Chapter 1: Waking Up
I blinked, struggling to process the scene before me. A moment ago, I had been slumped over my computer desk in my dimly lit room, surrounded by sticky notes and multiple monitors playing various videos, all in a desperate attempt to cram for my final exam. Exhausted, I must have dozed off, because now that familiar sight had been replaced... with whatever this was.
I felt a dull ache in my rear as I hurriedly stood from where I'd been sitting. Grimacing, I eyed the ornate wooden contraption I'd been perched on—a chair if you could even call it that. The padding was so thin, that it seemed insulting to the very concept of comfort. Sure, it was beautiful, something that could fetch a high price as an antique, but for someone as picky about seating as I am, it was a nightmare. My tailbone practically ached just looking at it. But then, something strange happened. I realized the pain wasn't real. My discomfort was only mental, some kind of phantom sensation. As delicate as my backside tends to be, I was surprised to find I could stand and move about just fine.
With that revelation, I turned my attention to the desk in front of me. Gone were my monitors, tablet, keyboard, speakers, mouse pad—my entire setup. Instead, a stack of parchment and a quill pen sat neatly in their place, the inkpad signed in some old-fashioned script. What century is this? I thought, scanning the room. It was enormous, easily large enough to fit my entire apartment inside, and there wasn't a single electrical outlet or trace of modern technology in sight. The only light streamed through the window and from several glowing shards embedded in the walls. Bookshelves lined the space, filled with volumes bound in leather, while paintings on the walls practically screamed wealth and privilege—exactly the sort of thing the elite would admire while throwing away a year of my salary on a single night at an art gallery. A medieval theme pervaded the room, with a gleaming suit of knight's armor standing in one corner and a brilliant silver sword, its cross-guard adorned with what looked like jade, mounted nearby.
My gaze fell upon several open books on the desk, each laid out in an oddly organized manner—something I was grateful for, given my OCD tendencies. But as I looked closer, my stomach dropped. The books were written in a script I'd never encountered, yet I could understand every word as if it were my native language. Annoyed, I scratched at my chest, feeling something weighing on my shoulders. That's when I realized I was wearing a decorated satchel. Inside, I found a book, its cover unfamiliar, and just as I reached for it, I froze.
My hand. It wasn't mine—or at least, not how I remembered it. My usual tan complexion, one that often-had people mistaking me for someone of mixed Latino heritage, was gone. My skin was pale, almost shockingly so, like I had been sunburned or diagnosed with some strange condition.
Turning my head, I noticed an ornate round mirror on the wall, something straight out of Sleeping Beauty. I backed away from the desk and stood in front of it, deciding it was time to settle this nagging feeling of curiosity. And that's when I saw him—my reflection. I was taller now, easily surpassing the six-foot mark, a milestone of which I had only ever dreamed. For a moment, I felt the ridiculous urge to shed a tear of joy. But that feeling was quickly overshadowed by confusion and unease. The face staring back at me wasn't mine—it was a stranger's.
Instead of my usual tan skin, I now had a fair, healthy complexion, a stark contrast to what I was used to. My shoulders were broader, and I carried myself with an upright, almost regal posture. My build was athletic—strong, but not overly bulky. As for my clothes, well, they looked like something straight out of a bad cosplay or a Dungeons & Dragons convention. I wore a loose-fitting shirt with a high collar, fastened at the top by a gold band but left open below to expose my collarbone. My pants were equally loose, tapering off into tight bands just below the knee, and I was wearing flimsy sandals. To top it all off, I sported a robe with a short fur mantle and longer, frilled panels that hung down to my elbows.
Despite my initial confusion, I felt a sense of familiarity creeping in as I recognized the outfit, even though it lacked its usual eagle insignia. Normally, I wouldn't have been so quick to make the connection, but other features made it clear who I had become. My eyes were narrow and blue, my eyebrows small and sharp. And my hair—almost silver-white—was unmistakable. It was long and straight at the back, but the top and sides were heavily styled, swept back into a spiky fringe. A braid hung between my eyes, ending at the tip of my nose, where a small House Silva pendant was attached.
Wait a minute… Did I just reincarnate as a middle-aged Nozel Silva? But I'm supposed to have purple eyes, not blue! No… no, no, no! Don't tell me I've become Solid! Anyone but him! Not that loser! Panic set in as I glanced down at the satchel that I now knew held my grimoire. Desperate to confirm my fears, I pulled it out. The familiar three clovers greeted me, but the moment I flipped it open and saw water magic inside, my heart sank. The blue color alone should have been enough to give it away, but I was clinging to some last shred of hope.
