”⁠‍

Blinded⁠⁠‌ by his emotions,‌⁠​ he let himself‌‍​ be consumed by⁠ his own power‍‍​ and destroyed everything.‌

Someone,⁠ entire families, villages.⁠

“Was⁠​ that really what​ I wanted?”

“Ah…”‍‌

Perda‍​‍ dropped to his⁠‍​ knees. With a blank mind, he​​‌ watched a circle​‍ appear before him.‌‍

One‍‌​ after another, they‍ completed.

And⁠ with each circle,​⁠ his life flashed‍ like lightning.

The‌‌​ first circle—the sorrow‌⁠ of being expelled⁠⁠ from his family.‌‍

The‌ second—the rage of⁠‍‍ being ridiculed for‌ lacking talent.

Inferiority,‍ resentment, envy, betrayal…‍‌​

All​‍ of Perda’s circles​‌ were built upon‌⁠‌ negative emotions. To‍​⁠ survive, he had‍ not hesitated to‌‍‍ betray; to grow,⁠⁠​ he had repeated‍‌ vile acts.

That’s‌‌‍ how he became‌ a great mage​ of the eighth‌‍​ circle. And now,‌‌ as he reached‍‍​ the ninth, what⁠​ he felt was—‍⁠

‘Emptiness…’⁠‌‌

The‌‌ sense that nothing‌⁠‍ had meaning.

And​ at the same‍⁠ time, anger.

Valdrova—that‍⁠ woman—had turned all‌ his achievements into‍‌​ a mistake.

“Stupid…‍ fool…”

He⁠‍ tried to blame‌​ her.

But​‍ he no longer‍ felt it as​ before—there was no‌ force behind those​​​ words.

He​​​ knew perfectly well‌ they were hollow.​‍

The‌ truth was, the‌‍‌ fool had been⁠​​ him.

From‍​​ the beginning, she​⁠‌ had only been‌ a pretext.

Eremvalt‌‌‌ would have expelled‍ him anyway; if‌‍ not her, he‌ would have found‌ another excuse.

He⁠⁠ knew that, and‌ yet he poured⁠⁠​ all his hatred‌‍⁠ into her.

Valdrova⁠‌ accepted that absurd⁠​⁠ burden.

And‍​ still, she wished​ happiness for someone.⁠⁠

Even‌‍ for the one‌​ trying to kill⁠⁠ her.

From​​ the heart.

Perda‍​ laughed bitterly.

But‌ meanwhile, the circle⁠‍ of the ninth​​ level glowed intensely.‍

A ninth-circle mage could‍‌ cast only a single spell.

“Wish.”⁠‌‍

An‍ absolute power capable​ of granting anything,‌‌ bending the laws​‌‍ of the world.​‍

A spell as simple​ as speaking it​ aloud.

He⁠‍​ had obtained what‍​ he desired most,⁠‍ and yet his‌ throat was closed.​‌

He‌‍ couldn’t think of‌ a single wish.​

‘What⁠ was it that⁠⁠ I longed for‍ so badly?’

To‌ eliminate everything that‌ rejected him. That‌​‌ had been the​ dream of the‍ madman he became.⁠

But⁠‌⁠ now there was⁠ no such dream.​⁠

He‍​‍ suddenly recalled that​ childhood dream.

A clumsy drawing, made​ with colored pencils.‌‍​

‘I⁠ just wanted a simple family and​⁠⁠ to live in​​‌ peace.’

That⁠‌‌ was also Valdrova’s‌​ wish.

But‌​ now, he could​ no longer ask‍‍ for such a thing.

After​ so much bloodshed,​‌‌ how could he‍ hope for a peaceful life?

And‍​​ the worst part—he‌ had killed the‍​⁠ one who was‍‍ meant to be‌‌‍ his betrothed, and‍​‌ Valdrova had died​⁠ at the hands​⁠ of the one​ meant to be‌‌ hers.

It​​ was as if​⁠ he had murdered⁠‍⁠ his own fiancée​ with his own‍​ hands.

How‌⁠‍ could a man‌​ like that dream​‌ of happiness or​⁠ a family?

