#52
The one standing at the front was Rico, a high-ranking half-demon official.
His appearance carried refined aggression.
Flowing decorations over a neat suit, and one noticeably crafted earring.
And above all, his gaze was sharp.
A man with bright red pupils and fierce eyes—Marcus was also acquainted with him.
Between those two lay old memories.
A relationship that was neither good nor bad, unpleasantly calculating.
“Isn’t it the young master?”
Rico opened his mouth, recognizing Marcus.
His voice was low and slow.
Even before reaching the end of the sentence, it already carried other meanings.
Silk-decorated shoulder epaulettes and hands wrapped in silk.
He was someone who dressed himself well.
Indeed, he was the type who knew how to shake people up with appearance alone.
He looked quite wealthy, but his gaze was ruthless and seemed to lack composure.
There was no emotion in those eyes.
Even mechanical courtesy appeared to be densely calculated.
“I told you not to call me that, didn’t I? What if your memory is already failing?”
Marcus laughed nonchalantly.
Though his tone sounded like a joke, his voice was tightly controlled.
“It’s good to see you, young master.”
Rico didn’t put even a bit of sincerity in his words.
That was just a ‘response.’
Refined insult, or peaceful hostility.
Rico’s voice was slow and sinister. Marcus raised his eyebrows as if wielding them.
That reaction wasn’t simply interpreted.
Marcus looked at his face for a moment, then dropped his gaze down and raised it again.
“Yes. I’m also glad to see you. On suspicious days, meeting a familiar enemy is rather reassuring.”
Hooking the corners of his mouth, he spoke calmly.
Though laughter was mixed at the end of his words, it wasn’t sincere.
Rather, it was an attack disguised as pretending indifference.
At those words, Rico’s mouth corners trembled.
He turned around silently and exchanged glances with the other half-demons he was accompanying.
Even without words being exchanged, there was a clear flow between them.
Their intentions passed with just one glance, and even changing positions was as natural as if predetermined.
Their footsteps were neither heavy nor light, spreading outward from the center of the ballroom at the same speed.
As if they wouldn’t miss anything, yet never in a hurry.
They were already surveying the reactions of the nobles in the ballroom with their eyes.
Though they appeared to be standing in a line, they were actually moving in a triangular formation.
While their gazes looked straight ahead, they didn’t miss any of the surrounding noise, conversations, or even small hand signals.
Their movements were so precise that rumors arose about small magic stones being in the brooches on their chests.
Marcus didn’t miss those gazes.
His lips were smiling, but his eyes carried the opposite chill.
While looking at Rico, his conversation partner, he was simultaneously grasping the flow behind him at a glance.
Marcus was concentrating on the trajectory of those half-demons’ gazes as much as the nobles’ movements.
‘They came to confirm something.’
He was certain.
This wasn’t a simple visit.
High-ranking half-demons appearing at the ballroom late at night without notice.
Their precise timing, their appearance just before the Prince’s accident.
This wasn’t simple social courtesy, but ‘confirmation’ with a specific goal.
Seeing that they sent a high-ranking official, this ball seemed to have played an important role in their suspicious plans.
As far as he knew, half-demons don’t leave opportunities to chance.
Plans are precise, execution is certain, and losses are not acknowledged.
The only reason they would move such a high-ranking figure directly was when ‘profit’ was clear.
‘Though there’s probably nothing left to see now.’
Along with that thought, Marcus broke eye contact.
His pupils seemed tired, weighing down slightly then rising again.
The information the opponent wanted had already become ruins, if there had been a plan it had gone awry, and the supporting actors had already exited.
Marcus muttered inwardly while observing their movements.
He shoved his hand into his pocket and rested one hand on his chin.
Though it was an informal posture, for Marcus this was no different from a combat-ready stance.
Acting as if lightly passing over everything before his eyes, while simultaneously sharpening his blade.
That was the method he had learned over a long time.
Half-demons never move out of goodwill. All their movements are calculation, profit, and according to necessity.
That was an assertion.
Their friendship comes with conditions, and their alliances can be broken at any time.
What’s hidden behind expressions is always the ruthless other side of exchange.
