It was a Political Marriage, But I’m Being Loved - Chapter 62

What would normally take two full days on horseback took only moments for mages. Time had a different meaning when magic was involved.

Achilles watched Charlize closely—her face clouded with worry and unspoken fears.

Is that worry for me? he wondered.

“I’ll be back soon, Your Highness.”

“Come back safely. I’ll be waiting.”

Charlize looked up at him with eyes full of quiet resolve. Achilles gently brushed her coral-pink lips with his fingertips, memorizing her expression.

His hands had long been soaked in blood—but until now, it had never been blood she knew. Will you still look at me the same way after I return with that man’s blood on my hands?

“It might take some time. Try to rest.”

To him, Valter Bianchi wasn’t even a threat. But Charlize didn’t know that, and in a flash of panic, she grabbed Achilles’ arm.

“Please… be careful.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. You already know he’s no match for me.”

And she did. Charlize remembered the confrontation in her bedroom—how effortlessly Achilles had overpowered Valter. The memory returned to her now, and her gaze shifted, realization dawning in her eyes. Achilles’ lips curled slightly in a faint, knowing smile.

“There’s no need to worry.”

He kissed her gently on the cheek before lifting his head and turning to the automatons, his voice colder now.

“Escort Her Highness back to her room.”

The automatons moved without hesitation, stepping toward Charlize. She gave Achilles one last look, her expression filled with concern, then turned and followed the automatons.

Achilles watched her retreat until she disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to Giel and Eliza. His expression was sharp—very different from how he’d looked at the princess just moments ago.

“Tonight, we capture Valter Bianchi.”

Aisha handed the tracking marker to Eliza. He had recovered most of his mana during their stay at the castle, and now he was ready.

Achilles led the way down the hall, and behind him followed Giel, Eliza, and the other mages. Aisha and her team remained behind. Instead of joining the pursuit, they watched the group depart—then turned to follow Charlize.

To see the Tower Master’s magic firsthand was certainly an honor… but it didn’t have to happen tonight. After all, wasn’t this the moment when the person he trusted most was entrusted with the one he loved?

And of course, that most trusted mage is me, Aisha thought proudly. Being the same gender surely played a part, but she allowed herself a bit of emotional indulgence. She decided to go find Charlize and talk with her a while.

With Achilles gone, who could possibly object to a little happiness?

Valter’s worst-case scenario had always been this: Lewein getting caught up in Achilles’ pursuit, caught in a spell—and Charlize dying in the crossfire. Or, even worse, managing to sneak her away only for Lewein to die anyway.

Nowhere in his calculations had he imagined Lewein being captured alive.

Is this really happening?

Of all the times for his first true failure to strike—it had to be during the most critical mission. Yes, not all of his schemes had gone perfectly in the past, but even through smaller failures, he had always found a way to reach his goals.

He was used to setbacks. He always moved on, focused only on the next success.

And so, Valter had believed this plan would work too. The Emperor had practically hailed Achilles as a national hero. And what happened to all heroes? They saved others—and lost their loved ones in the process.

That was the tragedy time and history had proven true. Achilles would be no different.

No hero had ever turned their back while innocent people died right in front of them.

And if Achilles had truly accepted a noble title and was preparing to marry the princess, he’d be even more bound by imperial expectations. He would have to save the village—if only to maintain his image in the eyes of the court.

It should have been simple—Lewein, his most capable subordinate, would abduct Charlize. A decoy corpse would be left behind to create a believable crime scene, ensuring the Tower Master wouldn’t suspect the truth. The team would split in two—one group to act as a decoy and draw pursuit, the other to secretly transport Charlize to safety.

The plan had been perfect.

“My lord! We have a problem!”

Valter froze at the sound of his subordinate’s panicked voice. Charlize had escaped—the team hadn’t even laid eyes on her. Worse still, there had been no sounds of battle from the castle. That could mean only one thing: Lewein had been killed instantly.

The Tower Master will suspect me.

Dave had opened the castle gates. If Lewein’s men had failed to kill every witness, the truth could easily leak out.

