I Plotted The World Destruction With The Male Lead - Chapter 14

After sending Eleanor to her quarters, Van headed to his study to attend to urgent matters. His secretary and lieutenant followed closely behind, keeping their voices low.

“Isn’t the imprinting process a bit rushed? You haven’t even confirmed the young lady’s official rank!”

Van dismissed their concerns with unwavering certainty. He already knew Eleanor’s rank, and even if it wasn’t high, he believed her compatibility with him made her more than suitable.

“Once we’re imprinted, guiding will become much easier.”

Beyond that, the imprint would allow him to monitor her location and physical condition—a dual advantage. Though many royals disliked imprinting because it seemed to benefit the guide more than the royal, Van found such reasoning foolish.

Guides might cleanse the “corruption” that afflicted royals, but their bodies were fragile. History had proven that guides often suffered greatly under the strain of their duty.

What Van wanted most was for his guide—his Eleanor—to remain safe and healthy. The fact that she had requested the imprint herself only deepened his joy.

“She’ll be the Duchess of Grandmire. Our compatibility is high—you’re aware of the Emperor’s situation, aren’t you?” Van said firmly, cutting through the lieutenant’s hesitation.

Eleanor’s rank as a guide was technically lower than that of Empress Luria. Even Luria, who had shared a high compatibility rate with the Emperor, had faced harsh criticism when she married him.

This made imprinting with Eleanor even more critical in Van’s eyes. He could not afford to give anyone—including the Emperor—an excuse to oppose their bond.

“But what if a higher-ranked guide appears later on…?” the lieutenant ventured cautiously.

“Even if one did, they might betray me.”

Van’s voice was cold and sharp, laden with the weight of his memories. In his previous life, he had once loved a guide despite their low compatibility. Yet, when he had sought her aid in a desperate moment, she had rejected him, unable to overcome the discomfort she felt during guiding.

He had gone to her chambers, pleading for help, but she had sent him away without mercy. Left with no choice, Van had gone to war without her guidance—and he had lost.

The same lieutenant speaking to him now had died on that battlefield. Though that future had not yet come to pass, the memory still lingered in Van’s mind like a ghost.

“I can’t believe you’d say such a thing…”

The lieutenant trailed off, wanting to argue that people couldn’t always be judged by appearances but swallowing the words. To suggest such a thing would be to insult Eleanor, the future Duchess.

Despite hearing that Eleanor was of common birth, the lieutenant couldn’t deny that her demeanor was as refined as any noblewoman’s. In fact, she seemed even more dignified than most noble ladies he had encountered.

“Character is what truly matters,” the lieutenant thought, though he still hesitated.

“Still, I think it might be wise to consider this more carefully. After all, you only met her a few days ago…”

“I didn’t meet her for the first time a few days ago,” Van interrupted, halting mid-step.

His gaze turned icy, fixing on the lieutenant with an intensity that silenced any further objections.

“And there will never be another guide who matches with me better than her. My salvation lies with her and her alone.”

There was an unsettling weight in Van’s words, enough to make the lieutenant swallow hard. Van cast him a brief, piercing glance before withdrawing his gaze and continuing toward the study.

A waiting attendant promptly opened the door for him.

The lieutenant stood rooted for a moment, unable to shake the sensation that a blade had been pressed to the back of his neck. He instinctively rubbed his throat, as though to reassure himself.

“I’d better be careful with my words about the future Duchess,” he thought grimly, realizing that questioning Eleanor’s place in Van’s life could easily be perceived as crossing a line he couldn’t afford to tread.

*

Eleanor, having been guided to the Grandmire Duke’s bedroom, was meticulously bathing and preparing herself. Since she had explicitly requested the imprinting to happen that night, this ritual wasn’t unexpected.

As the maids attended to her, Eleanor let herself consider the events likely to unfold. Knowing Carlyle’s scheming nature, it was almost certain he would attempt an ambush on their way to the capital.

“Yes, imprinting tonight is the right choice.”

Carlyle would do whatever it took to separate her from Van. While his greed would eventually lead him to target Charlotte of the North, Eleanor knew that, for now, she was his primary focus.

In her past life, Carlyle had been relentless in his pursuit of them, unable to bear the idea of Eleanor and Van being together. Like many royals, Carlyle was consumed by his obsession with his guide, unable to tolerate the thought of losing control over her.

“If he finds out Van has imprinted on me, it’ll drive him mad with fury.”

And that was precisely what Eleanor wanted. Carlyle, with his mastery of magic, was a dangerous foe. She needed him to lose his composure and act recklessly; only then would they have a chance at defeating him.

“Maybe I’m overthinking this,” she mused. “He wasn’t in great shape before I started guiding him, after all…”

There was a chance that Carlyle’s magical abilities were still impaired. Eleanor tried to recall the early days of their relationship in her past life.

At first, Carlyle had pretended she wasn’t essential to him, accepting only the bare minimum of guiding. But guiding was not something that could be resisted for long. What began as brief hand-holding sessions stretched into hours, and before long, she found herself often held tightly in his arms.

Carlyle had constantly sought her touch but never crossed certain boundaries. Back then, Eleanor had naively mistaken his restraint for love.

He had struggled to maintain his composure around her, often talking incessantly to distract himself. Eleanor had occasionally asked him questions, but he rarely remembered her words. Half of his distraction stemmed from the effects of guiding, while the other half came from the fact that he saw her as nothing more than a disposable tool.

Eleanor’s stomach churned as the memory surfaced, making her feel as if her blood had turned cold. She stood up from the bath abruptly, irritated at how the recollection had ruined the relaxing experience.