Marcus knew this.
Thus, those who don’t stop until they steal the opponent’s soul.
Their purpose isn’t simple.
It’s not aiming for the heart, nor cutting off life.
What they truly target is the ‘inside.’
That person’s emotions, past, guilt, emptiness—
Beings with excellent ability to twist and dominate all of that.
Rico, one of them, nodded and slyly surveyed the ballroom.
He moved his neck very slightly, weightlessly.
His eyes moved first before he even raised his head, and that gaze slowly crossed through the venue.
His gaze was like a hunter quietly selecting something.
It was like confirming who was caught in a net silently cast.
And what he found first.
That gaze stopped precisely at one place.
There was only one person in that direction.
“Where is Lady Marsien?”
His lips slowly parted.
And before the end of his words disappeared, Marcus immediately responded.
“She’s very peaceful.”
His answer was short and concise, but his intention was clear.
Without avoiding the gaze and facing it head-on, he even tilted his head slightly as he spoke.
Bingo.
Muttering briefly to himself, he organized one more flow.
Another point of interest in this ball.
Neither the Prince who vomited blood nor the half-demons whose plans went awry—the person actually at the center was someone else.
“But why that young lady?”
Marcus deliberately kept his tone light.
However, his complexion didn’t particularly brighten.
Inwardly, he repeated the name that had just crossed his mind once more, waiting for an answer.
Rico spoke shamelessly.
Those words were closer to a declaration than dialogue.
Without any hesitation, without emotion, like a dry diplomatic sentence.
“We simply came to have a conversation.”
* * *
To the half-demons, Marcus was an old thorn.
He was a scar that wouldn’t disappear, a wound that wouldn’t heal even as years passed.
His very existence was a symbol of old shame to them, a shadow of the past that was uncomfortable to recall.
He had grown up among them and been raised within their expectations.
And he had betrayed them perfectly.
They secretly called him ‘the traitor.’
Though they didn’t say it aloud, in internal rosters he was specified as ‘Il Naha’s defector,’ ‘Hascal’s loss.’
His name was close to taboo in high-level meetings, and even when mentioned, only silence and anger remained as if chewed and swallowed.
However, today, that traitor had appeared right before them.
Sword Master talent, perfect resistance to curses, the ability to freely manipulate mana.
This wasn’t something he had obtained by chance, nor achieved through acquired effort alone.
That was thoroughly the result of a ‘planned birth.’
His genes, the environment at birth, even the flow of injected mana—
Everything was the result designed by one elder.
All of this was the result of genetic planning and experimentation by Elder Hascal, who was direct lineage of pure-blood demons.
Hascal.
The man who had led the most radical ideologies and experiments within the half-demons.
He had called Marcus his ‘masterpiece’ and intended to use him as the key to one day overturn the empire.
Marcus Il Naha.
That name had become an existence uncomfortable to mention even in internal half-demon documents.
His publicly known origin was simply the martial arts prestigious family ‘Naha household,’ but the internal truth was deeper than anyone’s.
Even the name he possessed felt like blasphemy to them. Shouldn’t he have properly belonged to the clan and abandoned his surname?
The family name ‘Il’ was a symbol permitted only to chosen bloodlines even within the half-demons, and that was equivalent to the rights of pure blood.
However, even with that name, he hadn’t belonged and remained a human noble.
Yet despite being so blessed, Marcus had thoroughly betrayed the clan’s expectations.
He had rejected all the talents Hascal gave him,
Abandoned the rights granted to him,
And even tried to kill his own father.
He didn’t use the power of curses, nor did he stand on the half-demons’ side. Rather, he became the imperial shield and despised his own father.
When he directly went around cutting down cursed forms,
His father rejoiced saying ‘a clan member who wields the sword well has finally been born,’ but that sword was always aimed at half-demon hearts.
‘Ungrateful bastard.’
Rico gritted his teeth inwardly.
The tool they had created, the masterpiece they had intended to be proud of, was now making a mocking laugh before them.
This ball was an important venue for negotiation for them.
This wasn’t a simple festival.
It was an extremely refined political battlefield where strategy and interests were intricately entangled.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
