I Refuse This Life, Your Highness! - Chapter 106

The Duke’s eyes widened.

“…Yuraine.”

He looked at me as if witnessing a sight he’d never seen before. He understood my refusal instantly. His expression was not one of anger or frustration. If I may dare to describe it… reverence. The Duke looked at me with an expression of awe.

I had repeatedly asked him not to turn back time. It was likely the only thing I’d ever said that he had refused to listen to. He probably thought the same as Reia that if I were in the same situation, I would make the same choice. That it was inevitable.

After all, who in this world, holding a masterful sword in hand at the final moment, wouldn’t swing it? But I was… someone who had only just learned how to wield a sword. I didn’t want to swing it. I wanted to find another way.

But there was no time to dwell on such thoughts. The Emperor’s blade narrowly grazed past the Duke. Despite the suddenness of the attack, the Duke evaded it with ease, and the assault went no further.

“You two seem quite close. However, it’s not a good habit for a Lamia to chatter so much in front of her husband,” the Emperor sneered, glancing at me.

An immediate wave of disgust surged through my body. It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the meaning behind them. The word “husband” he used was intentionally double-edged—it referred not only to the Duke but also to himself.

He was still obsessively fixated on the idea of making me his concubine.

Fueled by revulsion, I summoned my power. A small mist of dark red blood formed in the air before dissipating like a burst bubble. I clenched my teeth.

Although I had succeeded in using this power on Reia, controlling a force I had never wielded before was far from easy. It felt as though I had suddenly grown wings but had no idea how to fly with them. Every attempt was clumsy, like fluttering upwards only to fall back down. Small, faint mists formed in the air—no larger than a handful—and quickly vanished.

The Emperor chuckled as he watched my efforts.

“Ah, so you truly are the heir of Airdren. But tell me, do you think such a feeble mist could even reach me?”

The moment he spoke, the Duke’s sword sliced toward him with precision, only to halt abruptly as if hitting an invisible wall. The Duke narrowed his eyes, clearly deep in thought. Though the two paused briefly, they soon resumed their rapid exchanges, blades clashing violently as they moved.

My target, constantly entangled with the Duke, was in perpetual motion. Even though I knew the mist wouldn’t harm the Duke, the thought of it touching him made me hesitate. Each time it seemed it might reach him, I faltered, retreating instinctively.

“Yuraine, don’t worry about me. Just attack,” the Duke said firmly.

“…”

His words weren’t as simple to act on as they sounded. My power felt like water leaking through a bag riddled with holes—it slipped away as quickly as I tried to grasp it. Yet, the mist was growing denser and larger with each attempt. I had managed to knock Reia unconscious earlier. I could do this too.

To pour out a large container of water, one cannot hesitate. Tentative movements would only result in spillage. I had to act decisively. Words like plague, destruction, and harm gripped at my ankles, holding me back. But my eyes remained fixed on the Duke’s sword. A sword, by itself, could only take life. Yet, through it, people could be saved.

I could undoubtedly do the same. The mist before me swirled like a whirlwind. It dissipated quickly, but I saw a flicker of surprise on the Emperor’s face. The second mist I summoned struck his blade, scattering upon impact. I had known it wouldn’t be easy.

Frustration set in. I now understood how to direct the poisonous mist to a specific spot, but hitting a moving and retaliating target was an entirely different challenge. If only the Emperor could be injured and forced to his knees—but the Duke couldn’t harm him, and Lyol lacked the skill to intervene.

Then, I noticed the Duke, who had been staring at the mist, suddenly blink as if struck by inspiration. His eyes gleamed with a sharp intensity, and he clenched his fist tightly. The veins at his temple pulsed, and though there was no wind, his jet-black hair seemed to ripple.

I blinked, unsure if I’d imagined it, and in that instant, the Duke lashed out, kicking the Emperor back and driving his sword into him.

“Argh!”

“Your Highness!”

The blade pierced the Emperor’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. As he screamed in agony, my voice overlapped with his, calling out to the Duke.

