Duke, This Will Sting for a Moment (30 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 15

[Hmph. A joke? Does it look like a joke to your eyes?]

Airy thumped her tiny head against the tip of Ricarion’s staff. Verdant winds rippled around her fluttering translucent wings.

[Then kill me! Go ahead, try killing me!]

Ricarion glanced at Airy with weary disdain as she snapped back fiercely, then retrieved Gaius, the Sword of Earth.

Gaius, the Sacred Sword known as the Sword of Earth.

This staff-shaped sacred blade was crafted by Goddess Justera from a fine-grained tree felled in the “Forest Sea of Abundance,” capable of borrowing the power of the earth—on a small scale, summoning springs even in deserts, and on a grand scale, reshaping entire landscapes by manipulating tectonic layers at will.

The virtue required to be acknowledged as Gaius’s rightful wielder was “benevolence,” akin to that of Mother Earth herself.

Airy glared fiercely at Ricarion and fluttered upward, but was instantly snatched back by Gaius’s master, who reached out and seized her wings.

[If you’re Gaius’s master, you should act benevolent! Let go! You’ll tear my wings!]

“My benevolence and patience aren’t selective. You’re the one behaving as if you don’t deserve either.”

As if to confirm this wasn’t a joke, deep russet auras rippled from Ricarion’s fingertips gripping Airy’s wings.

The aura slowly spread along the delicate veins of her wings, horizontal and vertical alike, prompting Airy to squirm violently in alarm.

[Anyway, the Grand Duke is going to die! You’ve seen it yourself—now you know! Even with my power right now, I can’t fully heal him!]

“Whether he recovers completely or not doesn’t matter. Just keep him breathing.”

[Ugh! Fine! I get it! So stop already!]

When the aura began creeping toward her body, Airy could endure no longer and surrendered.

“You’ll die if you try to run away?”

[Tch. Ricarion, your real goal isn’t saving the Grand Duke—you just can’t stand seeing Yuriella cry, right?]

Airy pushed away Gaius’s lingering energy from her wings with emerald auras and scrutinized Ricarion suspiciously, narrowing her round, button-like eyes set in her tiny face.

‘Looks perfectly decent, yet so rotten inside, really.’

Though the Lord of the Magic Tower could freely alter his appearance before others, Airy always saw Ricarion exactly as he truly was.

Sometimes as a white-bearded elder whose beard brushed the ground at a hundred years old, sometimes as a sharp-tempered, silver-haired prodigy boy. Now he appeared before Yuriella as a simple, honest-looking coachman.

Ricarion Greco’s true form—as befitting the master of the Sword of Earth—was that of a swordsman with smooth, sun-kissed skin and a body as solid as stone.

His deep violet eyes, warm and gentle, never lost their serene smile; his straight nose and soft lips lent an air of sincerity so compelling that one would instinctively trust and follow whatever he said.

And yet—after he’d readily agreed to her request—she dared treat his kindness as an entitlement and threatened him to hand over her power!

[Enough already! Do you feel guilty because you led Solace to the Sword of Injustice? It was Flama who chose that girl! It wasn’t your fault Flama suddenly became a cursed blade, nor that the girl got her head chopped off by the Emperor! You already gave a nearly lost soul a beautiful vessel—that should’ve been enough! Why keep demanding payment like some debt collector?!]

“We don’t have time. Instead of jabbering nonsense, go help Yuriella.”

[Yuriella refused to contract with me, I told you!]

Airy pouted, sticking out her lips and sharply turning her head away.

That was the problem.

She’d expected Yuriella to accept gladly—but instead, Yuriella had rejected the contract outright.

Only after Airy repeatedly insisted her power would be useful in suppressing the Grand Duke’s illness did Yuriella reluctantly agree to borrow it for just a brief while.

And even then, she looked deeply reluctant!

She’d scrunched up her face in clear disgust!

That had pricked Airy’s pride fiercely—she’d generously offered something she didn’t even want to give, only to be stubbornly refused, leaving her utterly flabbergasted and offended.

“Yuriella probably just needed time to think things over.”

[Think? How dare she?! Hey, Lord of the Magic Tower—I’m Airy. Airy!]

How much could possibly be achieved with the Sword of Wind?

Any warrior would consider it an honor merely to glimpse such a blade once, yet she dared flatly reject the glory of becoming its master!

