Ignoring Aurelia's barely-contained fury, I hurriedly made my exit, brushing aside Acier's frantic pleas. It was difficult to reconcile the strong woman I had always admired in the story—the indomitable force of nature—with the fragile figure laying before me, her eyes darting nervously as if trying to gauge the repercussions of every word. The fear that I might erupt like a volcano at any moment only served to deepen my discomfort. Acier Silva was celebrated as one of the mightiest individuals in her world, her radiant smile and unshakeable confidence broadcasting an unyielding resolve—even as she prepared to embrace death when it eventually came. But now she seemed so broken, so far removed from the powerhouse she once was.
As I walked out of her villa and made my way back to the office, an unsettling churn twisted in my stomach at the memory of her dull, haunted gaze, which flickered with the faintest hint of hope as she regarded me. In the original work, my existence as Sebastian Silva was merely an afterthought—nothing more than a footnote noting Acier's eventual marriage and the four children she would bear. Perhaps the author chose to exclude him entirely, aiming to preserve Acier's independence and strength. After all, an illustrious figure like her shouldn't have been made to look like a mere appendage of a man, a hapless wretch clinging to her success.
Yet, the reality was starkly different. Acier's husband was undeniably real, and the torment he had wrought upon her during their sixteen years of marriage loomed large. To crudely compare, I imagined my existence paralleling that of Jacques Schnee from RWBY—an opportunist who had married into the esteemed House Silva (the equivalent of the Schnee Dust Company) purely for personal gain. Although the comparison painted a simplistic picture; Sebastian's character was layered, encompassing a genuine, albeit twisted, love for Acier—love that was now tainted by the years of emotional abuse he had inflicted.
In this grim narrative, Acier exemplified a far more resilient and nurturing mother than Willow of RWBY, refusing to allow the bleakness of her marriage to eclipse her devotion to her children. If anything, her tribulations seemed to deepen her love for them, compelling her to pour even more attention and affection into their lives.
Tragically, her life was cut short at the tender age of thirty-three—a devastating reality in a world where mana enhanced not just abilities but also resilience and vitality. Had she been plucked from this tale and placed into the modern realm, she might have been mistaken for a vibrant twenty-five-year-old. Within the confines of this cruel story, had she continued to endure, there was an unnerving possibility that she would have eventually succumbed to the pressure and trauma. Yet, unlike Willow, who retreated into the shadows, Acier would likely not lose herself entirely; instead, she would have projected her hidden scars—visible only in the presence of her tormentor—and become increasingly vulnerable to the world around her.
Damn it all—how pathetic I was, too. I couldn't even muster the courage to respond to her. I couldn't tell if it was the remnants of Sebastian's wretched disposition or my own timid nature as the transmigrated soul that drove me to flee like a coward. My dark mood clung to me like a shadow as I strode through the main estate. Typically, the staff would part for me out of respect, but this time it was different; their faces bore an unmistakable dread, eyes averted, bodies trembling as they avoided attracting my ire.
I chided myself for the transformation I had allowed to unfold. Despite being intertwined with a man as rotten as Sebastian, I had yet to fully succumb to that darkness, I mused, berating myself for the annoyance swelling within. I refused to lay my frustrations upon these poor souls. They were not deserving of my wrath. But the door to my office—now that was a different matter entirely.
As I reached for the doorknob, I turned it slowly and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind me with a resounding crash, shaking the very walls of the room. Damn, it didn't even break! What on earth were these doors made of? I shook my head in exasperation, my irritation boiling just beneath the surface.
I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I realized just how tense I had been. The release of tension was almost instantaneous, making me feel much better. My eyes drifted to the stack of paperwork cluttering my desk— a daunting reminder of the myriad tasks that needed reviewing and signing. Procrastination wasn't an option; leaving it for later would only result in an unbearable pile-up. I needed to clear this off my plate to free up my schedule for my plans this month, especially time for Acier. Resolutely, I picked up my quill pen and inkpad. Instead of sitting in that dreadful excuse for a chair by my desk, I opted for the coffee table in front of the sofa. The Victorian-style couch, while prioritizing aesthetics over comfort, was still an improvement over the chair. Making a mental note, I considered dedicating a budget to replace the estate's seating furniture, at least in the areas I frequent.