A fierce sense of exhilaration coursed through me. The Duke’s face, flushed with exertion, was that of a man consumed by the thrill of battle and victory. He had freed himself from the Emperor’s brainwashing on his own.

Though the Emperor writhed violently, the Duke stepped on his right hand with his boot, forcing him to drop his sword, which the Duke kicked away. Turning his head slightly, he looked at me.

Before I could think, my body moved. The mist, now coalescing above the Emperor’s head, surged downward, striking him like a hammer. His face contorted grotesquely as the crimson mist enveloped him. They said the blood of Airdren brought unspeakable pain. That was no lie. The Emperor thrashed like an insect in its death throes—horrific and repulsive.

The mist soon dissipated. Though the Emperor appeared out of his mind, he was still breathing, his chest heaving erratically. I tried to summon the mist again, but my power failed me. As I hesitated, the Duke withdrew his sword.

“Lyol,” the Duke called.

“…Yes, Your Highness.”

Lyol, who had remained silent, knowing he could not contribute, finally raised his head. His face was etched with anguish, fear from witnessing the Emperor wield his blade, and a faint trace of humiliation.

“Come here and finish him.”

The Duke, his voice restrained, instructed Lyol. Having Lyol deliver the final blow was the best course of action. Still, I knew the Duke would have wanted to end the Emperor himself, just as he had ended Erma.

“You don’t have to,” I interjected.

Both the Duke and Lyol turned to look at me.

“If Your Highness kills the Emperor, the power will still be passed on to Lyol immediately.”

“How…? The Emperor said the remains were useless.”

“The medium isn’t the remains.”

I stared at the Emperor. He writhed in agony as he approached death.

“If it’s not the remains…”

“It’s me. A Lamia. The magical connection.”

“What nonsense…”

“If the Emperor dies while I’m here, his magic will immediately pass to you, Lyol, as you’re right next to me. The Emperor didn’t know this. But Prince Artis, after reading countless books about Lamias, understood this fact.”

At that moment, the Emperor’s eyes widened. His gurgling and choking sounds gave way to words forced out with great difficulty.

“Th-that’s… ridiculous… A Lamia, what could a Lamia…”

“…Yuraine.”

“Yes.”

Ignoring the Emperor’s words, the Duke turned to me.

“I’m going to cut off the Emperor’s head now. …Are you ready for this?”

“I’m fine,” I answered immediately.

“I’ll watch.”

I’ll watch his head fall, the moment this long cycle of repetition ends, and the source of all this tragedy meets its end. The Duke looked at me briefly.

The Emperor, still in excruciating pain, let out ragged, guttural noises, his limbs twitching grotesquely. His ornate attire had been reduced to rags during the battle with the Duke, and his once-handsome face now looked like a rotting corpse stretched over a skeleton.

Even in such a pitiful state, his lips twitched as though he still had the strength to mutter something. I didn’t know what he was saying, nor did I care. His words held no value. Then, one phrase reached my ears: “A Lamia’s place…”

As expected, words I didn’t need to hear.

Time passed, and as the mist dissipated, it seemed the pain began to subside. The Emperor grew more talkative. The moment his bloodshot eyes regained a semblance of focus, the Duke raised his sword.

Just then, Lyol reached into his cloak and pulled out Prince Artis’s remains. Opening a pouch, he revealed a small ruby-like bone fragment. The Emperor reflexively stretched out a hand.

“Brother…”

His raspy voice cracked as it filled the room.

Before his hand could fully extend, a chilling sound pierced the air. A round object floated briefly before tumbling to the ground with a dull thud, rolling away as it left a long streak of blood in its wake. The severed head came to rest at Lyol’s feet. Lyol gave it a casual kick.

“…Pathetic.”

Lyol’s murmur matched the pitiful sight before us. The Emperor’s severed head twitched slightly, its eyelids fluttering faintly. His headless body, adorned in what remained of his fine clothing, froze in its final pose—reaching toward his brother in a desperate grasp of obsession.

As Lyol had said, even in death, the Emperor was a disgrace.

