Chapter 12:
“Word has reached me that the two of you aren’t exactly a happy couple. Isn’t that why Aileen can’t let you go?”
The Duke of Rackton furrowed his brows in irritation, as if he were demanding that Clarissa immediately produce a child.
“I—I will do my best.”
“It’s best to hurry when it comes to producing an heir. Since you’re raising them like merchants anyway, if you have five or six early on, that’s more hands for the work, isn’t it?”
“…Yes.”
“Attend the eve-of-the-engagement party with Clarissa. Appear affectionate. I believe I’ve said all I needed to, so you may leave.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Damon rose to his feet. Remaining seated was torture; his stomach churned, and his head ached from suppressing his anger.
“Ah, and on your way out, make sure the priest Hexa is killed and it looks like suicide.”
The Duke of Rackton issued the order as casually as if asking someone to throw out the trash on the way home.
“Understood.”
“You don’t even ask why?”
“Your Grace’s orders require no reason.”
“So in ten months’ time, a child will be born to you and Clarissa? Congratulations in advance. Now go.”
The Duke clicked his tongue and waved him off impatiently.
As Damon left the study, his body trembled with rising anger.
‘Why would he talk about a child with Clarissa after ordering Hexa’s death?’
He felt as if he had been treated like a beast. Damon dusted off his perfectly clean cloak. It wouldn’t erase the disgust, but he couldn’t tolerate it.
“Why kill Hexa? Because he’s no longer useful, I suppose.”
Hexa, the priest who had cloaked Rackton’s misdeeds in the guise of divine will, had committed countless atrocities. And now, just before Aileen’s engagement, Hexa seems to have demanded money to keep quiet.
Hexa had several mistresses and lived extravagantly, so money was naturally necessary.
Perhaps the Duke planned to erase all traces of his misdeeds by killing Hexa. In any case, it was the killing of a villain, so there was no reason to hesitate.
Damon left the mansion and mounted his black horse, but an overwhelming fatigue overtook him—not physical, but emotional hunger. He was utterly drained.
“Giddy-up!”
Riding toward the temple, he paused as the distant lights of Middletown’s mansions came into view.
He recalled Clarissa, blood running from her forehead, hair tugged by Aileen. His already troubled mind grew even colder.
‘Clarissa… how did you endure your days at the Duke’s mansion with that mindset?’
In a place where assassination plots unfolded every day, under a father who served as Rackton’s loyal henchman, every day must have been hell.
That must be why she clung to him, begging to marry, even though he offered no love in return.
Still, thanks to her advice, he had tightened the Duke’s purse strings, so a small reward seemed warranted. A gemstone necklace would suffice. Perhaps any further display of affection would be excessive.
Clarissa, who had spent two full days bedridden from the carriage accident, prepared to go out despite her stiff body.
She had to travel to a remote village, believing the magical sword would have been completed. Even the thought made her ache.
“Let’s go, Miranda. Did you pack the lunch for the old man?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Miranda followed behind, carrying a lavish lunch as a bribe for the old designer who created magical dolls.
Just as she was about to board the carriage, Millan, who must have just arrived at the mansion, hurriedly approached.
“Mistress, the master has sent a gift.”
“Oh?”
Clarissa absentmindedly took the box from Millan and climbed into the carriage.
“Miranda, dispose of this, will you? If it’s a waste, you may keep it, but whatever is inside, make sure it never comes to my eyes.”
The box in Miranda’s hands was too unpleasant to look at. Clarissa closed her eyes, hoping to sleep. If she rested until reaching the village, she might not feel the lingering aches and pains.
When she arrived at the remote village, she could no longer contain her frustration.
“I—didn’t I clearly say to make the design differently?!”
She trembled with rage, holding the magical doll created by the old designer.
It looked exactly like Damon, except for hair and eye color.
Only a few days ago, she had visited, handed over gold coins, and repeatedly emphasized that the doll had to be completely different from those previously made.
She had explained in detail Valentine’s appearance and proportions. The doll was to be a betrothal gift, so naturally, it had to resemble Valentine.
It should not be muscular, nor have thick arms. Slightly lean, with soft cheeks, a kind expression.
