“And still, His Grace chose a woman like you…”

The veins in Carlisle’s neck bulged, his teeth grinding audibly.

After the heretic incident, Shed had hunted for that woman like a madman. He had driven his unhealed body to ruin, forced through incomprehensible decisions.

Liana had ruined Shed Lester.

She had broken their master—once perfect, once noble. The man who had been impregnable as a fortress, left shattered and shaken to his core.

“Whose brat is that? Did you leave House Lester and sell your body?”

At Carlisle’s cutting sneer, Luise lifted her eyes sharply. She could endure the accusations aimed at her. But to insult her child—unforgivable.

“Mind your words, Sir Carlisle.”

“And who are you to give orders?”

A maid, daring to a knight.

“What else could a useless wretch like you do, once cast out, with nothing but that pretty face? Isn’t that your one talent?”

Luise curled her hand into a fist beneath her sleeve. Yet on her face, she offered only a smooth, flawless smile.

“Sir Carlisle, you are as consistent as ever.”

Polite, courteous words, without a flaw. But the weight carried in that single sentence was immense.

Carlisle bristled, about to retort—

“Sir Carlisle!”

A lively, cheerful voice cut between them.

Carlisle turned with irritation.

“Sir Hedrick.”

“What use is there in frightening a woman, ha ha.”

Luise remembered him. Years ago, when she had been chased by hounds in the forest, and met Shed again—he had been the knight accompanying him.

Unlike Carlisle, Hedrick gave off a gentler, brighter air.

“Sir Hedrick. You know as well as I do how this woman has brought disgrace on House Lester.”

“Even so, threatening a frail woman—what does that say of our honor as knights?”

Hedrick’s gaze flicked briefly toward Luise.

“Harvest season is almost here. Everyone’s busy. There’s no time to be standing around with idle chatter.”

With easy humor, he patted Carlisle’s shoulder.

Carlisle shot Luise a glare, his eyes as though ready to devour her whole, then spun sharply on his heel.

Hedrick scratched his head and spoke.

“Phew… You really should have run harder.”

“Yes…?”

“Even here, you’re not going to be treated well. That much is obvious. You should’ve held out longer.”

“Ah…”

“I mean—don’t take it the wrong way, Lady Liana. I don’t blame you. It’s just… things are a little uncomfortable on our side too. I just meant it’s a pity, that’s all.”

Luise stood blankly, dazed by Hedrick’s words.

Hedrick gave an awkward smile when he realized his mistake.

“I shouldn’t have said that. My apologies. Get some rest.”

He bowed respectfully and followed in Carlisle’s footsteps.

Luise stood rooted to the spot for a while, unable to move under the weight of her muddled feelings. Her head throbbed faintly.

She tried not to let people’s words affect her, but this time they clung to her mind like grimy debris on water.

Yet it wasn’t the crude insults that lingered most.

It was the other words that would not leave her.

Shed’s broken engagement. His loss of Aura. All things she had never heard before. Not once had Eclace mentioned them.

While she hid away on a small island, veiled from the world and chasing fleeting happiness, truths she had turned from were peeling back, one by one.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

The pen’s tip moved in slow, steady rhythm.

Shed’s gaze, sunk deep in thought, lingered on the thick file of documents spread across the desk.

They were records of dark magic he had not looked upon for some time.

‘…Could dark magic be passed on to a child?’

Setting the pen aside, Shed rubbed his face with a weary hand.

Holy power and Aura were not always inherited in full, but tendencies often were.

Children of those strong in holy power were generally born with it as well, which was why electors’ houses often produced High Priests—like Dietrich Lester and Giselle Marlhein.

Aura followed a similar pattern, giving rise to the saying that Sword masters were born through bloodlines. Though, at times, anomalies like Shed himself had appeared.

‘But there are no records of dark magic being inherited.’

Pressing his forehead, he propped his head against his hand.

The heretics recorded in history had either died before bearing children, or been executed before it could be known whether the power passed to their child.

‘There are no records, but if it’s like holy power or Aura… then surely dark magic would follow the same pattern.’

If Dietrich Lester heard such words, his eyes would gleam with madness and fascination.

The very term dark magic weighed heavily on him. In irritation, Shed slammed the file shut.

‘Luise… what were you thinking, bringing a child into this…’

He remembered the look in her eyes as she looked upon Eve.

That same look from long ago—warm, loving.

It was as if Eve’s very existence had turned her back into the girl she had once been. And so, he could not bring himself to shatter it.

“Haa…”

Shed exhaled a long sigh, casting his gaze out the window to cool his tangled thoughts.

At that moment—

“Ah, Mister…!”

