77. Reason to Live

2023.12.16.

Leaving behind Lancelot, who cried out in surprise, Clade Euphris stood before the outer wall of the detached residence, which had become so beautifully transformed in just a few months that its former appearance was no longer recognizable.

The wind blowing from the White Forest passed coldly over those standing before it.

The tendrils facing the wind struck the outer wall noisily.

The tip of the long sword in Clade Euphris’s hand pointed directly at the stems of those leaves.

The gentle, rich sound of rustling leaves instantly turned into screams.

“Clade!”

Lancelot screamed.

Clade hesitated not even for a moment.

The movement that began with utmost elegance gradually grew cruel and violent.

The merciless blade savagely slashed through the vines and lush leaves that had wrapped around the wall.

The green growths fell to the ground in disarray, like severed heads of executed criminals.

Beyond the brutal execution site, the fading sunset spread outward in a cruel hue, like the blood they had spilled.

Even Lancelot, and even Eddie, could do nothing but stare in shock at the horrifying traces piling up on the dirt.

No one could stop Clade Euphris’s sword. It was as if an untouchable aura surrounded Clade, preventing anyone from approaching.

“There’s no need for commotion.”

Finally, a cold voice emerged from among the severed vine corpses.

“Everything has simply returned to where it belongs.”

“Returned to where?”

Lancelot pushed aside the dazed Eddie and rushed forward toward Clade. His pale face shone desperately toward Clade.

“Then—does this mean it’s fine like this? You don’t need to rush to save your wife?”

“Why should I?”

Clade’s response was icy. Lancelot opened his mouth once, then clenched his jaw as if making up his mind. His voice was full of conviction.

“You love her, Clade.”

As Eddie flinched, ready to spring forward as if at a demon’s face, Lancelot blocked him and glared at the expressionless Clade before speaking again.

“You love her. Is this really okay?”

For a moment.

Clade burst into laughter.

With a pristine face, he laughed brightly for a while, then briefly twisted it toward Eddie as if he had just heard a terrible joke.

“Hey, Eddie Rev. What nonsense is your younger brother spouting now?”

“Don’t avoid it, Clade. Please!”

Lancelot desperately shouted at Clade’s back as he turned to walk back toward the mansion.

Clade’s relentless footsteps halted, and his sharp face turned toward him.

Others might be more accustomed to Clade’s demeanor, but Lancelot was different.

To Lancelot, Clade now seemed more precarious than he had been on any day in the past ten years.

Except for his dazzlingly clean face, everything else was abnormal.

The twisted, shadowed smile was unmistakably Clade’s—but its depth was different.

“You love her! Clade Euphris! You love your wife!”

Finally, Clade’s hand tightly gripped Lancelot’s collar.

The sturdy body of a man who had even received knighthood was effortlessly pulled right up to Clade’s face in an instant.

Clade’s glassy, jewel-like eyes met Lancelot’s teary ones head-on.

“I said I don’t do love.”

“Clade.”

“You, of all people, who know better than anyone why I’ve barely dragged myself through life until now—how can you say such things?”

Clade released Lancelot as if throwing him aside, then turned his head toward Marquis Rev, who had remained silent, swallowing hard.

The Marquis, who had been tracing the red, raw flesh now exposed on the detached residence’s outer wall, looked up blankly at Clade, startled by the sudden looming shadow.

A cold, lifeless face loomed before his eyes.

The Marquis recognized the object Clade extended toward him—the ring of the late Empress Eleonore.

He immediately understood the meaning of the ring, meant for the new bride, returning to him.

A low, firm voice poured down upon the stiffened Marquis Rev.

“Nothing will change. Only one thing is different.”

“Your Highness.”

“The fact that I will receive the title of Count Roxenhardt.”

***

As butler Gustav began directing the servants, the atmosphere of the mansion gradually settled.

The three men who had followed Clade into his bedroom were drawn to the anemone blossoms rolling across the floor like the vines outside.

Soon, Clade casually stepped on the flowers as he took his place, prompting Marquis Rev to cautiously step forward.

“Your Highness. What do you mean by that? Does this mean you will receive the title of Count Roxenhardt as planned, regardless of the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“The wedding? What wedding? Clade, did you actually plan to hold a formal ceremony with that woman? Father kept it secret even from us?”

Eddie Rev abruptly inserted himself between Marquis Rev and Clade.

