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.