Chapter 3
Jeril was running like a madwoman. She didn’t even know how long she’d been running before the gray silhouette of the museum finally appeared in the distance.
He’s not going to think I’m trying to get revenge for being stood up… right?
She didn’t know it, but that was exactly what was going through his mind.
Under the lamplight of the plaza, a long-legged figure sat with one leg crossed over the other.
“Hah… Carl, you’re still here. Haaah, I’m so sorry!”
“……”
“The hospital—huff—there was an emergency, I swear!”
Karon, who had been glaring at the silver-haired head bouncing toward him, slowly rose to his feet.
“…….”
“I really am sorry. I think I’m gonna throw up…”
Should I just kill her?
“I’ll definitely give you that tour of the capital…”
Or maybe I’ll just crush that tiny head of hers.
His fingers brushed the gun at his hip—but then he let his hand drop. A faintly artificial smile crossed his sharp face.
“It’s fine. Calm down first.”
She was panting so hard she looked ready to vomit on his shoes.
Oblivious to his annoyance, Jeril drooped her eyebrows in guilt.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry, Carl. You haven’t had dinner yet, right? Let’s eat first?”
“I know a good restaurant down a back alley. How about there?”
Both of their gazes turned toward the pitch-dark alleyway.
It looked like the kind of place where someone could die and no one would notice.
Jeril shook her head cheerfully.
“That place is awful! I know a better one—come on, I’ll take you!”
Karon’s face twisted oddly as he followed her.
There’s actually a restaurant in a place like that?
Unfortunately, it was late, and most places were already closed.
Except for one.
“…The décor’s a little… much, but they say the food’s good here! Haha.”
Sitting at a frilly pink table, Jeril was sweating bullets. Watching her companion’s face sour by the second was agonizing.
“Dinner Set A — ‘Sweetheart, I Want to Know Your Heart’ — enjoy your meal.”
The waiter recited the outrageous dish name with a straight face and turned away.
Embroidered on his back: Love Restaurant — For Lovers Only.
Silence fell. A long, suffocating silence.
Yep. He’s mad.
Jeril fidgeted, unable to bear it any longer.
“Um, Carl—what kind of things do you like? Seasons, food, that sort of thing.”
“……”
“I like spring the most. I can’t wait for May. I eat pretty much anything. Oh, and…”
She couldn’t stop talking. It almost felt like a blind date.
“I like small animals like rabbits or cats, I like plants, and I love when it snows.”
“……”
“And, um… I have a younger brother. I like him too.”
“You sure like a lot of things.”
Karon’s cold voice made her chuckle awkwardly. The waiter brought them ribbon-wrapped cutlery; Karon wanted to leave, but watching her flounder was oddly entertaining.
Once she finds out who I am, she might actually cry.
He wondered what her incessantly chattering mouth would look like twisted in fear.
“What about things you don’t like?”
Finally, he spoke! Grateful for the end of the silence, Jeril blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“I don’t dislike much. But if I had to pick—marriage meetings?”
“…Marriage meetings?”
He repeated the word, his voice suddenly low.
“Well, it’s not the meetings I hate—it’s the person.”
“Who?”
“You might not know since you’re foreign, but the other person was Duke Leppert.”
“And why do you dislike him?”
His tone was calm, but his eyes were unreadable. Jeril had no idea why.
“How could I not? He kills people so easily. He’s violent, cruel… and honestly, terrifying.”
And most importantly, he kills me.
She swallowed the words before they could escape. Karon’s cold laugh cut the air. None of what she’d said was false.
A monster who murdered without guilt—that was how everyone described the Duke.
What were you expecting? Everyone fears you.
The voice that hissed in his head sounded like a child’s scream. His madness stirred.
“You’re right,” Karon said slowly, nodding.
“Did you know? Even his parents abandoned him.”
“I… didn’t know that.”
In The Saint’s Blade Aims for the Crown Prince, the Duke’s backstory had never been told.
All it said was that the murderous Duke plotted rebellion and killed himself in the end.
But why had he killed himself?
She remembered the rebellion nearly succeeded.
“The family wanted a stronger heir to replace their weak eldest son—but the next child was a red mage. So they discarded him.”
“Because of the madness?”
“Yes. When it erupts, they can’t control who they kill. A perfect trait for a tyrant.”
Jeril’s expression softened with pity.
“You seem to know a lot about red mages.”
“Not really.”
“The first sign is a voice in your head.”
He pressed his ear with a grimace.
“The voice drags up every miserable memory you’ve ever had until it eats away your sanity. When it finally takes control—
that’s when the madness begins.”
“…”
“You can’t control what you say, what you do, or who you kill.”
“What happens then?”
“You destroy everything—objects, people, all of it.”
And when there’s nothing left?
Seeing her unspoken question, Karon let out a low laugh.
“Then only yourself remains.”
“That’s… horrifying.”
“Every red mage’s corpse is missing a head. They blow it off themselves when they can’t stand the voices anymore. Now you know why red mages don’t live past thirty.”
He wanted to rip his mouth open. Damn this madness—he couldn’t stop talking.
“Would you call that suicide… or murder?”
Maybe you should act more pitiful,
Who knows? Maybe she’ll pity you, unlike your parents.
