I Stole The Duke - Chapter 86

“Ahaha… Thanks, Duchess. At least I won’t have to be beheaded twice.”

If what the Duchess said was true—if this truly was the final time—then at least there’d be no second execution to suffer through.

‘Did you… actually want me to live?’

Freya glared at the crumpled note tossed into the trash.

‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re nothing but a hypocrite.’

Suppressing the laughter tinged with tears, Freya sat down and pulled out a clean sheet of stationery.

‘How naïve.’

The Duchess of Ascher had no idea how cruel the Emperor truly was.

Freya could already see it all unfolding. The Emperor would drag out the trial, tormenting a father who loved his daughter into exhausting every last coin on defense and lobbying, dangling false hope in front of him. And when the Count’s wealth was gone? That’s when the sentence would come—execution, paraded in public.

Scratch, scratch.

The pen moved across the paper.

“You called for me, my lady?”

“Jessi, deliver this to the editor-in-chief of The Daily Wespera. Immediately.”

Freya handed a sealed envelope to the maid who had rushed in at her summons.

“……”

Freya stood by the window, watching Jessi leave through the front gate.

“…I’m sorry. Really.”

Only once Jessi disappeared from view did Freya return to her desk and scribble a short final note.

Father, Mother, Brother,
I’m sorry… This was the only way.

Freya had made her choice—the one path that could end the Emperor’s sick cycle of revenge.

“……”

She stared blankly at her own handwriting, then quietly swallowed the poison once more.

Gulp.

Just like that, Freya freed herself from the cursed wheel of vengeance.

Imperial Year 321, June 23.

The Empire was in an uproar.

Two pieces of shocking news had rocked the public. One—House Espensen’s defeat in the territory war and the transfer of its lands to House Ascher. The other—Freya Espensen, the eldest daughter of the Count, had taken her own life.

“Freya…”

Eliana’s hand trembled slightly as she held the newspaper.

The Daily Wespera — Exclusive Report

Freya Espensen’s Tragic Suicide

Freya Espensen (18), the beloved eldest daughter of Count Espensen and once a leading candidate for Crown Princess, took her own life after confessing that she had orchestrated an assassination attempt on the Duchess of Ascher—because she loved the Duke. (excerpt)

It was an immense disgrace for House Espensen.

“…Haa.”

A deep sigh escaped Eliana’s lips.

‘So this is how she chose to end it.’

Just as the Emperor’s illegitimate son had died in disgrace as a “womanizing scoundrel,” Freya had chosen to end her own life branded as the lead actress in a scandalous tragedy—an infamous villainess.

‘Freya delivered the revenge the Emperor wanted.’

Count Espensen had lost both his land and the child he cherished most. The Emperor had his satisfaction. Beyond this, there was nothing else to be gained by tormenting the family further.

‘In the end, Freya saved her family.’

The original novel had been discontinued early, and no one knew how the story would’ve ended. But in this world, Freya had sacrificed herself to protect her family.

“…Haa.”

Eliana held back the tears rising in her throat. She had been the one to drive Freya to this point. She had no right to cry.

Top floor of the Mage Tower.

‘Why am I even doing this?’

Two days into his unexpected appointment as Tower Master, the boy seated at the enormous desk felt like he was sitting on a bed of nails.

“…Haa.”

The towering stack of documents to one side made him sigh without thinking.

“What has you looking so grim?”

Olive, awkward with his newfound responsibilities, fidgeted with his fingers and cautiously glanced over at his master.

“Hmm… this is bad.”

Karahan’s expression was unusually serious as he stared at the newspaper.

‘That girl died… So what happened yesterday wasn’t just a system error.’

“I need to step out.”

Karahan suddenly stood from the antique sofa, his robe sweeping the floor.

“Take me with you!”

Olive quickly jumped up as well. He hated being left alone in this flashy, overwhelming place.

“Just hold the fort. Teleport.”

Karahan shot his young disciple a piercing look and disappeared on the spot.

“Tch! Damn old man…”

Olive didn’t miss the chance to mutter a curse under his breath.

“What could be so important, anyway?”

He stomped over to the coffee table and snatched up the newspaper Karahan had been reading.

Creak.

Karahan appeared on the rooftop of the Espensen estate, arms clasped behind his back as he surveyed the scene below. The mood among the servants—dressed in mourning black—told him everything. Preparations for the funeral were underway.

“Polymorph.”

With a single incantation, his appearance shifted. Gone was the mage’s robe—he now looked like a middle-aged servant, dressed just like the rest of the household staff.

“……”

Blending in naturally with the servants hauling boxes, Karahan moved among them as if he belonged there.

“Haa… I still can’t believe it, miss… really.”