Above all, the feature present on every other doll—that thing—had to be removed. She had emphasized this repeatedly. Yet she found the doll had it anyway.
Why would the designer add that thing to the doll? If Valentine saw it, he might misunderstand and think she was… promiscuous. That would be a huge problem.
“This is nothing but deception. And you’re smiling while doing it? Are you truly insane?”
The designer nodded vigorously.
“Everyone calls me crazy. I’m glad you’ve finally noticed, Clarissa.”
“What… what did you say? Hah! I’ve never met someone like you in my life.”
“That’s correct. I dislike doing the same as others. Trying to live like everyone else is the worst. It’s just mimicking someone else’s life.”
“Then why do you design the same doll every day?”
“Because the model is perfectly magnificent. Look—how beautiful he is.”
The designer gazed nostalgically at the sketch of the doll. His eyes were full of love for Damon, the model for all his magical dolls.
‘What a ridiculous mindset,’ Clarissa thought.
The designer was plump, with white hair, and had a kind appearance. He gave off the air of someone stubbornly diligent in following instructions.
Yet he could be so shameless. It wasn’t laziness; he smiled as if innocent, with no wrongdoing.
‘Why does he look at Damon’s portrait with such warmth?’
Her gaze lingered on the designer’s expression, which seemed proud. She couldn’t understand why he looked at Damon like that, as if he were his own child.
Wait…! Could this man be Murray Craig? Damon’s adoptive father?
Impossible. Baron Murray Craig was dead.
Before Clarissa married Damon, Murray Craig had drunkenly fallen into a swamp and died. His funeral had even been held.
Clarissa had not attended Damon’s funeral. The Craig Barony was at the western edge of the empire, a dangerous place with only swamps and crocodiles.
‘The dead don’t come back to life.’
Shaking off the absurd thought, Clarissa addressed the old man.
“You said your name is Monde, correct? Monde, I won’t question you further about the doll. I need you to take me to the forge where the magical sword is being refined. Will you lead the way?”
Strict guards prevented her from approaching the forge without Monde.
Previously, she had accompanied Monde to the forge, but impurities were still being removed from the magic stone, so the sword’s form couldn’t be confirmed.
Today, the magical sword should be almost complete. She needed to place her blood on it before Damon touched it.
The sword’s true owner is determined through the blood ritual. Only then will it never harm its master.
‘I must mark it with my blood today.’
“Lead the way, why are you just smiling?”
“The forging to remove impurities finished two days ago. Next is grinding the blade and setting jewels.”
“Then guide me to the forge.”
“It’s very far from here, in the Craig Barony.”
“What…? That’s impossible. Even riding nonstop, it would take over a week. The sword is to be given to Crown Prince Valentine on the eve of the engagement.”
“Exactly. You understand perfectly.”
Monde smiled as if there were no problem at all.
“That’s impossible. Taking the sword to Craig Barony and back would take two weeks. H-… could it be…?”
Could Damon be using teleportation magic? He had learned it from the archmage Murray Craig, so it was possible to move objects instantaneously.
“My husband Damon must have sent the sword to Craig Barony. Then when receiving the finished sword, it will bypass this place entirely.”
Clarissa sank into a chair.
There would be no chance to mark the sword with her blood before Valentine received it.
‘This is bad. If Valentine becomes the sword’s master, he’ll go insane soon enough.’
She couldn’t sneak into Damon’s room or study to steal it either. That was impossible.
“What am I to do?”
Hiding her face in her hands, she heard Monde’s worried voice.
“Clarissa, why are you like this? Are you so shocked you can’t see the sword? Why? Please, tell me. I cannot resist curiosity.”
Clarissa, who thought Damon the most beautiful in the world, had to be careful what she said.
“I… love my husband.”
“Ah, then you mustn’t take the sword for yourself.”
She glared at Monde.
“I’m not taking it. But if you lied to me about the sword being in Craig Barony, you must tell me where it really is. I must save my husband.”
“Save your husband? Who dares threaten him? As far as I know, there’s no one in the empire who could defeat him. He is truly remarkable. One must respect whoever raised him.”
‘He’s tightening his own noose, so what’s remarkable about it? If Murray Craig were alive, I’d tell him a thing or two.’
“What… what did you say?”
