Episode 50
Serea Fron Evroyel was renowned as a bold and heroic figure.
With her signature pink-and-purple hair cascading down, she stood taller and more robust than most men.
Her voice, a distinctive low timbre, commanded attention whenever she chanted a spell.
At social gatherings, young nobles would blush and grow shy if they so much as caught her eye.
Serea was well aware of her allure.
She reveled in flaunting her unique charisma, dressing flamboyantly like a peacock and attending various balls and banquets.
She was also diligent about hosting her own events.
The galas she meticulously planned and held at the Evroyel estate were famous throughout the Palen Empire.
Any noble with an interest in high society coveted an invitation to her distinctive and entertaining affairs.
Even foreign aristocrats longed to attend.
Perhaps it was her vibrant lifestyle that made people forget.
Despite appearing to be in her thirties, Serea Evroyel was well over sixty.
Her exceptional magical prowess had halted her aging, but she was older than the current Emperor.
Connected to the imperial family by blood and wielding immense power, she was someone who feared nothing.
Except for one person.
That one individual was so infuriating she ground her teeth at the thought of him.
“Phew…”
Clad in a nightgown, reclining on her bed, Serea let out a long sigh.
The clear liquor in her wine glass released a delicate fruity aroma.
Savoring the exotic drink sip by slow sip, she exhaled contentedly.
Fresh from a bath, she felt languid, savoring the fine liquor, the quiet chirping of crickets through the open window, and…
“Your Grace.”
A man’s voice.
Serea’s half-closed eyes shot open.
With an annoyed roll of her eyes, she spotted the man by the window and shrieked, “Aaaah!”
She hurled her wine glass.
The precious foreign liquor splattered spectacularly through the air.
“You crazy bastard! I paid you back every cent!”
Unfortunately, the man deftly sidestepped, dodging the glass.
The expensive crystal vanished futilely out the window.
Glancing briefly at the falling glass, he turned back to Serea with a faint smile.
“It’s not about the money.”
“Then what!”
Recoiling in disgust, Serea’s reaction made him avert his gaze.
“Your gown.”
At his brief remark, she scoffed.
As if a man unmoved by a parade of scantily clad beauties would care about propriety.
His heart was harder than diamond, yet he pretended to be modest.
“Oh, now you’re playing shy?” she taunted.
“No, just observing basic human courtesy.”
“Human? *Human*? You, calling yourself human? Shameless!”
“Your Grace.”
His melodic voice cut through her tirade with calm authority.
Serea, who’d been shouting, fell silent.
She glared, one eyebrow twitching. “…What.”
“Conversing with Your Grace is always a pleasure, but I’m afraid I don’t have time now.”
“Oh, heard your house caught fire?” she said, smirking as she loosely tied her gown.
Fumbling on a dresser, she grabbed a plate piled with sage and mint leaves, chewing them noisily as she continued, “Not here to collect debts, then? Surely not to ask me to put out the fire.”
A man wealthy enough to burn down dozens of townhouses in a night stood before her.
He wouldn’t come all this way over a mere fire.
Serea eyed him warily.
Count Basilian, Kierne Basilian.
Purely for viewing pleasure, he was a fine specimen.
His beauty was always devilishly captivating, dangerous.
If others were mass-produced market goods, Kierne was a master artisan’s singular masterpiece.
As an art lover, Serea found his face alone delightful.
But beautiful flowers often have thorns.
She knew well he was a venomous serpent.
“What is it, then?” Her sharp words flew like the wine glass.
Bathed in moonlight, Kierne parted his lips slowly. “Teacher.”
The old title froze her.
Softly, he pleaded, “Please help me.”
To come after so long with *that* request.
And to use a title she couldn’t refuse.
“…You cunning snake,” she muttered, cursing as she slumped onto the bed.
Crossing her legs and arms, she fixed him with a steady gaze.
“I’ll help. But send me your third son.”
She thought of the Basilian family’s charming youngest.
“You said he’s got a knack for magic. A gem like that should be polished to shine.”
“As I’ve said before, he doesn’t want to learn yet. If he changes his mind, I’ll send him to you immediately.”
“Ugh, that’s the problem with talented kids,” she grumbled, shaking her head.
Wasting such rare magical talent when every day of training was precious.
“So, what’s the issue?”
“I’ve lost my youngest daughter.”
“…Youngest daughter?”
She almost said, *You only have sons*, but something clicked.
The recent news that Count Basilian had adopted a toddler from an orphanage.
It had been a quiet topic in high society.
She’d been dying to ask why he’d adopted her but had held back.
Maybe helping him now would earn her that answer.
Regretting her restraint briefly, she maintained a composed expression.
“As you know, the fire at the estate has me tied up with cleanup. I plan to send people to search privately, but…”
Kierne continued with a picture-perfect smile, “If Your Grace lends her magic, it’d be much easier.”
She understood the situation.
Few in the empire knew Kierne wielded dark magic.
To avoid the Inquisitors, it had to stay secret.
With the fire drawing countless eyes, using large-scale dark magic could expose him.
Serea decided to help her poor disciple.
“You’ll need something from her or a blood relative. Got any hair?”
“…No, but.”
Kierne slowly dragged a fingernail across his palm.
Red blood welled up.
“I’ll use my blood.”
Serea flicked her finger.
An empty vial rolled from a corner of the room, zipping to catch the dripping blood.
“But she’s adopted, right?”
“I’ve also lost a son.”
“Who?”
“The eldest, Belzeon.”
Serea knew Belzeon well.
Young but brilliant, he handled much of the Basilian estate’s affairs.
Losing a prodigy fit to inherit the countship immediately was…
“It’s not that he got fed up with your temper and ran, is it?”
Kierne smiled wordlessly.
Serea shuddered but pulled the vial of blood toward her.
She swiftly drew a magical array in the air.
Wanting to avoid entanglement, she planned to do his bidding quickly and send him away.
The purple lines of the array shimmered mystically.
The vial was sucked in, shattering with a *crack*.
As the blood swirled and was absorbed, the array’s light intensified.
“…!!”
Serea raised her arm to shield her face.
A sharp *crack* pierced her ears as the array shattered.
Amid the scattering fragments of light, she stared, stunned.
“You… who’s with Belzeon right now?”
Swallowing the blood rising from the magical backlash, she muttered, “They broke my spell…”
A duke of the Palen Empire, a celebrated archmage among the continent’s finest.
Her tracking spell had been shattered in an instant.
There was only one explanation.
Whoever broke it was as powerful as she was.