Solid Silva. Seriously? Why, God? Why?! I know I wasn't the most devout person, but even I didn't deserve this! If I had to be reincarnated as him, couldn't I at least have been reborn as a kid? Then maybe I could change things, become someone worth talking about. But no, here I was, stuck as a stern, middle-aged, washed-up grump with a permanent frown and all the charisma of a wet blanket.
Honestly, I'd rather be Sekke. Or Alecdora. Or Gordon. Klaus, even! Hell, I'd have taken being reincarnated as a woman. I didn't even need to stay human. Just anything but Solid Silva.
Fighting back a wave of exaggerated, fake tears, I focused on my floating grimoire. Thanks to our mental bond, I commanded it to flip open so I could assess the situation. If I was going to survive in a fantasy world, I needed to gauge my strength. Sure, I might be living in a timeline where the major threats like Lucifero and Lucius had already been dealt with, but that didn't mean I was out of danger. The number of people in Black Clover who could kill Solid—with little effort, no less—was easily in the triple digits. I could only hope that after reconciling with Noelle, he'd stopped being such an arrogant jerk and actually learned some new spells, growing in the process.
As I flipped through the spells in my grimoire, I frowned. Not because there were too few of them—quite the opposite, actually. There was a surprisingly large selection, including not just his signature sea serpent and eagle spells, but also a variety of creation, recovery, and barrier-type water spells. That didn't make sense. Even if Solid had grown stronger or undergone some character development, he was still an attack mage at heart. He shouldn't have this many support spells. After all, you can't change your nature that easily… right?
And then it happened. The grimoire flooded the room with a soft, bluish light that engulfed everything, including me. That's when they hit me—the memories. So many memories, overwhelming and foreign, yet now a part of me. I clutched my head as it pounded, the grimoire forcing the identity of this new life into my mind. It wasn't just memories, either. It was their nature, their existence, being imprinted into my personality, my blood, my body, and even my muscle memory through the spiritual bond we shared.
It felt like an eternity, as if I were bearing the weight of the world like Atlas, until it finally stopped. This time, I couldn't stop myself from collapsing. Here I was, a dignified royal of the Clover Kingdom, gasping for breath on my knees like an overworked dog. "Sebastian Silva?" I muttered with hysterical laughter, staring back at my reflection in the mirror.
No, I hadn't reincarnated as Solid or even Nozel. I had become someone far more insignificant. Someone who was so unremarkable that Yūki Tabata, the creator of Black Clover, didn't even bother to name him or reference him beyond a potential silhouette in one of Noelle's flashbacks. I had become Sebastian Silva—now named—the husband of Acier Silva, father of Nozel, Nebra, Solid, and Noelle, and patriarch of the Silva family.
It dawned on me then why Solid was the only sibling whose name started with an "S"—he was the only one who had taken after Sebastian. He had inherited both my—no, our—eye color and magic. I had broken Acier's usual naming convention and decided to name him after myself. A quick dive into my new memories confirmed it. Sebastian, or rather me, had felt some shallow sense of victory when our third child finally inherited something of mine. So, I made my presence known just long enough to name Solid, basking in a small triumph. Acier hadn't even been angry—she'd been relieved that I was finally engaging with our children, even if only briefly.
As the memories continued to trickle in, I let out a hollow chuckle. "Well, I guess those literature teachers and Shakespeare-wannabes were right. Don't judge a book by its cover." Sebastian, like Nozel, was far more complex than I had ever given him credit for. I had always written him off as another failure, like Nebra and Solid, based on how he treated Noelle during the royal selection ceremony. It wasn't until his reaction to Fuegoleon's injury that I'd grown suspicious. And once the reason for his behavior toward Noelle was revealed, I could at least understand him—though I didn't condone it. Sebastian, despite being unnamed, had his own story, his own motives. Was it particularly compelling? Not really. But it gave me some insight into who he was… who I was now.
Still, that didn't excuse him. Did that give Sebastian the right to be a no-show in his family's life? To not even be by his wife's side until she was a corpse? To leave Noelle to suffer a traumatic childhood, tortured by her siblings? Hell no! So, what now? The year was 1619—the year Acier died. Right now, she was on her deathbed, with no doctor able to save her. I was despised by her sister, Mereoleona, and my eldest son, Nozel. The other two were indifferent to my presence. And as for Noelle? I hadn't even made contact with her in the year since she was born.
