The End of Your Arrogance - Chapter 1: Return After Two Years

The Grand Duchy of Azantis finally broke free from its long silence. The Black Forest Knights had returned victorious from their expedition against the foreign tribes.

From early morning, the castle gates were crowded with estate residents eager to welcome their new Grand Duke.

As the gates finally opened, the guards began striking their shields. In response to the rhythmic sound, the people shouted the name of their young hero.

“The hero who crushed the Tatars!”

“Long live the Grand Duke of Azantis!”

“Long live the Black Forest Knights!”

Evelyn, waiting at the entrance of the main castle, closed her eyes. Even without looking, she could picture everything. The ground trembling from the deafening cheers, petals raining from the sky… everyone grinning from ear to ear, basking in happiness.

Just like that day when she had arrived in the North for their wedding.

The sound of galloping horses grew closer. The metallic clanking of armor echoed as the knights advanced.

Riding straight from the gates to the castle, the Black Forest Knights finally arrived.

Everyone inside the castle had come out to welcome the new Grand Duke. Evelyn stood at the front, holding her child in her arms, and watched her husband approach.

It had been two years since they last met.

A man clad in black armor walked forward, his build solid and imposing. Evelyn stared at the sight as if it weren’t real.

Finally, when he stood before her, she greeted him with the words she had rehearsed hundreds, no, thousands of times. She prayed her voice would not tremble.

“I’m truly glad you returned safely.”

He said nothing. Instead, his piercing gaze fixated on her face, unrelenting. Overwhelmed, Evelyn lowered her head.

His gaze followed her movement downward.

To the small figure in her arms.

A baby with black hair, sleeping like an angel.

His son, born while he was away at war.

He did not utter a single word to the child he was seeing for the first time.

The suffocating silence made the hostile stares surrounding them even more unbearable. Evelyn tightened her hold, shielding her son. Her body trembled at the thought that someone might try to take him away.

But soon, as if losing interest, Ilya turned to his chamberlain.

“Where is my brother?”

There was something urgent he needed to take care of.

The funeral of the former Grand Duke of Azantis.

“Your Highness, the body has been placed in the chapel.”

The chamberlain had already addressed Ilya as “Your Highness,” despite the fact that he had yet to officially inherit the title. Since the late Grand Duke had died unmarried and without an heir, there was no one else to claim the position but his younger brother, Ilya.

Moreover, Ilya was the war hero who had set the empire ablaze with admiration. If he wasn’t granted the title, he could simply take it by force.

“We must hold the funeral as soon as possible.”

“Your Highness, there’s… something you should see at the chapel first.”

The chamberlain’s voice was hesitant, his forehead glistening with sweat as he dabbed at it repeatedly with a handkerchief. Seeing this, Evelyn’s lips curled slightly.

“Is there a problem?”

“N-No, not a problem, Your Highness, but…”

Before the chamberlain could finish his sentence, Ilya urged his horse forward, heading straight for the chapel.

Sensing the tension, the chamberlain quickly held back the curious onlookers who had tried to follow. In the end, only the chamberlain and a few guards accompanied Ilya inside.

Creak. The massive chapel doors groaned open, revealing the grand interior.

A rich floral fragrance wafted out from within, perplexing everyone. It was as if spring had bloomed in this place alone.

The late Grand Duke’s body rested inside a glass coffin atop the altar.

Without hesitation, they crossed the chapel in long strides.

The moment Ilya roughly pulled away the family banner covering the coffin, everyone gasped.

“The body hasn’t decayed at all!”

“What in the world is going on?!”

The silver-haired man lay there, perfectly preserved, as if merely asleep. His pale, delicate face appeared almost divine. Even the knights, hardened by death, rubbed their eyes in disbelief.

Ilya let out a hollow laugh, his voice dripping with mockery.

“It seems the gods loved my noble brother until the very end.”

A crushing sense of defeat seized his entire being. Ilya bit down hard on his lip.

 

***

 

That night, the rain poured relentlessly.

“Looks like I won’t be getting any sleep tonight either.”

Clink.

Reclining halfway on the sofa in his bedchamber, Ilya placed his wine glass on the table. He gazed absentmindedly at the streaks of rain hitting the window.

“Even the heavens must be mourning my brother’s death.”

His brother, blessed with exceptional lineage, had been as kind as his angelic appearance suggested.

So foolishly kind that he could even smile at a beast like me, who coveted his place.

Ilya couldn’t tell whether he was feeling sorrow or satisfaction.

As if drawn by an unseen force, he left his chambers and made his way to the chapel where the body lay. The downpour soaked his chiseled face, drops running down like sculpted tears. The knights guarding him, startled by his sudden movement, hurried after him.

The moment he pushed open the chapel doors, the floral scent from earlier filled his senses.

And there, standing before the glass coffin, was a familiar woman.

She was caressing the coffin’s surface with delicate reverence.

Suppressing the wave of irritation that surged within him, Ilya strode toward the altar.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I came to say goodbye…”

A pair of rain-drenched, pale green eyes looked up at him.

“You seem more devoted to a dead man than to the husband who just returned from the battlefield.”

