BVIB 31

Chapter 31

“Not that—before that,” Ian pressed.

“Before that?” Roselyn echoed, her tone flat.

If he meant something from earlier, it could only be the story about awakening the Abyss.

“Oh, you mean, ‘I jumped into the lake to die and accidentally awakened the Abyss’?”

“Yes, that!” Ian shouted. “Why would you jump in to die?! Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what chaos that bastard would cause if you died? You think you could handle it?!”

Roselyn let out a weary sigh, her expression growing even more annoyed.

“Anyway, quit Makluksa. And drop the herbal import operation you’ve got going, too.”

Ian’s eyes went wide. “How… how do you know about that…?”

That particular mission had come directly from the ‘King.’ As far as Ian knew, no one else was supposed to be aware of it.

“I’m warning you,” Roselyn said. “If you don’t want to get tangled up in a royal assassination charge, walk away now.”

“You little brat, since when do you give me orders—!”

Roselyn’s scowl deepened. Dealing with him felt like arguing with a stubborn old man.

“Even if you go that far, you’ll never catch Makluksa’s ‘King.’”

Ian’s mouth fell open, genuine shock written across his battered face.

For a moment, Roselyn actually worried that Ian might catch a fly with his mouth hanging open like that.

“You—!”

“No matter how hard you try, Uncle, he’s not someone you can catch. And besides, your late aunt isn’t coming back,” she said quietly.

Ian Bellion fell silent, his expression no longer shocked but stiff with discomfort, as if her words had struck a nerve he hadn’t expected.

“…Was it that creepy bastard who told you? Was it Cherry?”
His glare was murderous, like he might tear someone apart on the spot, but Roselyn met his eyes without flinching.

“No,” she replied calmly. “I told you—it was the Abyss.”

“What kind of Abyss—!” he spat, glaring daggers at her.

Roselyn only shrugged, oddly at ease with the hostility. After all, being on the receiving end of such fierce stares was nothing new to her.

“If you don’t want the family ruined, you’d better just forget about the dead,” Roselyn said coolly.

“You—! Just because you have a mouth doesn’t mean you can say whatever you please!” her uncle snapped, his voice trembling with anger.

Roselyn’s eyes narrowed, her smile only growing brighter. “You’re the one who ran away and left your aunt behind, even though you knew she couldn’t walk. And then you kept your mouth shut about it.”

Ian’s lips quivered, his face turning pale.

Roselyn’s expression, in contrast, was radiant—almost cheerful. The angrier her uncle became, the more brilliantly she smiled, fully aware of the discomfort and pressure her expression caused.

“And since my mouth works just fine, I’m going to keep talking. It’s not like I’m making any of this up,” she added, her tone light but pointed.

“How could you possibly know that?” Ian demanded, his voice rising.

“I told you already. Abyss,” Roselyn replied with a shrug, turning away.

“Even if you don’t look for him, I’ll be the one to catch the King of Makluksa.”

With that, Roselyn strode out, her words hanging in the air.

Ian Bellion hesitated, his anger faltering for a moment.

“It makes more sense for me to go,” Roselyn added quietly, hand on the door. “I won’t be around for much longer, anyway.”

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and stepped out, leaving her uncle speechless behind her.

She hadn’t told even Marquis Guerin, but the truth was, Roselyn’s time was already running out. She’d reached her limits long before—no matter what anyone did, she was going to die soon.

The handfuls of medicine she took each day were only delaying the inevitable. She was just waiting for death.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

“Hey! What kind of nonsense—” Ian’s shout was cut off as the door slammed in his face.

Bang.

The sound echoed in the hallway.

“Ugh, what a bothersome man,” Roselyn muttered under her breath.

“Hey! I can hear you, you know! Open this door! You little brat—damn it! Take off these shackles! You disrespectful little—!” Ian’s furious voice rang out from the other side of the door, growing more frantic with every word.

Ignoring his screaming, Roselyn headed off, making her way to her father—the man who, by tomorrow, would probably be digging himself deeper into a hole because of her imminent departure.

Roselyn’s procession was meant to be simple.

Or at least, she wished it could be.

But as part of an official delegation to a foreign country, simplicity was out of the question.

“This one is for defense, and this one can be used for offense. This incorporates your father’s Abyss, so it can deliver a strong electric shock… And this is a blanket, but it’s infused with Abyss to keep you warm… And this, and this…”

Her father, Cherty, stood at the carriage, proudly presenting the mountain of items he had prepared.