Acier had given up on me years ago, shortly after Nozel was born. The only time we interacted was when she wanted another child. The look of hope she gave when I showed up after Solid's birth had been snuffed out when I left right after naming him. Remembering how I had taken some perverse satisfaction in making someone so much stronger than me feel despair made me want to vomit.
I didn't think it was possible, but I had somehow ended up in a worse situation than if I'd reincarnated as Solid Silva. As I processed these thoughts, an image flashed in my mind—a woman with youthful features and a slender build. She had silver hair with mauve hues, tied up in a firm ponytail, with a straight clump resting against her forehead. Her lavender eyes were framed by long lashes, and she bore a striking resemblance to the heroine of Black Clover, Noelle Silva.
Well, cough, cough—turns out my wife is a hottie, so I guess it's not all bad, right? Wiping the sweat from my brow, I dusted myself off and straightened my clothes. Standing tall once more, I decided not to waste the strange surge of confidence I was riding on, knowing it might fade later. Without hesitation, I darted for the door, eager to pay Acier a visit at her villa. After all, who knew if I'd ever get another chance? That is, assuming the little plan brewing in my head didn't fail.
Just as I was about to yank the door open, a knock interrupted me. I tensed up, but quickly relaxed as I sensed a weaker and familiar mana presence on the other side. Stepping back a little, I squared my shoulders, taking on a posture befitting a royal, with my hands crossed behind my back.
"Come in," I said emotionlessly, watching the door open as a figure entered. I masked any anxiety I had about saying something out of character. But then again, screw canon—if I misspoke, it wasn't the servant's place to point it out, nor would they dare. And even if they did… well, let's just say it wasn't unheard of for nobles or royals to make their servants disappear. Damn, I was already losing my societal morals. Shaking my head clear of such dark thoughts, I focused on the man before me.
A balding butler in a black suit and matching tie, with a handlebar mustache and chestnut eyes. He had the name Alfred Pennyworth. Yes, the same name you're thinking of—an obvious nod to copyright workarounds. He looked at me with a stoic expression, grimoire absent. Only House Silva members and family guards were permitted to carry their grimoires inside these castle walls.
"What is it, Pennyworth?" I asked, impatience creeping into my tone.
If he was offended by my rudeness, he hid it well. Closing his eyes, he responded softly, "Just like the others, Doctor Owen is equally helpless. He has made his final verdict. Lady Acier shall not live to see the end of the month." Even though his voice was calm, he couldn't entirely mask the sorrow. I was impressed—a mere servant genuinely cared for his master.
I paused. Instead of rushing to the villa, I turned and walked behind my desk, gazing out at the Silva estate through the window. The scenery was majestic—expansive cobbled stone paths, ornate gardens, and fountains. Maids, servants, knights, and branch family members carried themselves with dignity, even if they bore no Silva blood.
Through the reflection in the window, I saw Alfred's gaze burning into my back. He was almost begging me to go see Acier. Without turning, I spoke, "Alfred, you hate me, don't you?"
"P-pardon?" His eyes widened, and the stoic mask he wore slipped away. Whether it was from me addressing him by his first name or the question itself, the old butler was clearly shocked.
"Be honest. You detest me. You've served this family since Acier's grandfather's time, and to watch his beloved granddaughter—Clover Kingdom's prized jewel—end up with an uncaring bastard like me must make your blood boil, doesn't it?"
He started sweating, clenching and unclenching his hands in tension, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Before he could respond, I pressed on, my expression shifting into a dark, eerie smile.
"Don't you want to kill me?" I asked, my voice low and taunting. "The one who's wounded the steel princess more than any battlefield foe? The one who has caused her more pain than even this illness? The one who has tarnished her undefeated record? Don't you wish you had your grimoire, so you could end me right here and now?"
Alfred's body stopped shaking, his eyes turning red with fury. He only managed to say one word, but it carried all the weight of decades of pent-up anger. "Yes," he spat, and with that single word, it was as if he had released all his frustrations.
Perhaps expecting me to strike him down for his insolence, Alfred's shock turned to confusion as I finally turned to face him. Replacing my perverse grin was a genuine, soft smile as I gave him my own one-word response.