As I looked at the mountain of paperwork, a migraine threatened to surface. If only I hadn't sent Alfred away; he could've been manipulated into handling this for me. I psyched myself up. "Come on, Sebastian, you can do this," I muttered. After all, I was a medical student who had made it to my final year, written essays as long as textbooks, and memorized procedures and protocols lengthier than the constitution. I picked up the first sheet and my brow furrowed in confusion. A wedding offer addressed to one Nozel Silva. The mere title was enough to make me crumple it up and toss it into the waste bin. If only I were a fire mage, I could have incinerated it.
The next sheet...another wedding offer. A quick review of Sebastian's memories made it clear. With Acier soon to be out of the picture, many nobles and royals greedy for House Silva had set their sights on my eldest, the next heir in all but name. Annoyance flickered through me as I began sorting through the papers, pulling out all the ones labeled with wedding or engagement offers. To my dismay, nearly 60% of them fell into this category. It would be easy to shred them all, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know who had the audacity to reveal their greed so plainly.
As I scrutinized the senders, my frown deepened. Sebastian's aristocratic knowledge enabled me to see that 90% of the offers came from House Kira or noble houses allied with them. Some were so desperate that they adopted daughters just to make an offer or even proposed their sons. Despite my irritation, I couldn't help but stifle a laugh-Sebastian knew Nozel's preferences well enough to know he didn't swing that way. Some offers were ludicrous, proposing significant age gaps or even suggesting patriarchs' wives, concubines, or mothers and aunts. A few were so shameless they promised newborns as concubines when they reached marriageable age.
Even the more reasonable ones, offering daughters or second sons, were shredded all the same. I made a note of one particularly bold offer for Noelle, nominating the sender himself. Clearly, he had heard the rumors of her resemblance to the Steel Princess and hoped to sire children with her presumably large magic reserves.
I decided Alfred would arrange a meeting with Damnatio. Not only to deal with the upcoming Conrad issue and Lovilia's imminent assassination but also to address the nuisance that was House Hapshass. Wasn't that the house where that blonde idiot, who tried to plot against Yuno, came from? Salim, or something like that. Sebastian's knowledge confirmed they were indeed a family of lightning mages, making me more confident in my decision.
A smirk played on my lips as I gathered the remnants of the ridiculous proposals. At least dealing with this nonsense provided some amusement amidst the tedium. I reached the final marriage offer, ready to toss it away without a second thought. These offers sickened me, but something made me pause. I squinted at the paper, disbelief washing over me. Surely, this was some sick joke. Reading it again, my blood ran cold. Clutching the paper, I wanted to shred it and tear the sender apart. The title read: Marriage Offer For Sebastian Silva From House Kira.
"Hahahahhahahahahah!" My hysterical and furious laughter echoed in the room. Thankfully, the walls were soundproofed, or passersby might have thought I'd lost my mind. My muscles tensed, and my mana flared instinctively. I wasn't alone in my rage; Sebastian's very essence was repulsed by this idea.
It was no secret that Sebastian and Acier had a loveless marriage. But why then did Noelle and her siblings not have any half-siblings? In noble circles, it was common to have many lovers and concubines. Yet, Noelle's father never remarried after Acier's passing. The truth was, he still loved Acier, albeit in a twisted manner. To him, Acier was a jewel, an idea of perfection he wanted to corrupt and mold. Despite having women throw themselves at him, he chose the undefeated princess of the battlefield. He was a competitor, not interested in the result but the journey and chase. He wanted to defeat Acier slowly, making her kneel before him because she had the strength to oppose him. He didn't want an obedient wife; he wanted a fighter and a rival. Basically, he was an M.
House Kira's blatant disregard, not even waiting for Acier's passing or the standard mourning period, infuriated him. As my hysterical laughter subsided, I looked up at the ceiling and mused manically, "Perhaps, Augustus has outlived his usefulness."
In the summer of 1619, Sebastian Silva began planning regicide.
3 Hours Later
I sank back onto the sofa, utterly spent after a grueling session of managing the family's financial affairs. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, as I signed off on budget allocations for various sectors—food, defense, magical tools, education, and instructors, to name a few. I also had to approve the distribution of our monthly earnings, ensure all outstanding taxes and fees to the kingdom were paid, and authorize those dubious "donations" (which were more akin to bribes) to the courts and the church, all to keep them from prying too deeply into the Silva family affairs. It was an arduous and unenviable task, to say the least.
