The ancestor of Headrin, the first Duke Del Marc, was a national hero who saved the Empire during the final Magic War.
To secure the power required to protect the realm, he formed a pact with a divine beast—a creature now relegated to legend.
In return, he was granted a body capable of wielding both aura and magic simultaneously.
By nature, a human is limited to one or the other; to harbor both is an anomaly.
Yet, the first Duke Del Marc mastered this duality through his contract, a power that turned the tide of the war and ensured victory.
But such immense strength always exacts a price.
Using aura and magic in tandem is like tempering fire with oil; handled with precision, they create a devastating synergy, but if mismanaged, they invite a volatile, destructive runaway of power.
This burden was etched into the bloodline, passed down through the generations.
Most often, it served as a formidable military safeguard for the Empire, yet at times, it brought only ruin.
The previous Duke—Headrin’s father—was a descendant who inherited this dual curse. Like his ancestors, he dedicated his strength to his territory and the crown.
The Empire held him in a state of fearful admiration.
Then, the tragedy struck.
The year Headrin turned twelve, during a family excursion, his mother was discovered slaughtered by magical beasts.
It is said that the previous Duke, upon finding her remains, lost his sanity. He tore through the forest, brutally butchering every beast he encountered before taking his own life—a final, desperate act to ensure his rampaging power would not turn upon his son.
The Del Marc Duchy, a house once held in such high esteem, fell from grace in an instant.
The tragedy became a feast for the tongues of those who treated the misfortunes of others as mere dessert.
It eventually reached the ears of Blair, living deep within the Imperial Palace.
While people offered hollow lamentations to the house’s face, behind their backs they whispered of Headrin. Would he, having inherited his father’s volatile blood, eventually succumb to the same savage madness?
‘Still, I really want to win this time….’
Blair suppressed her trepidation with a burst of competitive spirit and approached him.
Beyond the fanned-out cards, his eyes—deep as a blue lake—remained clear. Long, dark lashes cast soft, fleeting shadows upon them.
‘Pretty.’
The Headrin she faced now seemed like a normal boy, albeit a brooding one. He was nothing like the monster of the rumors.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, Headrin, who had been studying his hand, looked up. Their gazes locked.
Startled by the intensity of those deep blue eyes, Blair flinched, instinctively snatching a random card from his hand.
‘Ah.’
Of all the cards, she had drawn the thief.
Fortune favored her; thanks to Esmeralda drawing the thief in turn, Blair clinched the win. The game concluded with the thief card left in Headrin’s hand.
Headrin had clearly thrown the match to end the game, though the younger, oblivious Blair did not realize it.
Just as she reached out to shuffle the cards again, her competitive fire stoked, Headrin spoke.
“I shall take my leave now.”
“Oh my, is it already so late?”
“I will see you tomorrow, Your Highness the Empress.”
Esmeralda studied Headrin with a gaze full of quiet concern.
“Headrin. I understand your heart, but there is no need to push yourself to attend tomorrow.”
“It is fine.”
Headrin bowed to Esmeralda and Blair, then rose from his seat.
Once he had departed, the drawing room fell silent, leaving only the two of them—exactly as Blair had hoped.
Esmeralda leaned in, asking with casual interest.
“How was it, meeting Headrin? Do you think you can be friends?”
Blair hesitated, unable to offer an immediate answer.
Truthfully, friendship felt impossible. The person she had met in the flesh felt jarringly different from everyone else in her world.
His demeanor had come as a genuine shock.
He had offered no warmth, no practiced smiles like the others. It was a stark lesson: a refined appearance and impeccable etiquette do not necessarily equate to a kind soul.
He wasn’t the terror of the rumors, but he was far from gentle. Even in his politeness, there was a sharp, dangerous edge.
Still, unwilling to disappoint Esmeralda, Blair wove a small lie.
“Um…. He is quiet, which makes him a bit difficult, but I think he is a good person.”
She could not, however, hide the way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, nor the way her gaze skittered away from Esmeralda’s.
“Lying is a bad habit, Blair.”
The quiet observation stung. Blair sighed and relented, admitting the truth.
“Actually… the Duke is polite, but it feels like he isn’t being polite at all.”
Esmeralda burst into a light, melodic laugh.
“It is fortunate that Headrin did not hear that.”