"Good."
"H-huh?" His face was a sputtering mess—hardly fitting for the head butler of a royal family. But I didn't hold it against him.
"If you had said no, I would've fired you on the spot," I continued calmly. "Even if Acier only has a few weeks left, if your loyalty to her was that shallow, you wouldn't be worth keeping."
"Lord Sebastian?" he asked quietly, clearly puzzled by where I was going with this and why I was testing him.
"We'll get to that in due time. But first, I need to know—are you ready to make a deal with the devil and put your faith in me? Because that's the only shot at saving her. I won't guarantee it'll work, though." I said, regaining my composed, indifferent, and regal demeanor.
The notion of me saving her was laughable, as the butler's expression made abundantly clear. His disbelief was written all over his face, but it quickly faded as he resumed his blank, emotionless mask. "Forget you—if it were a real devil, I'd do it all the same. Anything to save my lady," he responded coldly.
I nodded, pleased. Let's hope you stick to that, because we just might do exactly that, I thought to myself. "Before we proceed, I need to ask you a few questions."
"Yes?" he replied, now sounding impatient.
"How is Conrad doing?" I asked.
"The Wizard King?" Alfred looked puzzled at the sudden shift in the conversation.
"Yes, how is Leto? Still as chipper as ever, I hope? And getting along with Lovillia, I assume?" I elaborated, maintaining my indifferent tone while clasping my hands behind my back.
Alfred hesitated before replying, "Of course… I hear they're expecting."
A wave of relief washed over me. Good, she's still alive. Even with Sebastian's memories, I couldn't fully trust that he'd have kept up with the lives of an ostracized noble and his partner—especially not someone like Conrad, even if he became Wizard King. Note to self: deal with those royal bastards trying to assassinate her. I needed Conrad to remain in power, not get sealed away for losing control. Who knew what Lucius made Julius unknowingly do when he took over, given his access to intelligence networks? If I wanted to stay out of Lucius' sight, I needed to reduce his influence without drawing attention. A guy who plays with souls wouldn't be able to resist a reincarnation from another world.
"Next question—how's the Agrippa family doing?" I asked.
"The commoner family that deals with curses, the Agrippa family?" Alfred's voice betrayed his bewilderment, the idea of someone like Sebastian knowing about a commoner family seemingly unthinkable to him.
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "Unless there's another Agrippa family I should be aware of?"
"N-no, sir," he stammered. "Though we don't typically pay attention to commoners, the Agrippa family has gained some recognition among both commoners and nobles. Their finances and wealth seem quite decent for their status."
Do you think I want to wipe them out and steal their money? My forehead veins bulged in frustration. I'm asking for my wife! I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to take a breath and calm down.
"And what of the Faust family?" I asked, watching Alfred's expression closely.
This time, he wasn't as shocked, given it involved a noble family. In fact, he spoke quite enthusiastically, "They're as closed off as always. But the younger son, Morgen, has made quite a name for himself as a magic knight. He's formed an unusual duo with that foreigner. As for the other child, Nacht, he's still quite the troublemaker."
Good, good—everything's still in place. I felt a brief sense of relief before Alfred interrupted my thoughts. "But…" he began, causing me to refocus on him. He glanced around nervously, checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "There are rumors that they're dabbling in…dark arts. One of our spies in the royal court overheard whispers about devils. But it's just a rumor—no evidence. The Faust family isn't foolish, and how could a family that raised someone like Morgen be involved in something so sinister?" Alfred chuckled, as if to convince himself that it was nonsense.
So the royals aren't as oblivious as I thought. I'd pegged Damnatio as the only non-Silva or Vermillion worth mentioning, but now I wasn't sure whether this was a good sign or just a forewarning of future headaches. Pushing the thought aside, I refocused on the task at hand.
"I need you to do three things for me," I began. "The first one is of the utmost priority. The other two can be handled later. You must do this personally, and no one can find out. Understand?"
Alfred's demeanor shifted as he sensed the gravity of my words. He gave me a solemn nod.
I raised one finger. "First, I want the heads of the Agrippa family and the Faust family, along with their wives, in Acier's villa by tomorrow at the latest. Use the Fausts' shadow magic to ensure they sneak in unnoticed. Lower the estate barrier for a moment, just in case. Understood?"
If Alfred was confused about what I intended with these families, he didn't show it. He nodded, absorbing every word.