The scent of alcohol and rain clung to the man as he drew closer. The unfamiliar mix of smells unsettled her.

Fear pricked at her skin, but Evelyn knew she had to say what needed to be said. If she let this chance slip away, she might never have another moment alone with him.

Steeling herself, she met her husband’s gaze head-on.

Ilya scoffed, his voice laced with bitter mockery.

“Touching. Were you really in love with him? While I was out fighting to the death against the Tatars?”

“That’s not… true.”

Not true?

And yet, here she was, caressing a dead man’s coffin so tenderly in the middle of the night.

A fire raged in Ilya’s chest, barely held back by the last threads of his restraint.

Then, her voice—sharp and unwavering—pierced through him.

“You won.”

“…What?”

“Nasser is dead. And you’re alive.”

“······”

“Soon, you’ll be the Grand Duke of Azantis. Isn’t that enough?”

She met his gaze head-on and shot back at him.

The wife he remembered had always blushed shyly whenever their eyes met…

Thrown off by the unfamiliar intensity in her stare, he didn’t even register the fact that she had called his brother’s name so casually.

Evelyn stepped closer to her stunned husband. Something in her presence made Ilya unconsciously hold his breath.

“Ilya, I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” He let out a scoff. “And what could you possibly have that I would want?”

His smirk hadn’t even fully faded when Evelyn raised a hand.

The air trembled.

The delicate floral scent that had filled the chapel vanished in an instant, replaced by a stench so foul it made his stomach churn.

Ilya knew this smell.

It was the stench of death.

His instincts kicked in, and he spun toward the glass coffin.

Even as a man who had spent years on the battlefield, the sight before him made his blood run cold.

The once-pristine body of the silver-haired man had rotted away into something grotesque—blackened flesh, peeling skin, and sunken eye sockets.

His mind cleared in an instant, as if sobered by the sheer horror of it.

He turned back to Evelyn, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

She looked no different from the woman he remembered.

And yet, something about her felt entirely unfamiliar.

“What do you think?” She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

“······!”

With a wave of her hand, the air distorted once more.

The putrid stench disappeared, replaced by the gentle fragrance of spring.

And there, inside the glass coffin, the silver-haired man lay once again—immaculate, as if in peaceful slumber.

“…Illusion magic?”

Evelyn nodded.

There were no illusionists in the Black Forest Knights. A talent of this caliber would be valuable.

But he couldn’t trust the damned Madoos.

Their betrayal had led to the deaths of his comrades.

His wife may not have been personally involved, but in the end, she was still a Madoos.

“I refuse.” His voice was cold and resolute.

Evelyn, unsurprised, maintained her calm expression.

“Then… how about this?”

“Another offer?”

A humorless smirk tugged at Ilya’s lips. “You’re full of surprises tonight, wife.”

Evelyn simply met his mocking gaze, her voice unwavering.

“You won’t regret it.”

Evelyn had spent her entire life tiptoeing around others—first her father, then her husband.

But if she truly wanted to sway him, tricks like illusions wouldn’t be enough.

She needed something decisive.

“I think… this is what you truly need.”

Though she spoke with confidence, her heart pounded violently in her chest.

She took a deep breath, then bit down hard on her thumb.

The sharp pain made her shudder, and blood welled up instantly, dripping down her trembling hand. She had bitten so deeply that the skin was torn and ragged.

“What the hell are you—?”

Before Ilya could finish speaking, Evelyn reached forward and ran her bloodied fingertip across his lips.

His mouth had been slightly open in shock, and she took advantage of that—pressing her finger past his lips, tracing along his tongue and the soft flesh of his mouth.

The metallic taste of blood filled his senses.

Ilya’s entire body stiffened, his face twisting in distaste.

But then—

His breath turned hot and unsteady.

The air inside the chapel grew thick, suffocatingly warm.

For the briefest moment, he swayed as if dizzy before regaining his balance.

His sharp eyes snapped to Evelyn, filled with raw suspicion.

“What the hell did you just do to me?”

Evelyn met his gaze steadily.

“I’ll let you sleep. So… let’s make a deal.”

Sleep.

It was such a simple word.

But to Ilya, it was something he had never truly known.

From childhood, he had suffered from relentless insomnia. After that incident on the battlefield, it had only worsened.

Even the strongest drugs and alcohol had no effect.

His knights had once been forced to knock him unconscious just so he could rest.

Yet now—

A drowsy heat curled through his veins, his body growing sluggish, his mind hazy.

His grip on reality loosened for the first time in years.

Ilya scowled, his expression fierce, but his answer came swiftly.

“I don’t know what kind of deal you’re proposing, but fine. I accept.”

Without another word, he grabbed Evelyn by the wrist and strode across the chapel.

The force of his grip was unyielding, and with his long strides, she had no choice but to stumble after him, nearly dragged in his wake.

The heavy doors burst open, and the startled knights standing guard turned toward them in shock.

“Your Highness! Where are you—?”

“The bedchamber. Don’t follow.”

Silence.

The knights, shifting nervously, exchanged uneasy glances—but none of them dared to speak.