The strain of calculating expenses took a toll on my wrist, but it was the heartache of watching so much gold slip away from our treasuries that truly weighed me down. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought I was having a stroke, but I forced myself to remember that, in the grand scheme of our wealth, it was merely a drop in the ocean that constituted the Silva fortune.
I couldn't help but daydream of the sort of chaos I could unleash on the economy back in my old world if I were able to return with even a fraction of our resources. Uncle Sam might seriously entertain the notion that the Clover Kingdom is in desperate need of some liberty!
As tempting as it was to simply turn in for the night and let the burdens of the day fade into oblivion, I steeled myself to rise from the sofa. I knew if I allowed myself a moment's respite, procrastination would ensue, and no amount of fusing with Sebastian would rectify my chronic lack of work ethic. With determination, I made my way through the now quieter hallways, offering indifferent nods to the patrolling knights as I set my sights on heading back to Acier's villa. Tomorrow promised to be a long day, making it wiser to rest there, where I could optimize my time. I only hoped my family's tension wouldn't be too palpable at my presence.
Acier Silva
A shiver coursed through my body as I twisted and turned on the bed, battling the overwhelming urge to surrender to sleep. Come on, Acier, I urged myself, you can fight this—don't close your eyes! The thought of drifting off terrified me; I had little faith that I would ever awaken again if I let slumber consume me. I was acutely aware of my own fragility, a state I had never experienced so intensely—not even as a toddler, when I first learned to navigate this world. This curse had rendered me so weak that I could barely sense the flow of mana within me, marking an ominous approach to the end of my life.
In a desperate attempt to prolong my wakefulness, I had requested Nozel to leave the blinds open and the window unlocked, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and the chilly night breeze to nip at my skin. "Just one more day," I whispered to myself, thinking of the experts scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Though I dared not entertain hopes of a full recovery, maybe they could restore enough of my strength for me to live my final days in peace and tranquility. Perhaps I would even have enough vigor to hold Noelle—if only for a fleeting moment.
"Just a few more hours," I pleaded with my weary limbs, desperation creeping into my thoughts. I genuinely doubted my body's resolve to bring me back should I give in to the temptations of a short nap. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and the resistance I had so fiercely clung to began to crumble as my vision blurred and darkened.
No… no, please! I silently begged. Nozel, Aurelia, someone—anyone! Tears I wanted to suppress began to swell in my eyes as I desperately called out, "P-please." Just at that moment, a gentle yet masculine sigh broke through the stillness, followed by a strong, warm hand resting on my forehead. Instantly, I felt a rush of cold water coursing through my mind and down my mana veins, invigorating me as if a surge of life had just entered my weary body.
My vision sharpened, the fog lifting as I focused on the source of that comforting touch. To my astonishment, it was a figure I had never expected to see by my side—the very essence of what should be the backbone of any family, the one whose face mirrored the features of our sons, my husband.
In that moment, everything else faded away, giving me a glimmer of hope and strength to cling to.
"W-Wait, Sebby?" I whispered hoarsely, disbelief flooding my senses. As soon as the pet name slipped from my lips, a wave of anxiety surged through me. It had been so long since I had called him that—back when we were engaged and every syllable wove affection between us. But after Nozel's birth, he clearly demonstrated how much he loathed being addressed that way… and he did so quite violently. The way he paused in that moment sent a chill through me, and I felt a knot form in my stomach, worried he would withdraw his touch in a fit of petty spite, leaving me to languish in despair. I could almost feel the words gathering in my throat in a futile attempt to explain myself. Yet, he lingered for only a breath before returning to his gentle ministrations, bathing my forehead in soothing recovery magic.
"If it hurts, you shouldn't speak," he remarked indifferently, his voice devoid of emotion. I remained in stunned silence as I watched him care for me, an unexpected rush of memories sweeping over me. I envisioned times long past when he would eagerly heal my wounds after I returned battered from training or missions, times when he sought out knowledge from renowned doctors just for my benefit. It stirred a bittersweet ache within me, a nostalgia for a past I tried desperately to bury. Now, with hindsight, it all felt tainted—a lie I wasn't ready to confront. I had been so lovesick back then that I couldn't accept that his concern might have masked something darker, that the worried glances he cast my way whenever I emerged with bruises or injuries, large and small, might simply have been a façade.
