It felt like he was under a spell.

Sitting in the sluggishly rattling carriage after sending off that strange intruder, Cassion couldn’t help but think so. He stared at the empty seat across from him for no reason.

He wanted to believe that the madwoman who had been sitting there was just a waking nightmare.

“How did she know?”

The mysterious plague that began on the battlefield during the former emperor’s war had, over the years, slowly gnawed away at the continent.

And without anyone realizing, it had quietly shattered countless lives.

A small mark that appeared near the heart would gradually grow over time. And as it did, the body would weaken.

Shortness of breath, coughing up blood. A sickness that brought pain of every kind before ending in death.

But the real problem was that death wasn’t the end.

Those who died from the plague would always return as shadows.

‘Damn shadows.’

They were monsters.

The mark that had grown near the heart would spread after death, covering the entire body in black—hence the name shadow.

At night, the shadows would claw their way out of the soil where they were buried, wandering the world and sinking their teeth into the living. Anyone bitten by a shadow would inevitably contract the plague—a vicious cycle in its purest form.

Burning the corpse after death didn’t help.

Even in blazing flames, the bodies remained untouched, which only amplified the horror.

Even if thrown into water, they would crawl back onto land once night fell.

The only way to truly kill them was to sever the head entirely. If even a part remained, you’d soon find yourself watching a grotesque sight—a reattached head wandering around once again.

Back when there was still some divine power left in the relics, priests could use them to destroy shadows. It had been the most certain and effective method.

But as the plague spread, the relics’ power had rapidly declined, until eventually, they lost their divinity altogether.

Only the Relic of Wind, held by the Clayton Empire, retained even a faint trace of its former power—though it was barely perceptible.

Still, the imperial family of Clayton often used it as a symbol of power. It was why the crown prince would sometimes reinforce the empire’s barriers or lead a holy fire purge to hunt down shadows.

But those events were rare.

The divine powers of the priests had also waned drastically. They could no longer heal the sick, nor drive out evil with sacred force.

At best, a group of priests might purify a single corpse infected by the plague, or bless weapons to offer some strength in the fight against shadows.

Thus, the radiant golden age of the former emperor came to an end—and a new era had begun.

It was a damned era of plague.

‘Three months.’

As he watched the scenery drift past the carriage window, he counted the time. It had been exactly three months since he contracted this cursed disease.

The spot that had barely been visible before had now grown to the size of a baby’s fist. Though he hadn’t reached the stage where his body was failing, he couldn’t afford to ignore it any longer.

If a plague-infected corpse received a purification ritual from the priests before turning into a shadow, they could rest in peace as a proper human being. 

Though it did nothing to cure the living.

Some mocked the priests, saying they could only help the dead. But no one ever said it aloud.

No one wanted to die and become a shadow.

Despite the weakness of their divine power, the temple had managed to maintain its influence—and then suddenly, Cambria’s Lomia was recognized as a saintess, and the temple’s prestige soared overnight.

‘A miracle!’

People wept as they watched the plague marks—those gnawing, black blemishes near the heart—vanish after drinking her blood.

It was said that the saintess couldn’t cure everyone, as each healing required a great amount of divine power.

But it was the first real glimpse of hope.

Even if that hope chose to visit the commoners in the streets or the nobles in their grand estates, it didn’t matter.

That hope was the reason Cassion had come to the capital—despite the emperor’s ever-watchful eye.

At least, it had been. Until he met her, the woman who appeared like a calm mist and vanished like a storm.

“The enemy of your enemy can become your greatest ally.”

That’s what she said as she briefly peeked through the small window in the carriage. She seemed to be checking something, though there was no urgency in her demeanor.

“What do you want from me?”

“First, help me escape from Cambria and the Imperial Family.”

Then I’ll help you get your revenge.

If a devil tempting him to sell his soul ever took form, it would probably look just like her.

“‘First’ implies there’s more you want.”

“Let’s just say there’s a lot to be done. So help me.”

“And why should I?”

At that, the woman smiled—like a waning moon hanging in the autumn night sky.

“Because I can cure your illness.”

“…What?”

“The saintess She’s a fool who can’t do anything without me.”

The corners of her eyes, which had earlier welled with tears as she begged him to kill her, now curled into a calm smile.

There was something about her that made it hard to look away—just as a commotion began outside.

“Start searching from the alley!”

Several burly men were scouring the streets. The woman peeked out discreetly to observe the scene.

“Second gift.”

Following the ribbon, a small folded piece of paper fell into Cassion’s hand.

A blue hawk’s beak, a violet dried in winter wind.

A cryptic phrase was written on it.

“Haven’t even prepared a thank-you, and you’re already giving out so many gifts.”

It was a sneering remark, implying none of this felt like a gift—but the woman didn’t so much as flinch.

“You can thank me if you like the third one.”

“Third?”

“A fun article’s going to drop tomorrow.”