Valter briefly considered feigning ignorance, staying at the hotel as if nothing had happened. But he quickly abandoned that thought. He knew Achilles would come for him—and this time, he wouldn’t hold back.

That night, the only reason Achilles hadn’t killed him was because Charlize had stopped him. When he was wounded, Charlize had run from Achilles’ arms to Valter’s side.

But not this time. Not after Lewein and his knights had killed innocent castle staff. Charlize’s gentle heart would likely have turned against him by now.

No. That can’t be. You wouldn’t hate me. You mustn’t.

Uneasy, Valter summoned his aide and ordered his knights to prepare for an immediate departure from the city. It was the middle of the night, and passing through the city gates would normally be impossible—but Valter Bianchi’s title gave him the authority to do so.

He gave a convincing excuse and ordered a knight of similar build to act as his decoy. Dressed in Valter’s clothing and riding his horse, the knight was to leave under heavy escort, drawing eyes away from the real escape.

This had been the knight’s role from the beginning. Though nervous, he remained compliant—kept under the close watch of Valter’s aide to prevent any attempts at desertion.

After all, knights existed to serve their lords—to die if necessary. That was their virtue. That was their purpose.

Wearing dark clothes and traveling in the opposite direction, Valter made his escape alone.

No guards. No horse. But he didn’t need one. As a Sword master, he could outrun any steed. He only used horses to avoid unnecessary exhaustion.

How disgraceful, he thought bitterly. The memory of Achilles turning him into stone still burned fresh in his mind.

He needed power. Real power. The kind of strength that could overwhelm the Tower Master and reclaim what was his—Charlize.

He briefly thought of Ialos, but shook it off. Contracts with demons led only to ruin. Most never achieved what they wanted and lost their souls in the process. He’d always looked down on those who turned to demons for strength.

Still, as he sprinted through the darkness, the hunger for power gnawed at him.

If there were a demon out there stronger than the Tower Master… one capable of handing him victory… he might have been tempted to shake that hand. A damned soul was still better than dying without ever touching what he wanted.

His breath caught in his throat.

Fleeing like this was humiliating. But if he didn’t escape, he’d never get another chance.

Another chance…!

Valter scoffed at himself as he ran through the open field. “Another” chance—when had he ever needed to count them? His whole life had been a string of opportunities, ready whenever he reached for them. That was how Valter Bianchi had always lived.

Huff—!

Suddenly, something streaked past overhead—a faintly glowing bird, trailing a shimmering line of blue light.

Valter instinctively ducked and glared up.

What is that?

His instincts screamed at him—it was magical. That bird hadn’t flown over him by accident.

The Tower Master is tracking me. He’s already this close.

The wild grass reached up to his chest. Valter dropped to the ground, hiding himself completely in the tall blades.

He looked like a cornered thief running from guards. Disgusted by his own situation, he still forced his breath to slow, every muscle tensed in fear.

Because if Achilles found him here, in the dark, alone—he would die.

Better to be caught by imperial knights, who would hold a trial. But here, with no witnesses, no escape, facing the Tower Master?

He wouldn’t even have the time to scream.

“Damn it!”

He had his forces—the knight order Crows, made from exiled and masterless knights; and Black Heart, filled with assassins. If only he had them now. If he could gather them all here and face the Tower Master with overwhelming force…

But they were scattered. And he was alone.

He, Valter Bianchi—a Swordmaster, who had lived without fear—was now hiding, heart pounding.

A cold sweat trickled down his forehead. He wiped it away roughly, teeth clenched, rage simmering.

Boom!

Thunder cracked overhead—though there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. Valter flinched instinctively.

A split second later, he rolled to the side, barely dodging it. But the lightning wasn’t just one strike.

“Ugh—aghh!”

Dozens—hundreds—of bolts rained down around him. He realized now it was magic. He drew his sword, trying to cut through the strikes, but moving faster than light was impossible.

He rolled, dodged, and deflected the falling lightning with his mana-infused blade. His body hit the ground again and again as he scrambled for cover.

And then, he looked up—and saw them.

The mages of the Tower, surrounding him in a wide circle, casting from all sides.

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