The Young Male Protagonist Who is Destined for Ruin Fell for Me - Chapter 92

I stared, mouth agape, at the overwhelming array of gifts Claire had presented like a dropped bombshell. The cost of transporting these alone probably matched my entire year’s income.

Too stunned to even begin examining them, I simply gaped. Noticing this, Claire’s attendants took it as a cue to start enthusiastically promoting the gifts to me.

“My Lady! This fabric is crafted by the finest weaver in Traiha, who only produces ten bolts a year!”

“Wait… Are you saying I get all ten of them?”

Before I knew it, I was seated in a handcrafted wooden chair—made by some renowned artisan whose name I didn’t know—wrapped in a luxurious cashmere blanket, while one by one, the gifts were presented to me.

After the luxury items came the enchanted artifacts, reportedly developed by Traiha’s Royal Alchemists.

“My Lady! This quill pen transcribes thoughts directly onto paper!”

“Wow…”

Even in 21st-century Korea, such things didn’t exist, yet here they were.

As the ribbon-adorned boxes piled up beside me, Claire looked utterly pleased. The contrast between her satisfaction and Kyle’s unease was striking—he looked as if he were internally debating something.

“Amel, this is my final gift,” Claire announced about an hour later, handing me a small box.

If she was personally introducing it, it had to be special. My heart pounded as I untied the ribbon, revealing a breathtaking necklace.

The multi-layered design resembled lightning branching across the night sky, with a bold central strand extending delicate, intricate tendrils outward.

Wearing it with an elegant, low-cut dress and standing under sunlight would practically turn me into a human chandelier.

Judging by Claire’s usual behavior, I half-expected her to place the necklace around my neck herself, summon a portrait artist, and have my image immortalized in paint.

But today, instead of adorning me with it, she gently closed the jewelry box and retied the ribbon tightly.

The small box, now neatly repackaged, was placed back in my hands. Claire leaned in and whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

“Amel, use this Root of the Flash only when you’re truly in danger.”

“Use it…?”

I understood what she meant.

But honestly, the sheer volume of gifts was overwhelming. I had grown bolder while staying at the Chaield estate, but even I found this excessive.

As I hesitated, Kyle, who had been quietly observing, finally stepped forward. He smelled faintly of something sweet and refreshing—had he been drinking something?

“My Lady, may I gift you a palace annex to store all your presents?”

“Uh… No, thank you. I’ll just accept the thought behind it.”

It wasn’t just overwhelming—it was beyond my capacity to manage.

I firmly declined, as I always did, and was about to add my thanks when I noticed Kyle’s expression darken.

It was the same look he had when I first ran away to Count Diane’s estate as a child. I had stopped his extravagant spending more times than I could count, yet this time, he seemed genuinely shaken.

Curious about what was going through his mind, I took a step closer and grasped his hand—only to be met with nothing but static-like noise, as if my thoughts couldn’t reach him.

Wait… Did he drink one of the potions Claire brought—the ones that nullify Arete’s effects? But why?

It seemed my fiancé had some kind of misunderstanding.

＊＊＊

Itar stood on the balcony, swirling a glass of wine. The lilies in full bloom swayed in the breeze, releasing their delicate fragrance into the night air.

The Imperial House of Traiha had always been symbolized by roses. For generations, noble families closely tied to the royal bloodline had incorporated roses into their crests, regardless of size or prominence.

The First Prince, recently named Crown Prince, and his mother, too, often enjoyed their tea in a grand garden filled with roses of every color, their refined smiles never faltering.

But Itar and Iana’s birth mother had not been from a high-ranking noble house. Their family crest bore no roses—only the graceful bloom of the lily.

“…Iana.”

Itar recalled his younger sister beaming with joy as she accepted a bouquet of lilies. She had said that receiving a flower symbolizing their family from a loved one made her happiness double.

He could still picture her hugging the bouquet tightly, inhaling the fragrance as if trying to imprint it in her memory. The image was so vivid that if he reached out, he almost believed he could touch her.

Instinctively, Itar stretched out his hand.

But all he felt was the cool, quiet night air. His empty palm seemed to whisper the truth—his sister was no longer in this world.

“Do you miss her?”

A step behind him, Marabas spoke. Itar gazed out at the lily garden and answered,

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

“Her Highness adored this garden the most.”

“You know quite a lot about her, despite being exiled from the palace.”

“…The princess was deeply interested in alchemy. She often asked me to teach her.”

“She had no talent for it—she didn’t even recognize alchemy when it was right in front of her.”

Itar chuckled softly as he spoke. He could still picture his sister grumbling after a failed potion experiment had singed the ends of her hair.

A sense of grim satisfaction settled over him as he realized that soon, he would finally avenge her.

“Soon, my father and the Crown Prince will notice. They may have already set a trap for us.”

“And if the coup fails?”

“Our goal isn’t to seize power—we intend to bring down the House of Traiha itself. Failure is not an option.”

Moreover, this involved drawing Chaield into the conflict. If the massive forces of Traiha and Chaield became enemies, it would not end with a simple victory or defeat for either side.

The winner would live to regret their survival, while the loser would be left in utter despair, having lost everything. A battle between these two houses wouldn’t end with a single bloodbath—it would spiral into something far worse.

“If I, a prince of Traiha, lay a hand on Amelia Diane, the fiancée of Chaield, it will cause an uproar.”