"Whatever price they ask to satisfy them, offer it. If they refuse, make it clear that there won't be an Agrippa or Faust family any longer," I added, my voice steady as I lifted a second finger. "Second, keep an eye out for a purple-haired, blue-eyed witch with dream magic. She should be about 14 by now. Don't worry if you can't find her yet—she'll make her presence known eventually, especially with the upcoming grimoire selection ceremony."
Without acknowledging the tension that seemed to build in Alfred, I raised a third finger. "Lastly, keep tabs on any royal factions with crooked intentions toward Conrad and his family. If things escalate, send an anonymous tip to Damnatio Kira."
"M-master, y-you don't mean—" Alfred began, his voice trembling with apprehension, but I cut him off before he could voice his concerns.
"The latter two can wait," I said sharply. "Now, let's go." I walked past him without another word.
As I strode down the hallway, servants hurried to part ways, bowing and saluting as I passed. Alfred followed closely behind, no longer daring to question me. My thoughts churned as we made our way toward Acier's villa. Well, time to meet my family. The thought left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I'm already dreading this.
Chapter 2: Meeting
Acier Silva POV:
"That bastard still hasn't visited you?!" The words echoed in the dim light of the room, filled with an urgency that contrasted sharply with my feeble state. As I lay there on what felt like my deathbed, a frail smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I turned my head slowly, ignoring the sharp ache that radiated through my body, seeking solace in the familiar presence before me. There stood Aurelia Silva—the girl who was once my sister, now a proud Vermillion by marriage.
In her, I saw reflections of myself. The unmistakable silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, while her eyes, a softer pink, reminded me of my youngest daughter's innocent gaze. While we shared many physical traits, the essence of who we were set us apart. Aurelia's spirit burned bright and outspoken—a trait that may have been ignited further by her time in the joyous chaos of House Vermillion. Even as a child, she had an indomitable spark that made her stand out, her voice often rising above the fray and bringing life to the silences around her.
I glanced at the tiny bundle in her arms, stirring from a light slumber, roused by her mother's fervent utterance. Sweet little Mimosa, coiled up like a radiant sunbeam, boasted soft Vermillion locks and bright yellow eyes that sparkled with curiosity. I could only hope she inherited her father's innate sense of awareness—otherwise, it seemed certain that she and Noelle would butt heads more often than not, like wildflowers in a tempest.
My heart ached as I recalled Noelle, my youngest, nestled securely in Nozel's arms, her delicate frame shielded against the world's turmoil. He had finally taken a much-needed respite from that relentless self-imposed training to come and see me. It pained me to think that I would be unable to converse with her, to share my thoughts or experiences as a mother should. She wouldn't even remember my face, leaving a hollow gnawing of guilt in my chest. The burdens of a curse weighed heavily upon me, and I lamented the unfairness of it all—this affliction that dictated my fate and sequestered my love from my children.
Rumors abounded, whispers circulating among the ranks of our family and acquaintances, suggesting my demise was a consequence of my choice to bear Noelle. But how could I clarify their misguided assumptions? Any attempt to set the record straight would only subject Nozel to the cruel repercussions of a devil's curse he bore, and I would never wish that upon him. It was maddening that they chose to forget the truth of my health following her birth. They opted for twisted narratives over the reality of my situation, ignoring the cries and pleas of a mother who fought for her child's right to know her.
It was infuriating yet tragically ironic. Noelle, the daughter of the princess of the battlefield, was to be subjected to a lifetime of scorn for her vulnerability; how foolish of them to believe that she could be anything less than a tower of strength. The disdainful glances she received from servants, and even from Nebra and Solid, were a sting I wished I could shield her from, at least while I still drew breath. I knew that the moment I was gone, the floodgates would open, and the scorn of those who desired to see her falter would rush over her like a tempest.
I clung to the hope that Nozel would uphold his promise to protect his sister. As for her father, indifference would be his only gift to her. He would neither lash out in rage nor extend a protective hand; Noelle would become just another shadow in his distant gaze, placed among his other three children. Strangely, I found solace in this thought, for amidst the many potential predators circling around my sweet girl, he would be the least of her worries.