“She was so young… to take her own life like that…”

“I heard the master hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Damn those cursed Ascher dogs.”

“Why would the young lady fall for someone like that…”

“Shh! Watch your mouth. What if someone hears you?”

As Karahan helped move the carts and crates, gossip began to leak from the servants’ lips.

‘Seems like most of what was written in the paper was true after all.’

Having gathered what he needed, Karahan headed directly through the manor’s main hall to Freya’s room.

Tap.

He pulled down the sunflower painting.

“Hah!”

A short breath escaped him when he saw only a bare wall.

‘What kind of magic is this?’

Though the wall looked empty, he could still feel a strange magical wavelength radiating from it—something unfamiliar, yet undeniably powerful.

‘Invisibility?’

He didn’t recognize the exact signature, but the effect was clear.

‘That intruder… came back again.’

He had been completely outplayed.

“……”

Karahan stood motionless in front of the invisible wall, as if entranced.

‘That item behind the wall… even I can’t retrieve it. And yet, someone else touched it?’

The sealing magic etched into that wall wasn’t just difficult to crack—it was impossible, even for him. It was designed exclusively for the owner of the jewel box.

“…What now?”

Karahan frowned, arms folded in thought.

‘Should I track them down and beat it out of them?’

It was… an awkward situation.

‘The future has changed.’

Ironically, the regression spell had succeeded in its original purpose. Though the cost had been high, the destruction of House Espensen was no longer on the horizon.

“Hmm…”

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his arm. The spell had given his brother’s descendants five chances to overcome disaster on their own.

‘As long as they avoid extinction, it’s good enough.’

Before long, Karahan made his decision. This was sufficient. He had long abandoned the Espensen name—he had no right to interfere further.

‘But the Sardis magic… that’s a different matter.’

The magical wave concealed in the invisibility spell made it clear—ancient Sardis magic had surfaced once again.

‘The Duchess of Ascher, perhaps?’

She was certainly the most likely suspect.

“Teleport.”

With a flick, Karahan restored the sunflower painting to its place and disappeared.

“You’re back?”

Olive pouted as he looked at Karahan, who had silently reappeared on the sofa. After spending the day drowning in paperwork, his mood was understandably sour.

“Master, how long do I have to play Tower Lord?”

The only good thing about being the Tower Master, Olive thought, was not having to worry about food. Everything else was boring beyond belief. He was used to wandering the world with his teacher—being tied to one place felt unnatural and suffocating.

“Until the title is no longer necessary.”

“……”

As always, his master never gave a straight answer.

“Disciple.”

“Yes, Master?”

“How about you use that title for once?”

“Eh?”

Karahan began rifling through a basket filled with formal invitations. Any letters that made it to the top floor of the Tower had already passed multiple rounds of selection.

Only invitations from the palace or nobles of count-rank or higher could make it to Karahan himself.

“Ah, here we go.”

“You’re going to the Imperial Palace.”

“Eh???”

Olive’s jaw dropped. First the Tower, now the Palace?

“A-ha-ha! Master, you must’ve forgotten—I used to be a street urchin, remember?”

He leaned back, wary, as his master shoved a card in front of his face.

“Why on earth would I attend the Crown Prince’s birthday banquet?”

The invitation in Karahan’s hand was indeed for the upcoming celebration of the Crown Prince’s twentieth birthday.

“Shouldn’t you, the noble-born Master, be the one going instead?”

“I can’t. I have business elsewhere.”

“You’re ditching me again? Where are you going this time?”

“I need to investigate something in the North. I’ll be gone for at least a month or two.”

Karahan needed to trace the origins of the Duchess of Ascher—and the ancient Sardis magic she seemed to wield. That meant returning to her birthplace in the North.

“You mean… I have to go alone?”

The Tower’s office was already overwhelming with all its shining surfaces. Now they wanted him at an imperial banquet? That was the last place he wanted to be.

“I’m still young! I can’t—it’s terrifying!”

Olive pulled out his best abandonment issues act, pretending to shake with fear.

“Disciple… you’ll be of age in a few months. That’s enough. Stop it. It’s unseemly.”

Tch.

That trick had worked five years ago—not anymore.

“…What do I have to do there?”

“Get close to the Duchess of Ascher and watch for any signs of unusual magical waves.”

“That’s it?”

Thankfully, it didn’t sound too difficult.

“Yes. And if anything, suspicious happens, report it immediately.”

“…Understood.”

“Teleport.”

The moment his disciple agreed, Karahan vanished again without a moment’s pause.

“W-Wait!”

Olive called after him in panic—but it was too late. Karahan was already gone.

‘I don’t even know what the Duchess looks like…’

Unlike his teacher, Olive didn’t read the papers. That might’ve been a mistake.

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