[Hmph! Now it’s my turn to refuse! You keep comparing me to Flama all the time!]

“Did Yuriella really compare you to Flama herself?”

Ricarion tilted his head skeptically.

[She did! Or she will! What if I can’t even find my original power or summon the Sword of Wind? How much would she look down on me and laugh then?!]

Five hundred years ago, when she sank into deep slumber, Airy had believed she’d never awaken again.

She’d carelessly shattered her once-useless, forgotten power into fragments and tossed them away haphazardly… yet she couldn’t recall where she’d thrown her core.

She’d hidden a mere speck of her soul—no bigger than a dust particle—at the farthest edge of the auroras beyond the Frost Sea, confident no one would disturb her rest. Now that very act was dragging her down.

In her current state, she couldn’t even sense the faintest trace of her original power. How utterly frustrating.

“Airy.”

Ricarion gently opened his palm, releasing her carefully, and whispered softly.

“You like Yuriella too, don’t you? That’s why you lent her your power and kept hovering near the inn.”

[No, I don’t!]

“Yes, you do. You like Yuriella. And you want to contract with her.”

The reclusive sage of the Magic Tower swept back his rich chocolate-colored hair and warmly crinkled his jewel-like violet eyes.

[D-don’t stare at me with those pretty eyes! I won’t fall for your tricks anymore!]

Ricarion stroked Airy’s fluffy, cabbage-like curls and shifted his gaze toward the room where Yuriella struggled against the Grand Duke’s demonic poison.

“Yuriella… Solace isn’t rejecting you. She just needs time to properly say goodbye to Flama.”

Even without looking, he knew exactly how much pain the girl must be in, tenderly cradling the bitter wounds she’d inflicted upon herself.

“After all, Solace never even got to properly part ways with Flama. Flama was her only friend, her other self—never leaving her side for even a moment… So, Airy, can’t you try to understand her a little?”

Ricarion remembered just how deeply Solace cherished and loved Flama.

Amidst the blood-soaked battlefield where the Emperor banished her, Flama had been Solace’s pride and dignity. Just as the blade protected her, she’d longed to protect it in return.

Whenever even a hint of unjust intent tainted a battlefield, she’d rather endure bone-shattering pain and hurl herself bodily into danger than ever draw that sacred blade.

So how shocked and heartbroken must she have been to see Flama spewing dark demonic poison? How guilty and devastated? It must have been unbearable for her to even feel sorrow over parting—so painfully difficult to let go.

Airy pouted cutely and fluttered onto Ricarion’s open palm.

[Ugh, I don’t know! Why do I have to be the one understanding?!]

Though grumbling, she ultimately fluttered toward Yuriella’s room—and Ricarion smiled faintly as he watched the spirit of the Sacred Sword depart.

Then he tapped his wooden staff against the floor, expanding the barrier he’d placed in the hallway.

Both Yuriella’s stepfather—returning from his daily visit to the Marquis’s estate, only to be startled by what he saw—and weary guests returning after long days froze in their tracks.

*

‘Ah, I nearly had a heart attack thinking I’d die.’

Seeing the Grand Duke peacefully asleep finally allowed her to breathe again.

“Airy. Thank you.”

As Airy lent her power, a potent healing aura enveloped the silver needles; wherever they pierced the wounds poisoned by demonic corruption, the dark-red, melting flesh began regenerating anew. His convulsions subsided, and his ragged breathing steadied.

[You promised to keep your word, right?]

Airy buzzed around my head, chattering loudly into my ear.

A semi-transparent contract hovered in midair, listing twenty-five obligations I now had to uphold:

1. Tell Airy “I love you” three times a day!

2. Never stay out overnight! If absolutely necessary, get Airy’s permission first!

3. Never flirt with any other Sacred Sword besides Airy! Don’t even glance their way!

The rest of the clauses followed the same pattern.

It felt less like contracting with a Sacred Sword and more like reading a marriage proposal from some obsessive nobleman in the romance novels palace maids loved. And the strangest clause was the very last one:

25. Absolutely, positively, never fall in love with the Grand Duke!

[You promised, so you MUST keep it! You signed it—now you can’t take it back!]

The contract, bearing my signature, rolled up in midair and melted into a tiny emerald speck that drifted into Airy’s hands.

What is this obsessive Sacred Sword?

Is she like those deranged dukes from imperial palace romance novels—those who harass and torment their lovers with mad jealousy?

