Surely There's One to the Princess' Taste (9 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 6

Prodia opened the envelope stamped with the Imperial crimson seal.

It was an official decree issued throughout the empire.

She and Irtis read the letter together.

[To all applicants wishing to participate in the Aivem Empire’s Imperial Consort Selection Tournament:

You must comply with the following before the tournament begins:

Undergo the Rite of Confession and Oath.

Location: The Grand Temple.

Failure to comply will result in disqualification from the tournament.]

Irtis’s expression instantly crumpled as he read the letter.

“The Grand Temple?”

There was no helping it.

They were being told to go to the Grand Temple and perform the ritual.

For a mage, entering the Grand Temple was harmful—magic and divine power clashed with each other.

Prodia was just as troubled.

She thought she understood what this decree truly meant.

“…They intend to filter out the unworthy before the tournament even begins.”

Her eyes were fixed on Irtis as she spoke.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Irtis pointed at himself with his finger, taken aback.

“You don’t mean *I’m* one of those ‘unworthy’ people, do you?”

“Well… you are one of them.”

“Huh?”

Irtis looked utterly incredulous.

“Excuse me? Who was it that made a contract with an ‘unworthy’ mage?”

“It’s not because you’re a mage.”

She picked up the letter and pointed to a specific line.

[Rite of Oath.]

“What kind of oath would the Imperial family require right before the tournament?”

Their eyes met.

Even without her saying it aloud, Irtis seemed to grasp the answer.

“…They’re trying to prevent risks.”

Most likely, they’d demand an oath swearing not to harm the empire or the Imperial family.

Prodia nodded. She’d clearly come to the same conclusion.

“Not everyone participating will genuinely aim to become the Imperial Consort. This will reduce the number of competitors. However…”

She placed the letter on the table and glared at Irtis.

“My contractor will also find it difficult to join the tournament now.”

Kkh.

Irtis was furious but had no retort.

In truth, his mind was still filled with thoughts of vengeance.

He wanted nothing more than to immediately slit the throat of the Master of the Magic Tower who had deceived him.

His strength had long surpassed that of the old man—it wouldn’t be difficult at all.

But if that old man died, the truth Irtis sought would be buried with him.

So there was nothing he could do.

For now, he intended to enter the tournament, crush everyone, and somehow claim victory.

Afterward, he planned to take revenge on those who abandoned him—his so-called parents.

Yet now, everything—both this and that—was being blocked.

“Be patient and endure it?” Patience had never existed in Irtis’s dictionary.

Besides, an Imperial Consort? Becoming the princess’s puppet husband, stripped of all autonomy?

Just the thought of having to participate in that tournament wounded his pride so deeply it drove him mad.

And now they expected him to go to the Grand Temple and stand before the Divine?

How much longer did they expect him to endure?

He couldn’t contain his boiling rage.

Blood droplets dripped from his tightly clenched fist.

Prodia watched him silently for a moment, then sighed.

‘This one’s going to be quite difficult to tame.’

She stepped closer to Irtis and firmly grasped his hand.

“What’s this?”

Irtis snapped, his voice sharp with suspicion.

But Prodia didn’t flinch at all.

She pulled out a white handkerchief and gently wrapped it around his bleeding hand.

Flinch.

Irtis felt something unfamiliar.

No one had ever so casually touched his body before.

Of course—why would anyone willingly place their fingers near a sharp blade?

The red blood slowly seeped into the white handkerchief.

Something inside his chest seemed to spread as well. It felt strange.

Prodia spoke to him.

“Use healing magic, quickly.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Are you really going to keep being so stubborn?”

“What…?”

No one had ever nagged at him like this before—it felt odd.

Irtis stared coldly at Prodia.

But instead of being intimidated, she went even further.

“Was calling our Archmage ‘stubborn’ a bit too harsh?”

This woman was clearly provoking him on purpose.

“Don’t call me Archmage—it’s embarrassing.”

Prodia met his eyes directly and said,

“Understood, Irtis.”

“!”

Again.

The moment she spoke his name, that soft, fuzzy feeling spread through his chest once more.

This, too, was unfamiliar.

How long had it been since someone called his name without a trace of fear in their voice?

Even when the Master of the Magic Tower had called his name, it hadn’t felt like this.

Unconsciously, Irtis found himself staring blankly at Prodia.

She gave him a gentle smile and added,

“I originally planned to start training right away, but that won’t work. How about we begin with a special lesson first, Irtis?”

[This is the timeline separator]

Inside the Count’s manor, there was a large room set aside specifically for tournament training.

Under Prodia’s instructions, Irtis had been… for a full hour…

meditating.

Seated cross-legged on a cushion with his eyes closed, Irtis looked like a painting.

But soon enough, as if by natural course, he began dozing off.

Prodia struck his shoulder for the sixth time with the bamboo clapper she held.

Thwack!

“Guh!”

Irtis jolted awake in shock.

Behind the sharp impact, exotic meditation music played softly.

Woooooo eeeeeeeeng~

He frowned.

‘Where on earth did she get that kind of music?’

It didn’t calm the mind—it dragged you straight into dreamland.

From behind him, Prodia spoke calmly.

“Wake up properly while I’m still being nice.”

“You weren’t being nice to begin with.”

