Chapter 11

Chapter 11: I Just Need to Feel It Again

A well-known fable tells of three blind men attempting to describe an elephant. Each reached out to touch a different part of the beast, and predictably, each offered a completely different description. The lesson is simple enough: a part cannot define the entire reality. Yet, there exist things so striking that observing merely a fraction allows one to envision the absolute whole.

At this precise instant, Ferda experienced that truth through the sheer beauty of Valdrova.

His view was limited strictly to her lower jaw and mouth. A chin as delicate and flawless as white porcelain held him utterly spellbound. Just above rested lips of radiant crimson, shimmering like fresh fruit bathed in early morning mist. Even with the rest of her face hidden, Ferda was certain: his future bride was a woman of peerless, breathtaking elegance, beyond anyone he had ever encountered.

Faced with this revelation, he struggled to sort through the turmoil of his thoughts, standing mute as he fixed his eyes upon her mouth.

The ceremonial engagement wine crossed Valdrova’s parted lips, trickling down until the vessel was completely empty.

At that exact moment, a startling shift occurred within Ferda’s being. The deep-seated terror of dragons, once carved into his very spirit, dissolved into nothingness.

Mortals cast off their fear upon leaving behind the unknown, becoming one.

It matched the ancient phrase Ruri had cited earlier. The innate dread mortals harbor toward dragons was melting away entirely.

‘She went to extraordinary lengths for the sake of regular humans.’

The true purpose of this betrothal ritual was to place them on an equal footing before one another. Realizing this, Ferda once more felt the quiet yearning she had nurtured, as well as the sorrow that accompanied its delay.

As he continued his gaze, the dragon-headed helm shifted slightly. Her eyes briefly locked with his through the narrow slits before she abruptly turned her face away.

‘I must have stared far too long.’

Ferda pulled his gaze back and composed himself. Ruri then motioned for him to take the floor, her expression plainly broadcasting her distaste for the ceremony. Meanwhile, Valdrova remained still, bowing her head.

Drawing a steady breath, Ferda allowed his voice to ring out clearly across the room.

“You know very little of me.”

Composing that single opening sentence had consumed an entire day. Finding the right words to begin expressing his true heart had proved that difficult.

“And yet, I know you.”

The truth he had settled on followed naturally:

“You offered me your heart. Through that heart, I was allowed to see who you truly are.”

He chose utter honesty.

“I witnessed the endless betrayals and scorn directed at you. I felt the boundless hatred cast upon you.”

Clink.

The heavy plate shifted whenever he spoke a verse of his pledge.

“Yet, you bore your duties with supreme nobility. You never abandoned that which you wished to protect; you gave your love to the very end. It was your unwavering spirit that grounded me.”

He knew this was the right choice.

“Because of this, I make my vow to you today. Just as you entrusted your heart to me, I place my own into your hands. My King, my everything.”

That concluded the written portion of his vows.

“There is one thing I did not put to paper, however…”

Ferda looked straight up into the draconic mask. As their gazes met, Valdrova bowed her head even lower.

Clink, clank.

Enclosed within the thick metal, she shifted shyly in place, keeping her hands clasped tightly before her.

“It is a profound privilege to be betrothed to someone as exquisite as you.”

The helm jerked back in shock.

Ruri stared blankly at Ferda, cringing so hard on the inside that her limbs felt tied in knots from the sheer awkwardness of the scene.

“And now, the bride shall present her vow—”

Ruri was abruptly stopped by a raised hand from Valdrova. Without a word, the armored figure turned on her heel and walked away. Ferda watched her, wondering if another part of the ritual remained.

Thud.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her.

Valdrova had departed without reciting a single syllable of her pledge. Ferda and Ruri remained behind, staring at the closed iron threshold.

“…The betrothal ceremony is concluded.”

Just like that, the event came to an end. Even if she had skipped her vow, the required steps had been fulfilled, meaning there was no reason to linger.

“Come, let us return.”

Ruri addressed him, but Ferda did not reply immediately. Confronted with such an abrupt exit, he merely stared at the door, lost in thought.

“Lord Ferda?” she prompted once more.

Snapping out of his reverie, he finally responded. “Pardon me, but could I be granted leave to enter seclusion for three days?”

“Seclusion?”

“I intend to remain alone, fasting completely. I ask not to be disturbed.”

Shutting himself away and going without sustenance sounded to Ruri like a man retreating in humiliation.

‘The embarrassment must have hit him hard.’

After having to recite such an earnest vow all by himself while his bride fled behind an iron door, anyone would be dying of mortification.

“Very well.”

A faint smirk crossed Ruri’s lips, lingering there.

“Truly magnificent, Master. You dealt with that brilliantly.”

Valdrova had shifted back into her draconic form, curled tightly with her massive head concealed under a wing. Despite the chaotic moments throughout the ritual, her exit had deeply satisfied Ruri.

“To strike and immediately retreat like that was ingenious. Forcing him to utter those shameful words alone only to cut him off without a word—his confidence must be thoroughly shattered.”

“…Though perhaps that wasn’t what you meant to do.”

As the silence stretched, Ruri’s smirk faded. Valdrova slowly lifted her head from beneath her wing.

—I… wished to recite my vow as well. As someone taking a partner…

“…I understand now.”

Ruri cast her eyes toward the scattered remnants she had tried to overlook. Valdrova had clearly prepared with immense dedication. Ferda had discarded ten crumpled drafts before producing his single-page vow—a concise, suitable length.

Valdrova’s written vow, on the other hand…

‘Span twenty whole pages.’

Twenty dense pages, filled front and back. The drafts she had burned through easily equaled three thick volumes. It was an overwhelming display of maidenly devotion that felt completely at odds with the terrifying Archduchess, something that would have caused immense awkwardness had anyone else laid eyes on it.

