“Ilea, did you know? Sir Yohan intends to take wives besides you. Several of them, in fact.”

No sooner had the Count finished speaking than Ilea's expression turned icy. Her face stiff as wax, she spoke.

“... Is that true, Yohan?”

Her gaze was so cold that a slight chill ran down Yohan's spine. For almost the first time since possessing a body in this world, he felt afraid. This was far more chilling than encountering all those Demons in the Abyss.

He stammered despite himself. “I-if necessary, I can marry any number of women.”

Ilea murmured in a subdued voice, “I see.”

She said nothing more, seemingly lost in thought. A long silence followed. Yohan felt as though he were sitting on pins and needles. Unable to bear it any longer, he cleared his throat.

“Whoever I marry, you will come first, Ilea. As you know, our fates are bound together.”

Yohan had no intention of neglecting her. She had helped him far too much. Whatever wives he might take, he intended to give Ilea's needs priority.

Ilea stared straight at him. “When you say I'll come first, Yohan, in what respect do you mean?”

Yohan answered firmly. “In every respect, of course.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You had better keep that promise.”

He nodded. “Of course. However many wives I take, I will always put you first.”

The chill in the air gradually began to thaw. Ilea's expression softened a little, and a gentle smile curved her lips.

“Very well. I'll leave it at that for today. Please finish your conversation with the Count.”

Yohan looked puzzled. “That's all you came for?”

He had assumed she had come to the drawing room to discuss something in particular.

Ilea smiled brightly again. “Yes, that's all. I just wanted to show you how I look as soon as possible.”

She gestured to the skirts of her elaborate dress.

'She does have quite a girlish side.'

Yohan chuckled. “It suits you very well. Clothes really do work wonders.”

Ilea pouted a little. “It's the wearer who makes the clothes look good.”

He shrugged. “Well, let's say that's true.”

She spun around, making a show of sulking. “I'll be going now. I've only been a distraction.”

She walked straight out of the drawing room. The door slammed shut, leaving Yohan and the Count alone once more.

The Count folded his arms. “Sir Yohan, do you even realize what you just promised that mage?”

Yohan did not quite understand the point of the question. “What promise are you talking about?”

The Count sighed. “How frustrating. You just swore to love one woman with unwavering devotion.”

Yohan paused. After freezing for a moment, he burst into uncharacteristically loud laughter.

“Love? Did you say love? Ha ha! Count, your head really is a garden full of flowers.”

As Yohan saw it, the Count was utterly consumed by the emotion called love. The man was willing to sacrifice hundreds, even thousands of lives to revive his dead wife, so that assessment was probably not far wrong.

The Count replied calmly. “Then yours must be a barren desert. So full of sand that not even the smallest seed of love can sprout.”

Yohan frowned. “You keep harping on about love. Do you actually think Ilea loves me?”

“Now we're finally getting somewhere. I can see how she feels about you.”

Yohan gave an incredulous laugh. “You can only say that because you don't know her true nature.”

Ilea was a witch. Witches had no such feelings as love or loyalty. Love inevitably entailed sacrifice and understanding for another person, but witches were profoundly selfish beings. They acted only for themselves. They were innately incapable of feeling love.

If Ilea felt drawn to something, that feeling was certainly not love. It was closer to possessiveness born of extreme selfishness. An obsession with having it at any cost. That could not be dressed up as love.

The Count said, “Her true nature? If you mean the nature of mages, I know it better than anyone. They are selfish. But ordinary humans are no different. What we call love is ultimately no more than an expression of selfishness.”

Yohan clicked his tongue. “Then you're saying that you're trying to revive your wife merely to satisfy your own feelings.”

The Count answered immediately. “Indeed I am. I originally intended to turn Yeriel into a Demon. Because of my selfish desire to see her face again, she would have been resurrected to live in hell.”

The Count's love was ultimately selfishness, and he admitted it himself. Yohan was utterly dumbfounded.

'Was he always this twisted?'

The Count was no romantic. He was merely a warped, obsessive madman.

Yohan stared at him, looking at a loss for words. “You've gone completely senile. I've nothing more to discuss with you on this subject.”

Their values were far too different.

Unperturbed by the insult, the Count said, “Ultimately, humans and love alike are simply selfish. One day, you will understand what I mean.”

Yohan felt as though he had stepped in shit. He could not understand why the Count was telling him all this.

“Count, enough of this pointless talk. Let's get back to business.”

He wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.

The Count said, “We were discussing Lady Marcano, weren't we?”

Serena von Marcano. The woman who possessed the Mind-Piercing Eye, and Yohan's intended fiancée.

Yohan spoke. “That's right. Write me a letter of recommendation to take to House Marcano. Right now.”

With the Count's recommendation, he could obtain a private audience with the head of House Marcano without waiting. He would probably meet Serena there as well. He intended to win her over.

The Count pointed to the stack of documents on the table. “I've written recommendations addressed to every house on the Council. Take a look.”

He had prepared them without being asked. Whatever his twisted values, Yohan rather liked this side of him.