“Close your eyes again—and quietly inhale, then exhale—.”

Irtis’s temper flared.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Prodia continued,

“Release all the wrong thoughts within your heart.”

“…”

A sudden realization hit him. What am I even doing here?

He wanted nothing more than to overturn everything and return to the Magic Tower.

But he knew perfectly well he couldn’t do that.

Moreover, if he went to the Grand Temple like this, everything would be exposed during the Oath Rite.

That he harbored murderous intent toward the tournament.

Because during that rite, lying was impossible.

Those priests always claimed, “The Divine sees all.”

But Irtis knew the truth was different.

It was the holy relics.

The Grand Temple possessed sacred relics capable of discerning truth.

Therefore, at the very least during the rite, he couldn’t harbor any murderous thoughts in his heart.

But this so-called meditation—or whatever it was—was truly too difficult.

No, he was just sleepy.

He’d never succumbed to any sleep magic before, yet now he was this drowsy. It was really…

“Kuuuul—.”

Thwack!

“Ugh!”

The bamboo clapper struck his neck again.

“Once more—steady your mind—.”

Indeed, that fuzzy feeling he’d experienced earlier toward Prodia was definitely not excitement—it was pure anger.

‘She’s like a demon instructor.’

Irtis suppressed his boiling frustration and closed his eyes again.

Several days passed in this manner.

[This is the timeline separator]

“Did you sleep well?”

Prodia greeted Irtis as he entered the manor’s dining hall for breakfast.

“…Yeah. You too?”

Irtis responded unusually meekly.

Moreover, his gaze seemed slightly different from before.

It carried a sense of resignation—as if he’d let go of everything.

Prodia caught this instantly with hawk-like eyes.

‘Good. The training’s working.’

This was all thanks to the special regimen Irtis had undergone.

For the past few days, Prodia had made him do incomprehensible things.

She called it “mind training.”

Making him repeatedly write the word “endure,” suddenly ordering him to brew tea out of nowhere.

She’d forced him into strange contorted exercises and made him walk barefoot on soil during walks.

Irtis complained bitterly.

“Does this really make me more patient? Aren’t you just a fraud of a strict teacher?”

“You still have anger lingering inside. We’ll do one more set of mind training.”

The training even continued during meals.

Prodia emphasized to him,

“With every grain of rice you chew, say ‘thank you.’”

“Do you eat like that normally?”

“No? Would you stay up all night if I did?”

“Ha….”

And before bed, Irtis had to write a diary reflecting on his day.

‘Am I a child or something…’

He’d even had to submit it to Prodia for inspection, which stung his pride.

In return, Prodia stamped it with a strange seal depicting two smiling children.

“Very well done, Irtis.”

“Why does being praised feel so awful?”

“I’ll add another set.”

This was driving him insane.

What did any of this have to do with controlling murderous intent?!

Yet strangely, after rolling through this routine for several days, his mind felt lighter.

His inner self seemed to whisper,

“What good is revenge? What good is killing…?”

In just a few days of special training, the Magic Tower’s rabid dog had turned into a docile puppy.

Prodia looked at Irtis and nodded in satisfaction.

‘Hmm, good. We should head to the Grand Temple today. Anyway, this effect won’t last more than a few days.’

People don’t change easily.

It was a very practical judgment.

She had to get it done before the effect faded—passing the Oath Rite was all that mattered.

‘After that, whether he causes chaos at the tournament or not doesn’t matter. As long as he wins.’

She grinned and said,

“Irtis, how about we go to the Grand Temple today?”

“Today…?”

Irtis’s expression instantly stiffened.

Noticing his reaction, Prodia asked,

“Is there a problem? I thought it best to perform the rite while the training’s effect is strongest.”

Irtis quickly masked his expression and replied casually,

“No, let’s go.”

“…Alright. Then we’ll depart as soon as you’re ready.”

But Prodia couldn’t shake a nagging unease.

Something about Irtis’s reaction felt off.

Then suddenly, a thought struck her.

‘Wait. Irtis is a mage, right? Magic power and divine power…’

Don’t they clash?

She called out to Irtis.

“Irtis, I have a question.”

“What?”

“What happens when someone with magic power enters a sacred area?”

Irtis let out a small, mocking laugh.

“They get side effects and fall ill.”

“You…! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”

She cried out in shock, but Irtis acted as if it were nothing.

“At worst, you just get a slight fever.”

“Have you ever been to a sacred area?”

“No. But mages who’ve been there say it’s no big deal.”

Then for Irtis—an Archmage—it surely wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Still, Prodia remained worried about him.

As if reading her thoughts, Irtis reassured her once more.

“You haven’t forgotten who I am, have you? A little fever? I’ll just use healing magic.”

“If it ever feels too much, tell me. We can wait a few more days.”

“Since when do you worry so much about me? Kinda makes me happy.”

“Of course I worry. You’re my contractor.”

“Then trust your contractor. Let’s leave right away today.”

With that, Irtis gave her a confident smile.

Seeing his smile, Prodia felt a little more at ease.

‘Right. Irtis isn’t just any mage—he’s the strongest Archmage of the Magic Tower. He’ll be fine.’

At that moment, she truly believed nothing would go wrong.

But that was exactly why it shouldn’t have been allowed.