Yet Ruri, having served as her attendant for centuries, merely let out a soft sigh.

“If that was your wish, why didn’t you speak up from the start?”

—That is…

Valdrova hesitated.

—I could not bring myself to look at him.

Ruri tilted her head. “You couldn’t look at him?”

—I lacked the courage… to meet his gaze and speak. My thoughts scattered entirely… I could do nothing at all.

“…My own thoughts are scattering just hearing this.”

Ruri felt an urge to cover her ears and wince. Clearing her throat, she changed the topic before losing her composure.

“In any case, your fiancé will now begin overseeing his responsibilities as master of the household. He will manage the fortress and the surrounding lands.”

—I am… well aware.

“And when mortals attain authority, they change.”

Authority.

At that word, Valdrova’s excitement quieted. The memory of the 3rd Imperial Prince—the one who perished by her own claw—still lingered heavily within her mind. Even though decades had passed, to an immortal creature, it felt like only yesterday.

“Such is the nature of mortals bound to the flow of time. You must prepare yourself for disappointment at any turn, Master.”

—I see…

Her gaze drifted outward into deep contemplation. The timid maiden who had faced a human had retreated, replaced once more by the immortal lord.

Dampening the mood after a celebration was hardly pleasant for Ruri, but it was indispensable. Just as a returning conqueror is reminded of his mortality, her master needed to remember that the mortal things she treasured were destined to fade or change. It was the most honest counsel Ruri, as a Dragon Spawn and loyal servant, could provide.

Following the ceremony, Ferda isolated himself immediately.

Contrary to Ruri’s assumption that he was hiding from embarrassment, Ferda simply needed quiet to reflect.

‘The sensation I experienced while looking upon her…’

When penning the words, it had been a calculated effort, but speaking them out loud had brought a dormant emotion surging up from the depths of his soul. He had realized that speaking so boldly would fluster her and perhaps derail the ceremony, yet he had felt an irresistible urge to follow that impulse.

‘Why did that happen?’

Closing his eyes, Ferda examined every sensation, replaying the sights and feelings repeatedly until the truth became unmistakable.

‘It was definitely in that moment.’

Watching her take the engagement wine had completely enraptured him. In that brief instant, he had ceased to be Ferda the Archmage; he had simply been Ferda, the man.

‘What should I name this feeling?’

Seeking an answer, he focused entirely on that surge of intensity. As he dwelled on it, a stirring began within his lower abdomen.

A violent rotation erupted within the circle nestled below his Dantian, spreading intense heat through his chest.

‘The Red Circle is awakening.’

It surged like a violent river, carrying the threat of overwhelming his mind.

‘This is perilous…’

Ferda had two paths before him: he could divert his focus to calm the Red Circle, or plunge deeper into the emotion to feed the fire.

‘The safer path is to suppress it.’

Feeding the flame was reckless, practically pressing a blade to his own neck, even for someone with his vast past knowledge.

‘Yet to stand with the dignity required of the Archduchess’s consort…’

He had to embrace the hazard. That was the vow he had taken upon entering her domain.

‘Let us proceed.’

Concentrating fully, Ferda set to work. Manifesting a second circle shared principles with the first, yet the path was clearer now. His sole obstacle was the sheer volume of mana required.

‘Focus…’

Closing his eyes, he dove inward. His physical senses faded into silence—no sound, no wind, no tactile sensations remained to distract him. Only pure thought endured.

Ferda traced an internal blueprint. Following that path, the fluctuating mana surged obediently without resisting. The rushing stream swelled until it shaped an outer ring.

‘Now, to establish it.’

A new circle formed around the first. Spending forty-eight unbroken hours refining its architecture, Ferda polished it to perfection.

Two rotating circles now turned within his Dantian. Ferda had stepped into the realm of a 2nd Circle mage, a Spell Blower.

“Hmm…”

Despite advancing so swiftly, he felt a lingering dissatisfaction.

‘The emotion has subsided.’

With the new circle formed, the emotional fuel had been spent. That peculiar stirring had integrated into his core, and the exhilaration faded away.

‘Such is the flaw of the Red Circle.’

It constantly demanded stronger stimuli; without them, progress halted. One risked becoming an emotional wreck or stagnating before reaching full potential.

‘I merely need to experience that feeling once more.’

Though he had not fully unraveled the mystery of that feeling, he was unhurried. Facing her again would surely reignite the spark.

Ferda offered a calm smile.

“I suspected something when you asked to isolate yourself… but you have already reached the 2nd Circle?”

“Indeed.”

Advancing to the 2nd Circle within three days—and within barely a month of arriving—was extraordinary for someone who had started as an ordinary mortal. Even at the 2nd Circle, such speed commanded absolute respect.

“Is this my designated workplace?”

Ferda and Ruri stood within the Archduchess’s private study. Furnished with rich, dark timber, the room was tailored perfectly for governance while radiating regal dignity, almost convincing an onlooker that a monarch rested upon the Throne.

Taking in the room, Ferda asked, “As the proxy and fiancé, what is my initial objective?”

“As stated before, you must gather capable personnel. Now that the Archduchess is returning to public affairs, those empty roles need filling.”

“I understand. Am I permitted to make these appointments independently?”

“You personally cannot, Lord Ferda,” Ruri replied, picking up a heavy item from the desk. “However, this can.”

It was the Royal Seal of the Archduchess of Valdrova, carrying authority equal to the monarch’s direct word.

“Finding talent…”

Normally, one would ponder such decisions for days.

“…Yes, I have the right candidates in mind.”

Without the slightest delay, Ferda set his pen to the parchment.