Eddie Rev, confused by Lancelot’s love talk, Clade’s sudden mention of the title, and the completely unexpected news of a wedding, was at a loss.

Lancelot quietly pulled Eddie’s arm. He had no desire to deal with his brother’s conflict with their father right now.

“Let’s just hear him out first.”

“Fine. Let’s hear it. Forget the damn wedding talk—so you’re claiming the title of Count? Of course, we always hoped you’d inherit it someday, but so suddenly? If you’re doing this out of anger, it would be better to wait. It hasn’t even been long since you nearly got poisoned. To properly inherit the title and rights and act accordingly, you must proceed step by step. The royal family’s suspicion toward you must be significantly reduced before you reenter the world.”

“How long would that take?”

“As long as it takes! For your safety—”

“Ten years? Twenty years?”

Clade laughed coldly.

“When I was a monster, I had all the time in the world. But not anymore.”

“What do you mean, not anymore?”

“You think I’m claiming the title out of anger? Do you really believe my reason for living is just some woman?”

Clade sneered, and his face shone anew—flawless, like perfectly clean marble, without even a faint blemish.

Eddie was very familiar with Clade’s scornful expression, yet at the same time, it felt utterly alien.

Clade began unbuttoning the golden buttons of his tailored uniform one by one.

The sunset pouring through the window dyed the white shirt like red watercolor paint.

As Clade’s hands moved, the shirt slowly opened from the neck down, gradually revealing his body—a body they had never properly seen in ten years.

The three men’s gazes followed Clade’s fingertips.

Eddie Rev, who had been frowning, gradually widened his eyes in shock.

This was because the body revealed beneath the perfect face had completely erased the dark, half-sided curse.

“…The curse is gone?”

Following Eddie, Marquis Rev approached Clade, unable to hide his astonishment.

But what caught the Marquis’s attention was not the body freed from suffering.

“Your body—why is it like this?!”

Though the cursed body now glowed pale, it was horrifyingly covered in scars.

This was not the body of someone who had passively remained confined to a bedroom for ten years.

Nor were these marks from a few falls or tumbles. These were clearly cuts and gashes from sharp objects.

They ranged from old scars to fresh ones that appeared to have healed only a few months ago. It was no wonder Marquis Rev’s eyes flared with alarm.

“Won’t you explain? What on earth are all these scars?!”

The Marquis frantically circled Clade, inspecting every inch of his body.

Clade Euphris’s lean body was densely packed with back muscles.

His broad shoulders looked exceptionally solid at a glance.

Moreover, his sides were intricately defined with fine muscles—a body forged through countless trainings, belonging to a warrior who had actually fought on battlefields.

Not a body artificially built for show, but one hardened by real combat.

It was simply unbelievable.

“What in the world—Lancelot, do you know anything about this?”

Eddie, following the Marquis in examining Clade, raised his voice in outrage.

Lancelot, who had been uneasy since Clade silently took the sword from Eddie’s waist, now looked suspicious. An explanation was needed.

At that moment, the dark wooden floor began vibrating with heavy thuds. Clade had kicked aside the rocking chair and pointed the tip of the sword he held toward the floor.

With a single motion, the thick carpet was sliced open, revealing a hidden door in the wooden floor, which appeared more damaged than the surrounding area.

Clade’s firm boot effortlessly pried open the gap and pushed it open.

With a putrid stench, a pitch-black monster, as large as three grown men combined, sprang up like a spring.

It resembled a kangaroo that had been completely charred black.

Eddie, reflexively stepping in front of Clade to protect him, realized too late that the sword at his side was already in Clade’s hand—and wore a crestfallen expression.

Just as he resolved to sacrifice one arm to protect Clade,

the dark, grotesque beast’s head was cleanly severed before his eyes, and red blood gushed out.

The foul stench spread throughout the bedroom.

And there, standing boldly with monster’s blood smeared on his pale cheek, was Clade.

“It can’t be.”

Eddie Rev, peering through his thin-rimmed glasses, absorbed every detail of the unbelievable scene unfolding before him.

The ancient, accumulated scars on Clade’s body, freed from the curse. The body hardened like a seasoned general’s.

The effortless motion that had cleanly severed the monster’s head in a single move.

And the sharp vibration of the blade—something he could now clearly feel even from a distance.

“Could it be… you’ve become a Sword Master?”

“……”

“Explain. Clade, Lancelot. What in the world have you been doing in this room for the past ten years?!”