Now that she mentioned it, those minuscule eyes set in her fingertip-sized face did seem slightly unhinged. Kinda creepy, honestly.

I’d agreed to the contract partly out of guilt for constantly borrowing her power for free, and partly out of gratitude seeing the Grand Duke’s color return…

“Airy. Hand me back the contract. Let’s remove clause 25.”

Airy instantly fluttered backward, hiding both hands behind her back.

[No! Clause 25 is the most important!]

“But it’s a completely unnecessary clause anyway, isn’t it?”

[It’s necessary! My master must become the wife of a man sturdier and more handsome-eyed than the Grand Duke!]

Like Ricarion, the reclusive Lord of the Magic Tower.

[It’s just a fake marriage anyway. Once his illness is cured, you’ll leave, Yuriella. You’ll surely meet a noble person if you head west!]

Ricarion’s Magic Tower is in the west. That noble person is worried about you and stands beside you even now—but that’s a secret.

[After all you suffered as Solace, you deserve to meet a kind, unburdened soul and live peacefully.]

Though he’s the one who jolted me awake and threatened to tear my wings, the Lord of the Magic Tower will live long. The Grand Duke might die any moment—and I’d be truly sad if my master became a widow with a broken heart.

[You understand me, right?]

Airy, her tiny eyes brimming with complicated thoughts, asked me.

“No.”

[Even if you don’t understand, listen to your elders. I’ve existed since the continent was born.]

Yeah, looking at you, Airy, really proves that growing older doesn’t necessarily mean becoming wiser.

“I appreciate your concern.”

(Truthfully, not one bit—but since you saved the Grand Duke, I’ll count it as gratitude.)

“Since we’ve signed the contract, could you please leave now? The Grand Duke absolutely needs rest. Once he regains consciousness, he’ll sense your presence—and wondering ‘what on earth is this thing?’ will only harm his health.”

Suddenly, the air in the room trembled; Airy vanished with a flutter, her wounded expression cutting through the air. I thought I heard a faint “Hmph.”

Is she sulking again? If she’s been around since the continent formed, just how old is she?

This is exactly why you can’t judge anything by appearances alone.

The Emperor looked like the most beautiful man under heaven—but beneath that gorgeous facade, he committed the atrocity of turning Flama into a cursed blade. He of all people knew better than anyone what Flama meant to me.

Ugh. Just remembering that bastard Emperor Justin again. Once his face pops into my head, it clings like glue—sticky and impossible to shake off.

“…Hmm.”

“My Lord! Are you awake?!”

“Yuriella…?”

“Yes! It’s me. Do you recognize me?”

The Grand Duke eagerly seized my outstretched hand, and just like that, the Emperor’s clinging image vanished as if it had never existed.

As the Grand Duke’s eyelids lifted, revealing cool blue eyes like the Northern Sea, my chest—tight with tangled thoughts—suddenly felt clear and light.

Exactly as expected.

Our Grand Duke truly wasn’t the master of the Ice Blade for nothing. His gentle smile toward me made my heavy heart flutter softly. From now on, whenever I feel angry or frustrated, I’ll just look into the Grand Duke’s eyes.

My heart fluttered with excitement—this new lord felt right from the very beginning.

*

The next day, in the Rose Garden of Blanca Casa, the Imperial Palace.

“Another failed assassination attempt?”

“Your Majesty…!”

Justin plucked a thorny rose expressionlessly, not even glancing at Aaron prostrated on the ground, whimpering over his unforgivable failure.

Already, crushed roses lay scattered across the floor—and crimson blood dripped steadily from His Majesty’s hand.

Seeing the blood fall right before his eyes, Aaron’s prostrate body flinched violently.

“Your Majesty, I’ll send the ravens again—”

“Those damn ravens, ravens. Say ‘raven’ one more time, and I’ll feed you to them.”

“I-I’ll select another capable agent from our ranks—”

“Enough. Prepare for travel—I’m heading north.”

“North, Your Majesty?”

“I hear Lord Frost has eloped in a thief’s wedding.”

“But the Grand Duke hasn’t even sent an official invitation. No one there would welcome you—”

“The bride was a wandering herbalist-dancer, wasn’t she? An illegitimate daughter of Marquis Grande.”

Justin wiped his bloodied hand with a handkerchief and curled his pretty lips into a cold smirk.

“I’m so curious about the woman my brother chose—I can’t sleep.”