"This… t-takes… m-me… back," I stuttered, the words escaping my lips before I could truly grasp their weight. A fresh wave of apprehension washed over me as I braced myself for a reprimand or even a harsh response, yet none came. He persisted in his task, enveloping us both in an awkward silence until the magic's maximum effect seemed to reach its pinnacle. With a reluctant sigh, he drew his arm away, and I felt a pang of embarrassment for missing the warmth of his skin against mine. But I wouldn't voice it—not anymore. That was a vulnerability I could no longer afford to reveal.
As I sat watching him in silence, I felt the urge to break the tension when he suddenly reached into his satchel, pulling something out that surprised me. It was an unusual sight—Sebastian, the typically stoic royal, holding something other than his grimoire or communication device. When he retrieved a circular jar, my curiosity piqued.
I observed him with bewilderment as he uncorked the jar, releasing a sweet aroma that even my congested nose could detect.
"H-honey?" I stammered, half in confusion. He then produced a spoon from beneath his robe and dipped it into the golden nectar, drawing out a generous tablespoon.
"Yes," he replied with his characteristic indifference as if this was the most mundane task in the world. Then he reached for something else—a smaller container this time—and sprinkled dark specks over the honey.
"And pepper?" I gasped, incredulous at the sight. It was utterly out of character for Sebastian to prepare his own food, let alone combine honey with pepper. The absurdity of it left me in a comical state of disbelief.
I braced myself to witness his peculiar culinary choice, but instead of feeding himself, he brought the spoon to my mouth. My puzzlement deepened as I noticed the honey-pepper mixture take on a blush hue; he was channeling a bit of recovery magic into it.
For me? I was about to voice my shock, but as I opened my mouth to speak, he quickly interpreted that as my consent and shoved the teaspoon into my mouth.
"Mph, mfff…" I muffled in protest, attempting to flail my arms in indignation as he shot me a stoic look.
"If you want me to pull it out, swallow it all. It'll clean your throat so you can at least speak like a human being," he said matter-of-factly.
Two conflicting thoughts raced through my mind: my husband was feeding me, and his justification could easily paint a more "erotic" scene for anyone overhearing our exchange without context. Shaking off the absurdity, I nodded and obliged, swallowing the strange combination of flavors that balanced sweet with a sharp bite. As the healing magic flowed through me, I felt the soothing sensation start to clear my throat, alleviating the itch and irritation that had lingered.
He withdrew the spoon, placing it back into the honey jar and setting it on the side table. "Better?" he asked, turning away from the table to face me once more.
"Better," I replied, surprised at how effortlessly the words came out. "Much better," I tried again, delighted to find that even my nasal passages had opened up, allowing me to breathe and speak without sounding like I was drowning.
All he offered was a slight nod before he reclined in the chair. I noticed him frown as he adjusted his position, attempting to make himself more comfortable. I was tempted to tease him about it, but the seriousness etched on his features convinced me that there were certainly better moments to test my luck.
"Why are you here?" I decided to confront the elephant in the room. It was hard to fathom why the illustrious Sebastian Silva had stepped down from his throne at the main estate to grace his wife in her villa with his presence—not once but twice in a single day—especially after years of ignoring me.
"Didn't I tell you? Experts are coming in tomorrow," he replied matter-of-factly as if I were the one who had lost track of the conversation. The tone ignited a flicker of irritation in me. Perhaps he noticed my annoyance, as he continued, "They're not the most social or pleasant bunch… so I'll need to handle the negotiations to ensure they fix you and Nozel up. Besides, with both of you unable to voice your issues without 'her' knowing…"
He truly knew it all, I thought somberly, nodding with a muted expression. "Even then, why are you here, in my room?" I pressed.
"I wasn't planning on it," my husband shrugged indifferently as if it held no significance. "I was still on the fence about checking up on you, but I heard your plea and let myself in. Was that alright?"
A warm feeling flickered to life in my stomach, threatening to rise to my cheeks. I quickly stifled it. I had learned much over the past 16 years—two decades if I counted our time as fiancés. I was no longer the lovesick fool I had once been, susceptible to all his whims and sweet nothings. He wouldn't take hold of my heart so easily again. Still, given that he had just saved my life, I looked at him earnestly and said, "Yes, it was. Thank you."