But it was Nozel's clenched jaw and brewing anger that caught my eye when that despicable man's name slipped from Aurelia's lips. I felt the tension ripple through Nebra and Solid, as they braced themselves for a feud sparked by the mention of their father, and I couldn't help but feel a sharp annoyance bubble within me. I turned my gaze back to Aurelia, forcing my hoarse voice through the constricted remnants of my strength. "A—Aurelia… j-just... d-drop... i-it," I murmured, straining with each syllable. Even for someone as forthright as her, the message seemed to resonate. She caught the weight of my frustration reflected in my eyes, offering a sheepish nod in understanding before redirecting her gaze to the floor, safely abdicating the topic.
The ceiling loomed above me as I lay on my bed, its sterile whiteness offering no comfort against the encroaching shadows of my reality. Solid's and Nebra's hands gripped mine tightly, their voices a muted murmur in the background, blending into the thick fog of exhaustion that enveloped my mind. My body, slick with perspiration yet frigid to the touch, felt trapped in an agonizing limbo, oscillating between arctic cold and simmering fever. I glanced at my wrist, astonished to see the vibrant hue of my skin replaced by an unsettling pallor, one that could easily prompt the casual observer to mistake me for a lifeless shell. The heaviness beneath my eyelids made the world blur into an incoherent haze.
So, this is it, huh? I'm really a goner. One would think that someone like me—a scion of proud magic knights, a warrior known for valor and fame earned on countless battlefields—would have made peace with this fate. I had always understood the stakes of violence; if you kill, you must be prepared to die. But the truth of my situation struck me with a brutal clarity: I was not ready. I wanted to be present for my children, for Noelle. I yearned to witness Nozel and Solid navigate the tumult of young love, to see Nebra and Noelle exchange vows with their lovers under a sunlit sky, to tease my children about their first crushes, and to bond with Nozel's and Solid's girlfriends. The thought of closing my eyes, only to drift into an eternal sleep, terrified me. I feared with every fiber of my being that I would never again see my precious jewels.
Then, perhaps stirred by my sister's presence, my thoughts turned inevitably to him—the man who had snatched hope from my grasp time and again, delighting in the very pain he inflicted. It struck me as a grim irony that the dancing princess of the battlefield—a title I had worn with both pride and grace—was cowed by the very man who should have been my partner. Sebastian. The thought of defying him felt foreign and impossible; after all, he wasn't a magic knight. Maybe that's why I found it so challenging to confront him as I would an enemy on the battlefield. At the end of the day, he was my husband. My battles with him were tragically limited to words and wits—skills in which I perpetually faltered, my heart shattered time and again by his cold indifference. My once unbreakable spirit, honed on the battlefield, felt like fragile clay, easily manipulated by his presence.
What a cruel man you are, Sebastian. Even if your heart no longer harbors love for me...not anymore...is it too much to ask for a single visit? After all, there was a time when we shared the sanctity of vows, a time when we were... something more. I snapped my head away from those thoughts, mentally shaking myself free. There was no use in dwelling on spilled milk. Perhaps it would be wise to give him a taste of his own medicine and demand a divorce before I slipped away from this world. His precious hold on House Silva would disintegrate, leaving him as nothing more than a shadow. A dark, juvenile fantasy, I mused with a spiteful grin—but even in that fleeting moment, practicality reigned, and I recognized the futility of such thoughts.
If he were to disappear from my children's lives as I departed from this world, I knew too well the dangers that would descend upon them. There were more than enough nobility and dealers from the Kira family poised to snatch House Silva for themselves at the first sign of weakness. Despite his flaws, Sebastian was a shield for my children, and my eldest son, Nozel, though remarkably gifted, was merely a teenager fresh from acquiring his grimoire. Asking him to protect his siblings, to carry the burden of our lineage alone, would break him. It would crush the very spirit that nestled within him, rendering him helpless against those who would prey on our family's misfortune.
I returned Solid's grip with a gentle squeeze, forcing a smile that felt grotesque as I continued to gaze at the ceiling. "S-Sorry, S-Solid… Mommy wasn't... l-listening. Can you... repeat that... a-again?" I waited for him to express his point once more, but the words never came.
Perhaps he didn't hear me. "Solid?" I called out again, straining to raise my voice despite the searing pain that lanced through me. I waited and waited, but only silence greeted my ears. Confusion creased my brow as I turned to look at my strangely quiet son. It was then that I noticed something unsettling—he wasn't even focused on me. Solid's gaze was fixed across the room, his pupils dilated, his mouth slightly agape. A cocktail of surprise, trepidation, and a hint of fear coursed through me. Ignoring the migraines pulsating through my head, I followed his line of sight, and that was when I saw him—my husband.