“Eve…?”

Outside the window—at the height of the second floor—there she was.

He thought his eyes deceived him. There was no way that brat could be at such a height…

“I’m scared…”

But it wasn’t a mistake. The little one was dangling from an orange tree, trembling all over.

How on earth had she climbed so high at her age? Perhaps a Lupus child might manage it, but ordinary children struggled even with stairs, let alone trees.

“Eve, get down this instant…!”

Shed flung the window open and shouted.

“I can’t…!”

Her tiny hands clutched the branch desperately, like a cat stuck up a tree, unable to come down.

“D*mn it…!”

Children!

It was too far to reach with his hand, and no chance of leaping across.

“Hold on tight!”

Shed bolted out toward the garden. By then, the servants had already gathered under the orange tree, wringing their hands in panic.

And then—

“Ah, ahhh!”

Before Shed could even reach the tree, Eve’s grip gave way.

“Mommy!”

Her petite figure tumbled from the tree.

‘D*mn it!’

Shoving aside the servants, Shed rushed forward, arms outstretched. Snatched from the air—her body fell squarely into his arms.

Feeling that tiny frame against him, relief slipped unbidden from his lips.

“What in the world were you doing up there…!”

But before he could speak, Eve wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.

Her small head pressed into his shoulder, the platinum strands of her hair — so like Luise’s — brushing softly against his nape.

The trembling of the frightened child stayed his rebuke. He roughly raked his hand through her tangled hair.

What on earth was he doing?

“Why did you climb up there?”

His palm, broad enough to cover her whole back, patted her gently.

Eve lifted her little chin, quivering like a walnut shell.

“A bird fell down…”

“A bird?”

Eve pointed a tiny finger up into the tree.

Between the branches, a small nest was visible.

“I went hoo—and brought it home…”

So she had climbed all the way up there just to return a fallen bird? At barely three years old?

For a fleeting moment, Shed thought of how much Luise must have struggled raising her.

“Something like that, you should leave to the adults—”

He broke off mid-scold when he caught sight of her cheek.

The scratch she had received from the branches as she fell was closing before his very eyes — healing at an astonishing rate.

He immediately glanced at the gathered servants, then drew the child tightly against his chest and pressed her face into his.

“I’ll take her for a while.”

Covering Eve’s face, he strode quickly toward the study.

The moment the door closed, he let out a sharp breath.

“Haa.”

He set Eve down on the armchair, having kept her held fast in his arms.

Sensing something strange in him, Eve darted her eyes around nervously.

“Mister, why?”

Shed pressed a hand to his forehead as he looked at the child staring up at him with such innocent bewilderment.

“Your cheek. The scratch—it healed right away.”

Her cheek, once lightly marked, now showed no sign of injury at all.

“Eek!”

Eve gasped and slapped a tiny hand over her cheek.

“This is a secret!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, straining as though trying to hold something back. Perhaps she believed that if she concentrated, the healing would slow.

But the wound was already gone.

‘I can’t just sit by and watch this.’

Shed rubbed the calloused tip of his finger across his brow.

“You still can’t control that power, can you, brat?”

“I’m not a brat! I’m Eve!”

Thinking he was dismissing her for not controlling it properly, Eve snapped back more sharply than usual.

“Answer the question.”

He pressed closer, inspecting her for other injuries.

At last, Eve’s little cherry-like lips pouted, her voice hesitant as she confessed.

“Mommy told me to keep it secret.”

“I already know. You can tell me.”

Shed locked eyes with her, and Eve gripped the hem of her soiled dress tight.

“…Mommy told me to endure it, but I don’t know how.”

For the first time, the shoulders of the usually bold and fearless child sagged with defeat.

For those branded heretics with the power of demons, regeneration was an instinctive reflex, as natural as breathing.

Even without the will to wield heresy, the body regenerated on instinct: a desperate craving for life and a power to survive.

It was like trying to hold back a sneeze or a cough. Possible, yes — but never easy. And never always.

To hold it back required practice and training.

‘But to practice… she’d have to be hurt first.’

Because only then could the process of healing be resisted.

Yet Luise could never bring herself to wound Eve deliberately, even for his sake. So there had been little chance for practice at all.

‘You dote on her to an extreme.’

Shed sneered as he recalled how Luise cherished Eclace’s daughter.

Was she truly planning to guard this secret to the end with such a naive approach?

Straightening, Shed rose from where he had been facing Eve.

“Brat.”

“I told you, I’m not a brat!”

“Stubborn, just like your mother.”

Luise, too, had been stubborn to the core.

Fragile in appearance, but never one to bend.

“No! I take after Daddy!”