The childlike screams in his mind were unbearable.
“…That kind of defective creature deserves to be thrown away early. The emperor and his wife made the right choice.”
“…”
“Don’t you think Duke Leppert’s a little pitiful?”
Jeril looked down, her face shadowed.
“He didn’t have a good childhood, that’s for sure.”
“He didn’t?”
Her own faint childhood memories surfaced—the ones she’d locked away.
[“Sis, what’s an orphan?”]
A reluctant adoptee and the biological child born after a difficult labor.
Her rich adoptive parents hadn’t looked at her once since her brother was born.
“It’s a cliché story. You resent your sibling for being loved without earning it, hate yourself for feeling that way… and then…”
Her lips trembled.
In her mind, the restaurant melted away. She was standing on a flight of stairs.
[“Sis, wait for me!”]
[“Don’t touch me!”]
Screech.
The sound of brakes burned through her skull.
Her own panicked scream echoed right after.
“It didn’t end happily.”
Her reflection wavered in the dark tea.
<system> [ Karma: 50 ] </system>
“Anyway, I do pity the Duke for his past. But I’m still afraid of him.”
“Why?”
“Because people can change. A sad past doesn’t excuse hurting others.”
She pushed the teacup away and glanced at his head—still no visible karma meter. That bothered her more than she’d admit.
“Change? No. Childhood shapes everything. No one escapes it.”
“You can’t change your past—but you can change your present.”
Blue and red eyes clashed.
Karon’s expression darkened; Jeril flinched.
“…Let’s stop this useless argument.”
He pressed his ear again, grimacing. If he listened any longer, he might really kill her.
He stood and strode out of the restaurant. Moments later, a waiter appeared.
“Dessert Set A — ‘Sweetheart, Thanks for Being Honest’ — here you go.”
“I don’t want it.”
“…”
Outside, Jeril spotted Carl gazing up at the night sky.
Bathed in the faint glow of the streetlamps, he looked like he might vanish at a touch—too slight for someone so dangerous.
“It’s late. I’ll take you to your carriage. We should part here.”
“There’s a great night view nearby—you should see it next time.”
With that, Jeril turned away, feeling she’d fulfilled her duty as his guide.
Tap, tap. Step, step.
A second pair of heavy footsteps followed.
“Why are you following me?”
“You’re walking alone through Dekia Alley? Less than a week after nearly getting murdered?”
She hated to admit it, but he was right. The darkening streets were perfect for an ambush.
“Help me!”
Like now.
A small figure suddenly appeared. Jeril lost her balance, and before she could fall, Karon grabbed her arm—gun already drawn.
A kid?
Jeril frowned, looking down. A boy, maybe ten, clung to her skirt before collapsing.
He was covered in bruises and fresh wounds.
“These are from a beating.”
“Looks that way.”
Jeril checked his pulse and laid a hand over one of the wounds, preparing to heal it.
“…Huh?”
But the magic wouldn’t sink in—it just… slid off.
Karon clicked his tongue, staring coldly at the boy’s head.
“Normal magic won’t work. Get up. He doesn’t need your help.”
“What?”
“Look at his hair. Red. He’s a red mage.”
Sure enough, the crimson color was fading, revealing his original shade. He must’ve used his power recently.
Healing magic rarely worked on red mages—or blue ones, for that matter.
“But I can’t just leave him. Look at those bruises! This is child abuse.”
“So what can you do about it?”
“At least heal him.”
“I told you—normal magic won’t…”
He stopped.
The boy’s bleeding had slowed.
This much should be fine.
It wasn’t blue magic—just her own healing energy. Even so, it was impressive.
But normal magic had limits. She could stop the bleeding, not close the wounds.
If only I could use blue magic… these injuries would vanish instantly.
Karon cursed under his breath and grabbed her wrist.
“If you don’t want to die from mana exhaustion, stop. He’s not worth it.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“He was abandoned, beaten—and he’ll grow into a monster. That’s the fate of a red mage!”
“I told you, that’s crap. There’s no such thing as fate!”
Jeril’s glare was sharp enough to cut.
“Is this about you?”
“What?”
“That story about Duke Leppert—wasn’t that actually your own childhood?”
“……”
“This child isn’t you. Don’t project your misery onto him.”
Silence filled the dark alley. The voices in Karon’s head screamed again.
Just kill her already.
He clenched his teeth and tilted his head back.
“Maybe it’s you who’s projecting your tragic childhood onto him.”
“You’re right.”
“……”
“You’re right. Childhood is the foundation of life. Maybe that’s why I live the way I do.”
Jeril knelt beside the boy, touching his broken leg gently.
His fragile warmth kept reminding her of her dying brother.
“People ask why I work at a children’s clinic that barely pays. Why I bother helping when nothing ever changes.”
Her fingers trembled; a faint blue light began to glow. She took a deep breath.
“I do it because things can change. So kids like him don’t grow up like you. Or like me.”
So they don’t become someone who kills a child out of jealousy.
“I’ll change things—so it never happens again.”
Her silver hair shimmered with streaks of blue.
Dekia Alley was known for being dark even at noon.
But for the first time, light spread across the place—slowly, yet bright enough to chase the shadows away.
It was blue magic—a power thought to have vanished a thousand years ago.