Roselyn’s carriage, in particular, was anything but simple. She looked at the pile of mysterious goods stacked like a small hill and offered a bright, amused smile.

“Father, just leave the heated blanket and the electric shock crossbow. Take everything else out, please,” she said firmly.

Cherty’s face fell, disappointment plain in his expression. But Roselyn was adamant—she had no intention of adding another carriage just for unnecessary supplies, and this was all simply too much.

With a weary wave of her hand, Roselyn made her decision clear, signaling the servants to begin unloading the excess.

“Hey! You! What did you do to win over Father? Why did His Majesty make you the representative instead of me, and give the position to a half-blood?” The Second Prince barked, his tone sharp and accusing.

Roselyn shot the noisy Second Prince an unimpressed glance before turning away, ignoring his tantrum.

As he’d pointed out, the leader of the delegation was the Third Prince. But considering how timid the Third Prince was, the Second Prince’s influence would be hard to ignore.

What was the Emperor thinking, putting this team together? Roselyn mused. Having two leaders just makes for chaos.

She sighed internally, her attention wandering. Speaking of which, where is the Third Prince?

Leaving the grumbling Second Prince behind, Roselyn moved through the crowd, her eyes scanning for any sign of the elusive prince.

Not far away, she spotted a man with jet-black hair slicked back, his features sharp and almost unpleasant. He stood out from the rest, his presence hard to miss.

Who is that? Roselyn wondered.

As she studied him, the man glanced over, meeting her gaze with a cold, indifferent look.

“What are you staring at?” he said flatly, not bothering with formalities.

Roselyn grimaced, silently clicking her tongue in annoyance. How rude. Is he with the royal family? She narrowed her eyes. What an unpleasant character.

She was about to turn away and ignore him when, suddenly, she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve.

“Um, this… this doesn’t suit me at all, does it?” a trembling voice asked.

Gone was the charisma; instead, a man stood before her, eyes glistening as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

“…Who are you?” Roselyn asked skeptically.

The man looked at her with a wounded, almost pitiful expression, as if her words had struck him to the core.

I can’t believe that man was actually the Third Prince…

Roselyn replayed the earlier encounter in her mind, still incredulous. She glanced sideways—only to find Arma, the Third Prince, meeting her gaze. It amazed her how simply brushing his hair back and baring his forehead could transform someone’s entire aura. When he kept his mouth shut, he seemed almost like a different person—but the moment he spoke, the illusion shattered.

Blinking slowly, Roselyn looked at Arma as he now sat before her, cheeks tinged with red. Beside her sat a young boy, Baatar, who had been glaring at Arma with a dark, unsettled expression ever since they’d arrived.

Is it because of how many men have mistreated him? Roselyn wondered. That underground auction house was full of men, too. Maybe he’s just scared of them now.

With that in mind, she gently reached over and squeezed Baatar’s hand in reassurance.

Baatar flinched at the touch, his tense shoulders relaxing a little, and the hostility in his eyes began to soften, his lips curling into a slight, hesitant smile.

At the same moment, Arma’s face fell, his expression clouding over.

The other two are already under escort by the Imperial Knights… Roselyn noted absently, not noticing the subtle glances directed her way amid the swirl of her own thoughts.

This should be enough. No one could say this isn’t a suitable gift, Roselyn thought, glancing downward.

Beside her, the boy grinned broadly.

Baatar, squirming in his seat, seemed uncomfortable in his imperial-style clothes and kept fidgeting with the fabric.

“Roselyn, who’s that man?” he asked, nodding toward Arma.

“That’s His Highness, the Third Prince,” she replied.

“I can see that! I meant, what’s your relationship with him?” Baatar pressed, his strange speech landing somewhere awkwardly between formal and casual.

Roselyn gave a small shrug. “He’s my fiancé.”

“…You were engaged?!” Baatar’s eyes went wide with shock.

Arma’s face lit up with pride.

“Mm. Once things with Kaluta are settled, we’re planning to break it off,” Roselyn added nonchalantly.

Just like that, Arma’s expression darkened again.

Meanwhile, Baatar’s face bloomed into a radiant smile, as bright as a spring flower.

“That’s a relief! In Kaluta, we don’t care at all about a spouse’s past, so don’t worry!” he declared, puffing out his chest with confidence.

“I know,” Roselyn replied, her eyes briefly flickering with surprise at his sudden comment before she nodded calmly.

The carriage sped forward, carrying one beaming Baatar, one gloomy Arma, and one unreadable Roselyn toward their uncertain destination.