“What do you intend to do with her?”

“Her Arete is useful. I’ll combine it with the power of Cordelia, which you developed, make full use of it, and then kill her.”

“……”

“That way, she will be remembered for her most beautiful moment—the one she displayed at the Lily Order Ceremony. And the monster of Chaield will turn his wrath against Traiha.”

“A monster, you say…”

“The Duke of Chaield is troublesome when he isn’t a monster. If I want to manipulate him as I desire, I need to make him a monster again. And the fastest way to do that is to take away what he treasures most.”

“…Is that truly what Your Highness believes?”

Still admiring the lilies, Itar did not turn to see the expression on Marabas’ face as he answered from a step behind.

＊＊＊

The alchemists entering the Duke of Chaield’s study couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer opulence surrounding them—decorations unlike anything they had seen in their lifetime.

In contrast, the Chaield attendants standing in for Hild were on high alert. Their normally expressionless lord wore a barely perceptible frown, which was unsettling in itself.

“First of all, Your Highness, we extend our deepest gratitude for Chaield’s unwavering trust and boundless support. Now, please take a look at this.”

The alchemists placed a thick report on Kyle’s desk. They had come today because they had finally deciphered the curses placed on Cordelia.

“The spell work is intricate and highly advanced. There are dozens of security enchantments, meaning we cannot replicate or break the spells just yet. However, we have identified the caster.”

Kyle’s sharp gaze darkened at the news—they had found the one who sought to harm Amel.

“As we suspected, is it Marabas Lydel?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Several of your hired alchemists worked in the same laboratory as him and confirmed it multiple times.”

“I noticed that his magic follows a rather unique pattern.”

“Typically, alchemical magic uses minerals as a medium, but Marabas is fully capable of using living beings as well. The attack he launched at My Lady was a prime example—he infused a fine sand with demonic energy.”

Nothing was too far from expectation. Now that they had undeniable proof, the Imperial House of Traiha could no longer feign ignorance.

Kyle tapped his fingers against the desk, deep in thought, as if reading through the situation like a strategy board.

He could now see the larger picture—what Itar and Marabas intended to do with Cordelia.

“Bruno and Lady Claire mentioned signs of treason. This must be it.”

The anniversary of Princess Iana’s death was fast approaching—a fitting date for an uprising.

Traiha’s Crown Prince faction and the Third Prince faction were known for their fierce battle over power. Kyle put himself in Itar’s position.

Itar would want vengeance against those involved in his sister’s death. To achieve that, he would need to uncover the truth behind her mysterious demise.

“By amplifying Marabas’ spells with Cordelia’s Arete, they can control even more minds—making their rebellion easier to execute.”

But mind control wasn’t the best Arete for uncovering hidden truths. Kyle knew exactly which Arete was.

“…Where is my fiancée right now?”

The sudden shift in Kyle’s tone—subtle yet urgent—sent a ripple of tension through the room.

“…She mentioned taking a short trip to the Central Market, Your Highness.”

“The Central Market?”

Why did that place immediately bring to mind the Hail Times building? The countless nights he had watched her ink-stained fingers, the lingering mystery of her pursuits.

He no longer suspected her—not after that fleeting confession of love.

But today… he wanted to know.

To know where all her many excursions had truly led.

“Prepare to leave. We are heading there.”

Kyle had no idea what he would discover at his destination.

＊＊＊

In the Hail Times office, Fringles, the editor-in-chief, hummed as he watered the potted plants, meticulously wiping dust from their leaves. He was in an exceptionally good mood.

“Miss Ann came to me for help first. That must mean she trusts me.”

Just moments ago, he had handed over a set of requested documents to Ann Smith, who had, as always, arrived wearing a cloak. He had even escorted her to the newly built private office within the company’s annex.

Expanding the Hail Times headquarters, launching the long-awaited Traiha Times—all of it had been possible because of her.

“If she stays with our paper, I could even build her a private writing office.”

He knew little about her—only her name and gender—yet he held an immense trust in her.

Thanks to the legend of Ann Smith, the office had been flooded with young women—merchant daughters, minor noblewomen—all eager to learn from her, even leading to the formation of a small economics class within the building.

“I have met a true benefactor. As long as nothing unexpected happens, the Hail Times will continue to thrive.”

Just as Fringles curled his lips into a pleased smile, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from below. Moments later, an out-of-breath manager knocked on his office door.

“S-Sir! A guest has arrived!”

“A guest? I don’t recall any scheduled meetings.”

“Well… Just please, sir, you have to meet him!”

Fringles’ eyes trailed to the bulging purse at the employee’s waist. Stuffed with gold coins—an amount equivalent to a year’s salary.

Stunned for a brief moment, he turned toward the approaching figure. As he removed his black cloak, his gaze locked onto the tall, well-built young man entering the room.

Not a journalist hopeful.

“Fringles Sharte, editor-in-chief. I apologize for not sending word in advance.”

“…!”

Fringles’ jaw nearly dropped as the guest stepped fully into the natural light.

It wasn’t just the sculpted face—the kind that could captivate anyone—that struck him. It was what lay beneath the cloak.

A crest emblazoned on the fabric—a lion rearing on its hind legs atop a shield.

The sigil of House Chaield.

“My wife-to-be is inside this building.”

Kylean Chaield’s icy voice froze Fringles in place.

Support