Yohan promptly gathered up the documents. “And the house and money?”

“All arranged.”

Yohan would be living in the royal capital for the time being. Naturally, he needed a residence and money for living expenses. He was still poor, so he had no choice but to turn to the Count for help.

He smiled in satisfaction. “I'll repay you someday.”

The Count's expression turned stern. “Of course you will. I even have a promissory note here.”

He held out a sheet of parchment to Yohan. It was densely covered with the loan amount, date, repayment period, interest terms, and more.

'... He intends to get every bit of it back.'

It seemed Yohan would not be getting a free handout. The Count was a stickler in more ways than one.

Swallowing a groan, Yohan tucked the promissory note inside his clothes. “Lastly, take good care of Ilea. Avoid upsetting her if you can.”

In truth, he thought Ilea and the Count would get along well. It was just a feeling. A witch and a lunatic. Somehow, they made a fitting pair.

The Count replied evenly. “I'm not foolish enough to provoke an archmage. More importantly, how am I to help her?”

There was nothing specific to tell him. “Just do as Ilea asks. If she asks for a recommendation, write one. Whatever supplies she needs, provide them all.”

The Count nodded. “Very well. What do you intend to do about Deathshadow?”

Deathshadow, the underground city beneath Veldana, was now the Count's greatest headache. He had no further business with the Fell God Society that dwelled there. He had joined forces with them to corrupt the Heavenly Womb into an accursed object, but circumstances had changed somewhat.

The Heavenly Womb would be activated as a sacred relic. Yeriel would return as an angel, not a Demon. That was what Yohan had promised, at least.

The Count no longer needed Deathshadow or the Fell God Society.

Yohan said, “As I told you before, Deathshadow will cease to exist. Ilea should be on the move by now.”

Her first task was to eliminate Deathshadow. She would root it out in no time.

The Count spoke. “Not even the faintest trace can remain. I want this dealt with thoroughly.”

Yohan chuckled. “Don't worry. That blemish of yours will vanish from the world.”

The Count rose. “Good. Now, would you be on your way? My next appointment is waiting.”

He had received two unwelcome visitors today: Yohan and Wolfgang. Between them, his entire schedule had been pushed back. It was time to catch up on his work.

Yohan stood. “Next time, I'll at least send word before I visit.”

The Count's face remained expressionless. “As if you'll keep that promise.”

Yohan chuckled and left the drawing room. He set off straight for House Marcano in the royal capital.

* * *

At the mouth of the alley leading to the underground city of Deathshadow, Ilea walked with her hood pulled over her head. Her eyes were downcast and troubled.

“... Why did I do that?”

A short while ago, she had nearly lost her temper with Yohan. It had been difficult to control her feelings. His declaration that he would take several wives had come as something of a shock.

“It's nothing, really. When you think about it.”

As long as it helped Yohan advance, the number of wives he took did not matter. That was the rational way of looking at it.

Yet it left her strangely upset. The reason was clear: her possessiveness toward Yohan was growing stronger. Someday, she would find it difficult to control her emotions.

It was in a witch's nature. Once something caught their interest, they explored it with a feverish intensity. At some point, that could descend into fanatical obsession.

Yohan was occupying an ever-greater place in her heart. It was a kind of instinct, one she found hard to resist.

“... Will he come to loathe me?”

That, at least, she had to prevent. She would rather die than have Yohan hate her.

Just as she let out a long sigh, a booming voice rang out.

“Well now, one little rat left. I thought I'd slaughtered the lot.”

She looked ahead. A hulking figure stood at the far end of the alley. Cropped white hair, a muscular body, eyes like a wild beast's, and the heavy smell of blood. There was nothing ordinary about his presence.

He could not be an ordinary human. Ilea sensed it instinctively.

She spoke slowly. “Do you have business with me?”

The giant's mouth stretched into a broad grin, deepening the wrinkles in his skin.

“More than enough. If you're a mage.”

“I am. Go ahead.”

His gaze sharpened. He clenched one fist, and the space around his knuckles warped and fractured.

Ilea watched him warily. The giant before her was unmistakably a powerhouse who had transcended humanity.

He spoke. “Sorry, but I've nothing to say to a mage.”

At the same instant, he shot forward like lightning. All the space he passed through twisted in his wake. His enormous fist drove into Ilea's abdomen, and only then did the explosive report ring out.

Ilea did not move, as though nailed to the spot. With his fist still extended, the giant let out a sound of admiration. His hand was frozen solid.

Ilea spoke. “There must have been plenty of mages in Deathshadow. Did you treat them this way too, sir?”

The giant smiled cruelly. “Killed them all. For my pathetic son-in-law.”

Ilea's eyes curved in a smile. “You've done my job for me. Thank you.”

He gazed steadily into her eyes. “Young mage, what is your name? A human blocking my blow... You're probably the first in some fifty years.”

“Tell me yours first, sir.”

The giant chuckled. “My name is Wolfgang Eisenfeld.”