“What a waste of a proper bath.”

She dried herself with a towel, applied fragrant oil, and began dressing. As she slipped on the sheer negligee that had been prepared, reality hit her with unexpected force.

The transparent fabric clung to her skin, leaving very little to the imagination. For the first time, Eleanor, who had been composed until now, felt her face flush with heat.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

Though she had taken this step deliberately, the full implications of her decision were now sinking in.

Draping a robe over the revealing negligee, Eleanor took a steadying breath.

Guiding was one thing, but physical intimacy was another matter entirely. Even as a guide, the thought of crossing that threshold didn’t come easily to her. Holding hands and embracing were different from what lay ahead.

“Even a kiss…”

She realized that the kiss she’d shared with Van was her first—not just in this life, but since her regression. Of course, it hadn’t been her first in the grander scheme of things, considering her past life.

“What was it like?” she wondered, struggling to recall.

Her emotions had been too muddled at the time. She hadn’t harbored any animosity toward Van, and the guiding woven into the kiss had only made it more overwhelming. All she remembered was the intensity—the way it had left her breathless, how he’d pushed her relentlessly, his heat almost suffocating her.

“Ugh.”

Eleanor’s already flushed cheeks deepened in color. She shook her head slightly, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Tonight, she needed to imprint with Van.

If her rank as a guide was too low and guiding him took longer than expected, it might even necessitate further intimacy during the journey in the carriage.

“It’ll be difficult since it’s my first time… but with the Grand Duke’s abilities—‘wind’ and ‘healing’—I should be fine,” she reassured herself.

Royals were known for their exceptional physical abilities and unique talents. Because of their enhanced physiques, many became swordmasters, and Van was reputed to be unmatched across the continent in combat.

However, unlike ordinary swordmasters, royals who overused their mana would accumulate “corruption,” a dangerous byproduct. This was why many royals, including Carlyle, avoided using their abilities unless absolutely necessary.

Even Van, with his rare dual talents of wind manipulation and healing, used his gifts sparingly to avoid the rapid buildup of corruption. Eleanor wanted to ensure that he would be in peak condition, fully guided and ready to wield his abilities without restraint.

No matter what attack might come their way, she wanted him to crush it utterly.

And to prepare him for that, tonight would require multiple rounds of guiding—and imprinting.

“I’ve steeled myself for this…”

But despite her resolve, waiting for Van alone in the grand bedroom made her nerves waver. With her hand pressed to her chest, she tried to steady her breathing, only to jump when a knock came at the door.

“My lady, the Duke has arrived.”

“P-please, let him in,” Eleanor stammered, nearly biting her tongue in her nervousness.

The door opened, and Van entered, freshly bathed and dressed in a loose shirt and trousers. He exuded calm confidence as he stepped inside.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting. Have you been waiting long?” he asked, his deep voice gentle but steady.

Eleanor instinctively started to shake her head but quickly stopped herself, realizing that would be impolite. She looked up at him, her flushed face betraying her nerves.

“No, not at all,” she managed to reply.

As she began to rise from the edge of the bed, Van crossed the room in long strides and stopped her.

“Please, stay where you are. I’ll come to you,” he said, his tone firm yet reassuring.

Eleanor froze as he untied the belt of his robe, shrugging it off in one smooth motion. Beneath, he wore only trousers, leaving his upper body bare. His chiseled physique, honed from years of swordsmanship, caught her off guard.

Seated on the edge of the bed, Eleanor suddenly felt self-conscious. The sheer negligee she wore left little to the imagination, and she found herself regretting the choice.

“This might’ve been too much…” she thought, her embarrassment mounting.

Unable to meet Van’s gaze, she averted her eyes. But before she could compose herself, he was already standing before her.

His intense crimson eyes slowly scanned her from head to toe, as if memorizing every detail.

“Are you shy now?” he teased, his voice playful and affectionate.

Her pride stung, Eleanor glared up at him, but the intensity in Van’s gaze made her retreat instinctively. He leaned down, arms braced on either side of her, effectively caging her in.

His face was so close she could feel his warm breath, and the strength of his arms, like steel columns, left her no room to escape.

As she continued to lean back, trying to put some distance between them, her balance gave out, and she toppled backward onto the plush bed.

“Ah.”

The soft mattress cushioned her fall, but Van followed her down, his weight pressing lightly on the bed.

He chuckled softly, his smile faint but disarming, as his fingers found the tie of her robe.

The sensation of the fabric loosening and slipping open sent a shiver down her spine.

“You have no idea how happy I was when you asked for the imprint.”

The truth was, ever since the first time Van had seen her—that day Eleanor walked in, holding onto Carlyle’s arm—he had imagined a moment like this.

At the time, he had been horrified by his own thoughts, overwhelmed with disgust at himself. Yet, even then, he had dreamed of her. And in those dreams, his desire had often betrayed him, leaving him both ashamed and yearning.

It wasn’t until now that he understood the truth: Eleanor was his guide.

“D-Duke…” Eleanor stammered, her voice trembling.

“Call me Van,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Just imagining you saying my name makes me feel things I can’t even describe.”

As he whispered, Van gently parted her robe, his gaze trailing from her delicate neckline downward. But then, his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw, catching him completely off guard.

Eleanor’s entire body flushed crimson with shame as Van stared, wide-eyed, at her bare figure.

Though she squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, she could feel his gaze on her, hot and heavy, like it was devouring her whole.

“W-wait!”