Sebastian stood framed in the doorway, and despite the vehement hatred Nozel held for him, I recognized the traces of his regal demeanor mirrored in my eldest. My husband, from whom Solid had inherited not only his physical features but also the legacy of his magic. A part of me had resigned to the notion that he wouldn't come to see me, perhaps only willing to pay his respects once I was entombed beneath a gravestone. Yet here he was. A husband, visiting his dying wife—such a notion should be natural, but it felt so strangely misaligned with the man who perpetually wore irritation like armor. The silence in the room was so palpable it felt as though the very air between us held its breath, reflecting the disbelief we all shared.
I watched as Sebastian whispered something to Alfred, who hurried away carrying a heavy load, glancing back at me with a look tinged with uncertainty. I braced myself for the sharp twist of anguish that I had come to expect from him—the reassurance that I should not harbor hope. I braced for him to turn around, to shatter what little optimism had ignited in my heart. But instead, there he stood, crossing the threshold and stepping into the room
Sebastian Silva POV:
Ignoring the palpable tension that filled the air like a suffocating shroud, I ordered Alfred to see to the task I had entrusted him with before stepping tentatively into Acier's room. I could sense the myriad of eyes bearing down on me, but my focus was singular, inescapably drawn to her.
In the stories told in manga and anime, she always appeared unfazed, glowing with confidence even in her illness. But reality told a harsher tale. Acier lay frail upon her deathbed, her body a shadow of its former self, so thin and ghostly pale one could easily mistake her for a specter. Sweat glimmered on her forehead, yet I hesitated to pull the covers away. Even in this weakened state, I could feel the icy chill radiating off her; she was so very cold. Her once-vibrant lilac eyes seemed dulled, heavy bags beneath them betraying restless nights—either she lacked sleep or, perhaps, had avoided it altogether, fearing that slumber might seal her fate. Megicula and Vanica... just wait. I clenched my fists unconsciously, my resolve solidifying. I'll make—she'll make you pay.
As I took in the bewildered expression on her face, a flicker of guilt washed over me; how could she be so surprised by my presence? The looks on the faces of our children and my sister-in-law mirrored her own shock, but those quickly morphed into a storm of anger. Nozel, in particular, shot me deathly daggers while cradling his infant sister, Noelle, in his arms. The weight of their collective emotions made me feel as though I might kneel under the pressure. I fought the instinct to rub my temples or twiddle my thumbs—old habits that clung to me from another life—and instead maintained my regal and impassive demeanor.
Damn it, you left me quite the mess, Sebastian. I forced a steady voice through my mounting frustration. "Everyone but Nozel should leave. I want a word with the two of you." To my dismay, no one moved. Confusion tightened my brows. Even if you harbor disdain for me, is it too much to ask for a moment alone with your mother and eldest son?
"Get out." The commanding voice pierced the air at my side.
Huh? I turned to see Aurelia, perched on a chair, with her daughter, Mimosa, cradled in her lap. The infant was undeniably adorable, and I would have been tempted to pinch her soft cheeks, if not for the fury radiating from her mother, who thrust a finger in my direction as if to emphasize her demand.
"...Why?" I could barely manage a single word, and judging by the bulging veins on Aurelia's forehead, I knew I had misstepped.
"Sister—" Acier's hoarse voice tried to intervene, but Aurelia charged on undeterred.
"HOW CAN THIS NO-SHOW FATHER, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING HUSBAND, UGLY RAT-TAILED, HEARTLESS GRINCH OF A MAN, SHOW UP AFTER NEARLY A YEAR SINCE YOU GOT SICK, AND TELL US TO GET LOST?!"
The insult caught me off guard. "Ugly" was a bit too much, wasn't it? Nozel's enthusiastic nodding confirmed just how delighted he was with his aunt's tirade, and Acier's silent acceptance of this exchange did little for my already tenuous feelings of being loved or respected. I had to clamp down on my impulse to pout at their reactions.
Clearing my throat, I sought to redirect their ire back towards me. "I apologize if I came off as rude," I started, cautiously glancing at their incredulous expressions, each looking at me as if I were some extraterrestrial being. Damn it. It was just an apology. I've issued countless apologies in my life—none particularly sincere—but it shouldn't be so difficult to express remorse.