Out of all the responses I could have anticipated from Sebastian, watching him blush like a schoolgirl while scratching his cheek and mumbling a bashful "don't mention it" was not among them. Who are you and what have you done with my husband? I wondered, recalling the days when his flirtation had piqued my interest and held my affection.
Regaining his composure, he slumped back into his chair, crossing his arms and turning his gaze toward the wall across from him with indifference. He might have looked regal, if not for that brief moment of vulnerability I had just witnessed.
"So what was that about?" I asked tentatively, feeling the weight of the moment.
He blinked at me in confusion, his brows furrowing. "What was what about?"
I propped myself up against the bed's backboard, trying to steady my racing thoughts as he helped me sit up straight. Twirling a lock of my silver hair around my left index finger, I studied him. His genuine bewilderment stirred a mix of frustration and vulnerability within me. Gritting my teeth, I finally forced the words out. "The honey… and pepper… and…" I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, unable to suppress my embarrassment, "…feeding me."
I half-expected him to blush and turn as red as a tomato, fumbling for words in a flustered mess. Instead, his expression shifted to one of nostalgia, a hint of melancholy washing over his features as he gazed up at the ceiling. Disappointment gnawed at me, convincing me he was slipping back into his familiar habit of ignoring me. My head began to slump back down onto the pillow when he unexpectedly began to speak softly.
"Whenever I got a cold, or a stuffy throat or nose… my mom used to feed me that." His voice carried a lingering affection, and I blinked in surprise as he studied my reaction closely. A wave of thoughts washed over me. For someone like Sebastian, whose parents had died when he was very young, I had always assumed he wouldn't have many memories of them. The fact that he chose to share this fragment of his past with me, especially knowing how sensitive he usually was about discussing his parents, felt significant.
"Thank you." I sounded like a broken record, repeating the only response I could muster. If my words stirred any annoyance or offense in him, he didn't show it—just a soft nod in acknowledgment.
"So what now?" I asked, attempting to shift the topic away from the intensity of the moment.
"Originally, I was going to rest in one of the guest bedrooms," he began, then narrowed his gaze at me. "Alas, it seems you're quite scared to sleep." I felt the air grow heavy as he touched on that sensitive subject. Normally, I'd brace myself for mockery or snide remarks, but instead, he added gently, "So if you don't mind, I could just stay in this chair, and we can keep you awake by chatting until sunrise when our guests arrive?"
Once again, I found myself blinking in bewilderment. This was not the Sebastian Silva I had come to know since our marriage. This was something akin to the man my fiancé had been before the weight of the Silva name had changed him—an offshoot of the family, so distant from the core that it was easy to forget he belonged at all, aside from his striking hair.
Please, don't let this be some cruel joke, I thought, a game designed to lift my hopes only to shatter them later. Anxiety coiled tightly in my chest as I gripped the covers, my questions etched across my face—concerns, a plea for the truth. I couldn't stop the silent tears from spilling as I pressed my lips together in frustration. His eyes held mine, reflecting a complicated mix of emotions. Please tell me. "What is that supposed to mean?" I managed to ask.
In response, he leaned toward me, and I instinctively closed my eyes, bracing for mockery, the sharp sting of insults to pierce through the moment. But none came. Instead, I felt gentle thumbs underneath my eyelids, wiping away my tears. Opening my eyes, I fought to stop trembling and to calm the hitch in my throat. He stood up and knelt beside my bed, turning to me with an earnest expression as he clasped his right hand over mine.
"I… can't… speak for the future," he began softly. "But right here, right now… this is all real. No games, no ploys, no sick jokes or schemes. It's just you and me, interacting like a husband and wife should. If you don't want to talk, we can sit in silence. I'll keep you awake with some light mana pulses."
Looking into his eyes—sincere and earnest, despite the betrayals of the past—I felt a flicker of confidence. This time, the honesty behind his gaze felt undeniable. I gave him a shaky nod, and we let the silence envelop us, finding comfort in the delicate touch of our hands against one another. Glancing beyond him at the moonlit sky, I silently wished for this moment to last just a little longer.