Chapter 4

And Beatrice glanced behind her, hoping someone might be there.

Erich sneered quietly.

“My goodness, Honey. Don’t pretend you’re clueless. It’s annoying.”

Beatrice responded calmly.

“No matter when, you’re the only one who could ruin my appetite.”

“…”

“So where did it appear?”

“Chest.”

Beatrice did not immediately rise and tear open Erich von Schwert’s shirt hem. She had played out the scenario in her head, though.

Instead, she took out a cigarette, lit the end, and inhaled the forget-me-not-scented smoke deeply, feeling her sharpened nerves calm a little.

Her vision expanded.

Blinking, she took in the scenery beyond Erich von Schwert. They were currently sitting face-to-face in the drawing room of the Schwert ducal residence.

The wallpaper, elegant molding, high ceiling, bookshelves packed up to the top, and neatly arranged furniture gave the space a refined, antique feel.

She only now noticed that, besides the cat and rabbit, there was a teapot and teacups on the table.

The two unused teacups had somehow survived the animals’ mischief.

Beatrice slowly exhaled smoke and focused on the man again.

The fact that she hadn’t properly surveyed her surroundings until she smoked was, well, not surprising. Erich von Schwert was someone who dominated the space just by existing.

Being wary of the strong was an unavoidable survival instinct.

Wherever they were, Beatrice could not take her eyes off that man and would always focus on him.

It was an unpleasant mechanism.

Beatrice tousled her hair and met Erich’s gaze directly. Through the hazy smoke, his dark blue eyes shone coldly as always.

She used to desperately wish to strip away that coldness and see the sincerity inside… 

Beatrice quickly brushed away the thought that suddenly came to mind. Then, after another deep breath, she blew a donut-shaped ring of smoke.

Erich, who had been waiting quietly, finally spoke. His neat lips twisted slightly.

“Don’t think I’m happy about this development, Beatrice Winter. But if you look like you’re dying, I get hurt, too.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Should I bring a mirror?”

Beatrice chuckled and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“If someone takes s*x with an ex-lover lightly, that’s a problem in its own way, isn’t it?”

“Think positively. It’s already a familiar c*ck.”

“Yeah, I remember it was annoyingly big and annoyingly difficult. Thank you so much, Your Highness.”

Beatrice cut him off with a gesture.

“If you need s*x, I’ll do it. I’m not about to let you die. After all, this is the Ivory Tower’s mistake.”

“A very exemplary leader.”

“I think we’re at least that close. If the situation were reversed, you’d have s*x for my sake, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?”

“…I suppose.”

“What’s with the hesitation, you heartless bastard. I get hurt too.”

Erich snorted.

Beatrice slowly stood and circled the table. As she approached, Erich waited with an indifferent expression.

“Excuse me.”

Standing before him, Beatrice slowly slid her hand down and began to unbutton his shirt one by one.

Tap. Thud.

The sound of fabric creasing and smoothing.

Erich did not stop her hand. He only fixed his gaze on her face.

Beatrice tried to read his mood, but her eyes were caught.

Eye contact from a distance was nothing compared to eye contact right up close—it was far more intense. Feeling like she was sinking into the depths, Beatrice nearly fumbled her fingers.

The effects of the cigarette became useless; her relaxed body began to tense up again. Without taking her eyes off the black pupils in the abyss, Beatrice kept sliding her hand.

Tap.

The sound of buttons coming undone.

Finally, the shirt opened enough to reveal the “name” Erich von Schwert had mentioned. Seeing the scene on his solid chest, Beatrice raised one eyebrow.

[Beatrice Winter]

Her name. Her handwriting. As if she had signed this stubborn man herself. Overcome by curiosity, Beatrice touched the brand.

But the moment her fingertip touched the letters—

The man, who had been watching with cold composure, reacted roughly. His heart began to pound fiercely, and his throat visibly moved.

When Beatrice, startled, withdrew her hand and touched again,

“…That’s enough.”

His voice was low.

“You just wanted to check if your name was really there, didn’t you?”

“That’s true.”

The hand that grabbed her wrist and broke contact was hotter than expected. As she slowly pulled away, she finally noticed the situation between the man’s thighs.

Erich von Schwert was aroused.

* * *

Perhaps she was embarrassed, or perhaps the changed mood was uncomfortable. Beatrice left the drawing room quickly, only saying she’d return in a week.

She didn’t even think to take the rabbit.

Only after returning to the Ivory Tower did Beatrice realize she had left behind her precious research subject.

Not wanting to go back, she sent a concise note.

[Don’t touch my rabbit.]

And Erich von Schwert replied,

[It’s already my dinner.]

He sent a reply that scratched at her nerves.

Beatrice pondered the truth of the message and snorted, remembering how the man always softened in front of his cat.

As always, he was someone who ruined her appetite.

* * *

Beatrice abandoned her plan to overturn the Ivory Tower’s security department with a bitter smile. There was no benefit to the fact that the head of Schwert was cursed becoming public.

Neither for Schwert nor for the Ivory Tower.

So she held back her urge to severely punish the security department’s sorcerers and locked herself in the library.

Just like the “Name” curse, the removal spell was also an ancient sorcery of unknown origin. So theoretically, the “Name” curse could be removed.

At least in theory.

She spent two of seven days verifying if the removal spell would really work.

On the morning of the third day, as Beatrice searched the warehouse to prepare the removal spell, she was flustered.

Three of the seventy-seven key ingredients for the spell were missing.

Mermaid’s tears. None.

Lightning-struck jujube wood. Also none.

Black dog’s tooth. This too, none.

“There’s nothing here, seriously!”

Grinding her teeth, Beatrice called the supply department manager and became even more frustrated.

“But the war is already over, isn’t it?”

When she rubbed her forehead, the stout-looking sorcerer tried to smooth things over.

“Um, Tower Master, we refill these materials for such spells once every half year. That’s the rule.”

“I thought it was quarterly?”

“Elder Oliver said quarterly was too frequent and costly. So… we extended the cycle…”

“……”

“The elder said he already got your approval.”

She hadn’t received such notice. And she would never approve such a thing.

Recalling the elder with the boldest face among the Ivory Tower’s elders, Beatrice sighed again.

She knew the elders disliked her, but she hadn’t expected to see it manifest like this.

“So, um, what should we do, Tower Master?”

“What do you mean, refill them.”

“Understood! I’ll place the order right away!”

The ambitious sorcerer returned that evening, only to report that those three ingredients had been out of stock for months.

Beatrice sighed yet again and ordered a check of all night markets and black markets.

She checked herself, too.

Nothing.

She thought she might at least find lightning-struck jujube wood, but even that was unavailable.

Beatrice ran around desperately, knowing that if things continued, she would end up under Erich von Schwert.

She obtained imperial approval to check the imperial warehouse, visited various guilds, and even checked the homes of famous antique collectors in the capital.

Nowhere.

After letting the promised week slip by, Beatrice trudged toward the Schwert ducal residence.

Her steps were both the humble footsteps of someone who failed to solve the problem and the heavy steps of someone who knew what was about to happen.

After passing through the strict seven gates and finally entering the mansion, the head butler of the Grand Ducal House, Albert, rushed toward her as if he’d been waiting.