The Emperor’s head was displayed for all to see, his body clad in the garb of a criminal and left in the square, where anyone could throw stones at it. The once-indulgent body of the Emperor, who had hosted endless feasts, was buried under filth and rubble within a single day.

Messenger birds flew frantically across the empire, and riders raced on horseback to deliver the news. Yet gossip traveled faster than either, spreading from mouth to mouth.

“The war is suddenly over. As soon as the Emperor died, everyone seemed enchanted and surrendered to Duke Iser. Will Duke Iser become the next Emperor?” Such speculation arose wherever two or more people gathered.

Most of the messenger birds and riders carried orders regarding the retreat of the previously mobilized armies. The rumors were half true and half false. The people weren’t enchanted after the Emperor’s death; they were released from the enchantment that had bound them while he lived. The magic passed safely to Lyol.

This transfer was only possible because I, a Lamia, had been present at the site of the Emperor’s death, in contact with the remains of the rightful heir, the First Prince.

Lyol gathered all the scattered remnants of magic, leaving the lords who had raised armies bewildered as they retreated or surrendered on the spot. Those who stubbornly resisted were quickly subdued.

Even the nobles who had been preparing for war and the court officials in the palace fell silent. Once the Emperor’s severed head was displayed, they all acted as though nothing had happened. They quietly bowed their heads to the new Emperor… Lyol.

Lyol discarded the dyes he’d been using and let his natural appearance show. His golden hair and red eyes were undeniable proof of his royal bloodline. He also possessed countless heirlooms of the First Prince, who had been declared missing. His legitimacy was the strongest key to ending the rebellion.

Meanwhile, I searched the still-chaotic palace and found the dust-covered secret library. I had expected it to be destroyed long ago, but fortunately, it remained intact. Why it had been left untouched, I could only guess.

The phrase “The Lamia is the connection” and the First Prince’s plea to have a Lamia retrieve his remains revealed the truth. The rightful inheritance of power didn’t come from the remains themselves but from a Lamia who made contact with them.

However, this truth couldn’t be shared openly. The fear was that if Lyol succumbed to the Emperor’s brainwashing, it could ruin everything. That’s why I only revealed the altered version of the information—so the Emperor, watching Lyol’s movements, would mock him and let his guard down.

The tragedy of the First Prince, despite inheriting magic, being defeated, and eventually killed, likely stemmed from his weak magical power. Had he possessed the Emperor’s level of power, he could have immobilized his younger brother entirely.

Still, even if the First Prince had been stronger, could a Lamia like him have become Emperor? If he had… how would things have been?

The Emperor despised Lamias even as he fixated on them. Likely, it was due to an inferiority complex toward his magically gifted brother. I had once thought the Emperor’s actions had improved the treatment of Lamias, but now I saw otherwise. Lamias weren’t elevated from monsters to humans—they were reduced to mere dolls.

Perhaps being a doll was marginally better than being a monster. But if the First Prince had become Emperor, Lamias might have been recognized as humans. I hoped Lyol would achieve that.

While the Duke and Lyol busied themselves running across the empire, Reia and I had nothing to do. So we buried ourselves in the secret library, poring over records about Lamias. I hadn’t realized there was so much material on them.

Lamias were created as a connection to prevent the loss of magic—a product of countless spells designed to preserve magic.

It wasn’t that female Lamias didn’t exist. The defining traits of a Lamia were a slightly smaller stature and the ability to conceive. If a female Lamia was born, she would be indistinguishable from an ordinary woman. Thus, it was thought only male Lamias were born.

Not all Lamias inherited magic either. I believe this is a recent development—a form of evolution. Recently, families with a Lamia child began taking in sons-in-law instead of sending the Lamia to another household. This happened around the time Reia and I reached marriageable age. Perhaps it was to prevent the loss of magic from a Lamia who marries into another house, leaving their family without magic until the Lamia’s death.

This was the conclusion I reached after reading every book in the secret library and piecing the information together. Yet, this truth remains hidden. Lamias have long been branded as witches and monsters. People don’t want to acknowledge that Lamias play a critical role in preserving family magic.

Because if they did, they’d lose their justification for discriminating against them.

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