Her voice held a faint trace of laughter, as if just the thought of it already amused her.

“If you like it, buy the most sensational paper listed on that slip for me.”

“What’s written on it?”

“The emergency vault code of the Marquis and Marchioness of Cambria.”

He hesitated, wondering if the information could be trusted.

He knew there were a few places in the back alleys that handled black money. They didn’t ask for names or faces—as long as the predetermined passcode matched, they’d hand over the cash.

Cambria likely had more than a few secret vaults. This might just be one of them. Still, a vault like that could probably buy out a newspaper company without much trouble.

“A big middle finger to Cambria, huh? I think I like the third gift already—haven’t even unwrapped it.”

At his words, the woman let out a soft, rustling laugh.

The sounds outside were getting closer.

The woman, light enough to blow away in the wind, rose from her seat with a fluid grace.

“If you want to be cured, come to Cambria’s banquet.”

She left those final words—to meet her in the garden—and vanished as quickly as she had come.

Not long after, voices called out in the distance. ‘There she is!’ Found her.

“She didn’t even tell me her name.”

And yet, that woman seemed to know him far too well.

Meanwhile, he had no idea what was truly going on.

An avalanche of information had struck him all at once, and one piece in particular left him breathless.

‘Evelina Pathsbender died today.’

The woman’s calm words echoed in his mind.

‘Cambria kidnapped her. The Imperial Family imprisoned her. The Crown Prince killed her.’

If she hadn’t died of the plague— if it happened just as the woman said—then before the rage, came the grief. The crushing loss.

He had chased Evelina’s traces for years. There were many times he had thought—perhaps—she was already gone.

But thoughts and reality rarely aligned.

No matter how logically one tried to prepare, the weight of truth always hit harder than imagined.

The blue silk ribbon and the note with the vault code—those were the only things that proved the woman hadn’t been a dream.

With a conflicted expression, Cassion looked down at the ribbon.

In the Empire, there was a tradition of gifting something with a child’s name embroidered on it when they turned ten.

It was believed that if their name was marked in advance, the god of death would see them as already belonging to the world and pass them by—ensuring the child remained healthy until adulthood.

But the young Pathsbenders had no parents to uphold such customs.

Their father had locked his daughter away in a remote hut the moment she caught the plague, and their mother had long since passed. Even if she had lived, she wouldn’t have been the type to care.

In the end, Cassion had learned from the head maid, clumsily stitching the name one thread at a time.

‘Thank you, Brother!’

He could still clearly see little Evelina’s beaming face as she received the ribbon with her name, sloppily sewn into it.

Evelina Pathsbender had gone missing shortly after her fourteenth birthday. It had been eight years.

Eight years of not knowing whether she was dead or alive.

Just last month would have been Evelina’s twenty-second birthday.

He had so much more to give her now than that poorly stitched ribbon—the power to bring her home, not to a hut, but a warm house.

But she was gone.

“Haa.”

With a deep sigh, Cassion dragged a hand down his face.

Fatigue, shock, and loss had carved into him.

The emotion he thought he had lost while growing up—grief—now roared back to life.

***

“My lord! May I enter?”

The words were polite, but the man’s actions were anything but.

It was Jubin Onyx, commander of the 3rd unit of Pathsbender’s knights.

Whether he was knocking or trying to break the door down was anyone’s guess— he pounded on it with such force before barging in without pause.

“Oh, you’re alive?”

“Disappointed I’m not dead?”

“No, no, not at all, sir.”

Jubin scratched his messy hair as he dropped a stack of newspapers in front of Cassion.

“Clint said you looked like you were about to kick the bucket and spent the whole night wide awake.”

“All of you are insufferably cheeky.”

Cassion scoffed.

But there was no real annoyance or anger in his voice.

Thanks to parents who had abandoned not only their role as guardians but even their interest in their own lives, he had practically been raised by his retainers and the household staff.

So it was only natural that he maintained a rather casual relationship with those beneath him.

Especially with Jubin, who had grown up alongside him almost like a playmate—to the point that he often forgot their rank difference and got scolded by his father, the knight commander.

“When I heard you ordered every paper published in the capital this morning, I thought you’d finally lost it.”

Despite his words, the reason Jubin had brought the newspapers himself rather than sending a servant was simple—he was worried.

Cassion, who understood that without needing it to be said, took the stack and unfolded one of them.

And then—he burst into roaring laughter.

“Wh-What is it? Have you seriously lost your mind?”

Jubin flinched in alarm, but Cassion was already standing, pulling on his coat.

“Where are you going?! To the hospital?”

“Going to buy something.”

“Right now? What, did a shop open up that sells common sense?”

Cassion shoved the annoyingly persistent Jubin aside and kicked the door open as he walked out.

The newspapers scattered on the floor were from various publishers, but the headline on every front page read the same.

‘Tod Cambria Caught in Brazen Affair—While Married to the Princess.’