Just a few days ago, Pellio, who had met Roberto, considered briefly consulting him about his feelings, which he kept to himself. But he refrained, fearing potential ridicule.

Taking over for the suddenly silent Pellio, Ermedillin advised Loony.

“What truth are you talking about? The Trebian Empire is vast. If you search a little, you’ll find many women prettier than me.”

Caught up in his thoughts, Pellio reacted unconsciously again.

“There are none! There are no…ugh!”

If there were a mouse hole, he would hide in it.

Pellio had always taken pride in his nature of not being able to bear incorrect statements, but not now. He disliked himself for being this way.

Ermedillin gave up on stopping Loony, who was of no help at all.

In the end, Loony was able to mock Pellio roughly 25 more times until the meeting was over.

As the meeting concluded and they were parting, Ermedillin gave Pellio a serious charge.

‘It doesn’t matter how much it costs. If another pandemic outbreak occurs in the capital, it would truly be a catastrophe. So don’t consider the cost and secure as many masks as possible. And of course, we can’t force people to wear them, so choose a good design as well.’

A perfect plea from an empress who genuinely cares for her people.

But at that moment, Pellio, seeing Ermedillin’s earnest expression, harbored a shallow hope that she might hold his hand.

Inside the carriage on the way back to his mansion.

Pellio was trapped in selfloathing. During a crucial meeting to prevent an epidemic, he was preoccupied with personal thoughts.

Rather than saving the people, he had been more focused on the fact that Ermedillin was sitting right beside him.

The Pellio of the past was a man filled with selflove derived from grounded confidence.

But inexplicably, in front of Ermedillin, he became shallow and stupid.

Moreover, she was the witch who killed his mother.

For the first time, Pellio despised himself. He condemned himself as dirty and ugly trash.

For him, love was not Roberto’s dreamlike emotion.

It was an ugly emotion that forced him to confront the depths of his being without reservation.

Finally, after several hectic days passed and a bit of free time emerged, Ermedillin went down to the basement and opened a magic book.

It had been bothering her that she had deflected Count Franshuar’s curse magic some time ago.
The soul had changed, so naturally, I thought there would be no need to use magic. But it seemed that the magical energy remaining in the flesh hadn’t disappeared.

‘If there’s still magical energy left, couldn’t I also learn to use magic?’

Of course, I had no intention of using magic to curse and kill someone like the original Ermedillin.

Even that detestable Valier, I’d prefer to coexist without animosity if possible as Ermedillin.

If I carelessly use magic and accidentally curse someone, no matter the good deeds, it will be hard to shake off the label of a witch.

‘But if these assassination attempts keep happening, there’s definitely a need to study.’

Since becoming Ermedillin, I’ve only faced two assassination attempts, but if memory serves, the official villain Ermedillin in the novel was almost killed at least six more times before being burned at the stake.

Of course, due to Ermedillin being an extremely powerful mage, she always managed to survive.

‘Switching souls…’

It was a magic I’d seen not long after the soul transfer.

I didn’t know who was transferred into whose body due to the previous owner’s sloppy handwriting, but it was clear she desperately wanted to complete this curse.

Ermedillin began studying this magic first and foremost.

‘What if this curse was a failed experiment? And Valier and I got caught in it?’

It was clearly written in the book that the experiment had failed, but what if it hadn’t completely failed?

What if they had just chosen the wrong souls?

‘Surely, both Valier and I came here after dying. There could be a connection. Then where did the original souls of Ermedillin and Valier go? Is that written here?’

With an anxious heart, I skimmed the last chapter I hadn’t dared look at before, and it seemed to make some sense.

The curse magic that I had initially rejected, saying, ‘This is totally like a zombie, right?’

‘Wow. It’s a magic that controls a body devoid of a soul…’

The method to control a soulless body was written, as well as forcibly separating a living person’s soul from their body.

‘Ah, up to this point, it seems she succeeded. It appears summoning the exact soul from the underworld is difficult.’

According to the book, a soul that has forcibly left its body would automatically seem to move in front of the gods’ judgment.

‘Did Ermedillin’s soul leave her body entirely? When I read possession novels, the original body’s memories seem to carry over, but somehow, I don’t know anything. It’s a huge relief that magical power remains in my body.’

And what followed were curses that lead to agonizing deaths.

I had meticulously memorized each just in case I got hit by some curse magic, but the violent content made Ermedillin feel nauseous.

This book seemed less like an academic text and more like a list of brutal and painful ways to kill people.

‘Ugh. Would people who like gore find this interesting to read? Why would anyone create such magic?’

As I read further, I understood.

Magic, even if it’s a curse, mainly depended on the lineage of the caster.

‘Right. Prince Pellio was also a mage, and so was Count Batistian.’

Inborn magical power flowing in the blood and aptitude for matching energy seemed necessary.

‘Huh? This body’s original owner must have been really smart.’

Additionally, a curse was completed using the caster’s blood and a spell, and it seemed that mages inherently had resistance against the powers they used.

If you’re a fire mage, you’d have resistance to fire; if you’re a curse mage, resistance to curses.

‘Because Duke Franshuar used a similar spell in his blood, it seems the magic reflexively bounced back, being too similar to the magic she used.’

I diligently took notes while studying and finally reached the chapter dealing with poison.

‘Ah, my throat hurts. My eyes are getting heavy. Should I stop reading?’
The moment Ermedillin’s zeal for studying began to wane, a scientific journal that horrified her caught her eye.

In the section dealing with poisons, the results of human experiments were meticulously noted, and atop the list of names was one name repeated over and over.

It was her own name.

According to the records, Ermedillin had been receiving injections of poison since she was seven years old.