Fearful she had been too harsh, Blair quickly added, “W-well, it was only my first time meeting him. Since you cherish him so much, Your Highness, I am sure he must be a good person. That much is true.”
Watching Blair struggle to reconcile her impression with her desire to please, Esmeralda smiled and gestured for her to come closer.
Blair scurried to her side.
Esmeralda stroked her hair gently, her voice soothing.
“Admittedly, Headrin is not a warm-hearted child. He carries many scars, and he is clumsy in his interactions with others.”
Blair looked up, basking in the touch. Esmeralda’s blue eyes held their usual soft, tranquil glow.
“But just because his heart is wounded does not mean you must endure any discomfort, Blair.”
Esmeralda whispered, pressing a light kiss to Blair’s forehead.
“Because you are just as precious a being as he is.”
At that tender validation, Blair felt a surge of happiness tinged with a quiet, aching melancholy. It was a sentiment she had never once heard from Katrina.
Yet, she smiled back at Esmeralda.
* * *
The following day, the New Year dawned.
The schedule was grueling: a morning hunt in the winter forest to secure offerings for the gods, an afternoon service at the temple, and a grand Imperial banquet by evening.
The morning and afternoon rituals were reserved for the adults, leaving Blair to spend her time with Ivan and her cousins. Only when the evening shadows stretched did she prepare for the banquet.
Blair sat with the Emperor, Empress Esmeralda, Queen Mother Katrina, and Ivan, receiving the formal greetings of the nobility.
Amid the drone of tedious, ceremonial pleasantries, the crowd suddenly surged with a restless energy.
Blair, confused by the shift in atmosphere, realized the cause as a figure stepped forward to offer his respects.
It was Headrin.
This was his first public appearance in three years, following the long period of seclusion that had followed the tragedy.
The nobles murmured as he approached the Emperor.
“Oh my, the young Duke… no, the Duke himself has actually come. I didn’t think he would show his face.”
“Indeed. I was surprised enough to see him at the morning hunt and the service.”
“Well, he is the head of the Del Marc house now. He must restore the family’s prestige and serve as a pillar for Her Highness the Empress—though one wonders if he is capable.”
On the surface, the words carried a veneer of pity, but underneath, they were nothing more than juicy gossip.
Blair watched him, her heart heavy with anxiety.
“I am moved to welcome the New Year under the reign of Your Majesties. Please, this year as well, grant us your benevolence and look over the Empire.”
Standing before the throne, he was still just a boy, yet he carried himself with the composure of a veteran house head.
If anything, his youth only made his poise more striking.
Yet, was it merely her imagination that his calm, measured performance felt like a house of cards waiting to collapse?
Blair kept her eyes fixed on him even after he finished his greeting and retreated to the shadows of the hall.
Once the formal greetings concluded, the banquet proper began.
The nobles drifted into cliques, exchanging pleasantries, while Headrin stood in total isolation.
No one dared approach him, yet every eye in the room seemed to be tracking his movements, every mouth whispering about his potential for violence.
“That young Duke… he was there when his father took his own life, wasn’t he?”
“Goodness! How pitiful. It is impressive he hasn’t lost his mind entirely.”
“Impressive, perhaps, but… he is still so young, and yet he seems so cold-blooded.”
They talked of the tragedy as if it were a spectator sport, lamenting the fall of the Del Marc house while simultaneously revelling in the fear it inspired.
“Rachel, do not get too close. If he suddenly runs amok like his father and decides to kill everyone, what would you do?”
If Esmeralda had remained, they would never have dared to speak with such malice, but she had been feeling unwell and had retired early.
Headrin stood completely alone.
Blair watched him from across the hall. He remained impassive, his expression unreadable, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was crumbling inside.
The nobles, having exhausted their curiosity, soon moved on to the next subject, as if they were simply transitioning to the next course of a meal.
Only when the ambient scrutiny faded did Headrin quietly slip away.
Driven by a sudden, sharp concern at the hollow look in his eyes, Blair followed him out into the night air.
As she stepped into the backyard, a bitter winter wind scraped against her skin.
The garden, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of evening lanterns, was silent. In the summer, it would have been a hive of activity, but the cold had driven everyone inside.
‘Where did he go?’
As Blair scanned the shadows, a jagged, painful groan tore through the stillness of the garden.