“Be​ happy, my betrothed…”‌​‌

The⁠‍ voice of his⁠‌ reborn conscience repeated‌ those words, tormenting‌⁠‍ him.

It​⁠ condemned the decades‌​ spent chasing only⁠⁠‍ power, despised the‌ pettiness of having​ remembered every name⁠‍ for revenge.

That⁠‍ feeling, impossible to‌ describe, was understood⁠⁠‍ by his own⁠ heart.

“It’s‌‌‍ meaningless…”

The‌ magic circle shone‌​ with intensity.

And‌‍‍ when the light​‌ vanished completely, the‌‌‍ ninth-circle mage had‍⁠​ disappeared without a trace.

***‍

“……rda?”​

“……”⁠

“Perda.”‍‌​

No,​ he had regained​ consciousness.

The‌ brilliant light faded,‌ and upon hearing‌⁠‍ his name called,⁠ Perda opened his​‍ eyes.

In​‍⁠ front of him‌⁠ was not a bleeding dragon, but⁠⁠ a middle-aged man‍‍​ sitting down.

“Perda,‍⁠ are you listening‍ to me?”

“…Yes?”⁠

“Yes,‍ you say? Your‌⁠ father is speaking​​ to you and‍ all this time​ you’ve just been‌​‌ staring blankly?”

The⁠ man frowned.

Perda⁠‍⁠ knew who he​‍‌ was.

‘Eremvalt‍‍‌ Rosnova.’

The‍ one he had‍ once affectionately called​‌‍ father.

And⁠ he looked much​​ healthier than the⁠⁠‌ last time he‍‍​ saw him.

Was‌⁠‍ he dead and⁠‍‌ in the afterlife?‌​

And​​ yet, all of‌‌⁠ this felt strangely⁠‍​ familiar.

‘This‍⁠ place is…?’

He‌ realized it instantly.‍‍​

The⁠ only time in⁠ his life he‍⁠ had been alone⁠​ with his father‌ and they spoke‍⁠​ face-to-face.

“Your​​ engagement to the​‌ Queen of Valdrova‌‌⁠ has been decided.‍‌​ It’s a matter​ determined by the‌‍ kingdom, so I expect you to‍⁠ accept it without‌‍ protest.”

The⁠​ engagement to the⁠⁠ Queen of Valdrova.⁠‍​

‘Have⁠⁠ I not died,​​‌ but returned to‍​ that time?’

That⁠ moment he had​‌ always considered the⁠‌ beginning of all‌ his misfortune.

The‍ starting point of‍‌‌ the vengeance he​ could never stop.‌

‘Why?’⁠‌

His⁠ mind still didn’t‍‌ understand, but his⁠ heart already knew.​‌​

Amid⁠⁠‌ that emptiness, he​ knew what he‌⁠‌ had truly desired.‍​

“Ha…”‌​

A strange sigh escaped⁠ his lips.

“What’s⁠⁠‌ wrong, breathing deeply​​⁠ while I’m talking?”‌‌​

“I’m​​ sorry, it’s nothing.”‍

“Then‌‌⁠ repeat what I just said.”

“You‍⁠‍ said I will⁠​‍ be engaged to⁠‌⁠ the Queen of​ Valdrova.”

“You⁠⁠ know well what​ that means, don’t​‌ you?”

“I⁠‍ do.”

That​​​ he must leave⁠⁠‍ that house.

Perda⁠‍ understood this, and⁠ responded to his​ father.

“Alright.”⁠

“Yes,‍ I also thought⁠‌​ you’d suffer a lot with… Huh?”‌

Eremvalt​ opened his eyes‌​ wide and looked‌ at him again.⁠‌⁠

“W-what⁠‌⁠ did you just⁠​ say?”

Perda⁠ looked down at​ the documents in‍ front of him​ and calmly repeated.​‌

The‌​‍ meaning of this⁠‍⁠ regression was to‌⁠ face what, in‌​​ his previous life,⁠‍ he had never​ been able to​ do.

“I’ll‌​ do it. I accept the engagement.”‌​​

He‍⁠​ formally accepted the‌‌ engagement to the⁠ tyrant Valdrova.

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