Ignoring the throbbing ache in my head, I pressed on. "It's only for a moment I ask you to step out of the room. I need to speak to them privately."
"What do you want with me?" Nozel's voice reached me from the side. I was taken aback that he felt inclined to speak to me at all. Perhaps I wouldn't have to move mountains to elicit a response after all.
"Because this involves you as well," I replied simply, watching as he raised an eyebrow, skepticism gleaming in his eyes. I knew I had never shown much interest in him, aside from leveraging his magical prowess to boast at royal gatherings as if every accomplishment was solely due to my guidance. "And I don't think you're willing to leave your mother alone with me," I added, observing how he instinctively tightened his grip on Noelle while his other hand unconsciously drifted toward his satchel, where his grimoire lay.
With a reluctant, indifferent nod, he acknowledged my assessment. He was obviously unwilling to hand off his sister, not trusting Nebra or Solid to tend to the embodiment of much of their ire. I finished, "She can stay; it's not like she'd understand anyway." Yet again, I found myself suppressing a curse at their mixed reactions to my so-called "cooperation."
Silence enveloped the room once more, stretching uncomfortably as I struggled to maintain my composure. I found myself tapping my right foot in impatience, arms crossed tightly over my chest. Thankfully, Acier chose this moment to cooperate. With barely veiled encouragement passed among her, Nebra, Solid, and Aurelia, she motioned for them to leave. My children hurried past me, eager to escape a room that crackled with tension, where their father and eldest brother looked poised to erupt. Aurelia glared at me with a fierce intensity as she exited, closing the door with a finality that echoed in the stillness.
Hmph, do you think I'm afraid of you? You're not Mereoleona. I sneered inwardly, shaking off the bravado as I turned back to my wife and Nozel, who perched on the edge of Acier's bed, a bundle of sweetness—Noelle—squirming cutely in his arms. I reached for my grimoire, but of course, that was the precise moment Nozel tensed and reached for his own.
I halted, looking at him as if he were an imbecile, the words slipping out before I thought better of it. "If I wanted her dead, I'd just wait a few weeks. Why would I take the risk of killing her myself?"
Nozel's face flamed red with embarrassment as he darted a glance at his mother. Acier met his gaze with an exasperated nod that seemed to convey everything. He turned back to me, and I couldn't suppress a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose in defeat. "I'm just casting a spell to block any potential eavesdroppers and spies. Is that okay with you?" I emphasized the "you" with a pointed annoyance. Once again, Acier gave him a reassuring nod, prompting Nozel to offer me a reluctant sign of approval.
With that, my grimoire floated out of my satchel, shimmering with an ocean-blue luminescence. Flipping to a page that illustrated a peculiar water dome, I cast my spell in silence. Water Barrier Magic: Deep Blue Room. The parameters of the room began to manifest, a dark blue bubble surrounding us, muting all sound and preventing intruders from peering into the barrier. A flicker of satisfaction rippled through me when Noelle squeaked in delight at the sight. I didn't let that small victory show on my face.
"Now let's talk." I shot them a weary look as I pulled a chair closer to the bed, hoping that we could finally have this long-overdue conversation without further distractions.
Acier Silva POV:
I observed my husband as he clumsily pulled a chair in front of the bed and tried to sit down. Yet just as he was about to lower himself, he suddenly halted, standing there with a frown that spoke volumes—his displeasure was palpable. Oh god, please don't tell me he's going to launch into a tirade about a chair.
To my surprise, he didn't. He simply continued standing, trying to play it off as if that brief moment of indecision had never happened. Nozel and I exchanged bewildered glances, our shared confusion mirrored in each other's eyes. Sebastian then coughed into his fist, gathering our attention back to him with his ever-signature indifferent tone.
"So is that it? Are you just going to give up? It's not like the Steel Princess to admit defeat." His words cut harshly, utterly tactless and devoid of empathy—just as I had come to expect. Did he truly think I had given up? I had battled this curse for nearly a year; anyone else would have perished within a month. I had tried everything I could without confessing the true nature of my affliction. I sought the best doctors in the kingdom, yet all they could deduce was that it was some post-birth malfunction. A bitter taste filled my mouth as I fought back tears. I refused to give him the satisfaction of witnessing my breakdown. He wasn't worth it anymore.
Nozel, ever ready to protect me, looked like he was about to unleash his wrath on Sebastian. Honestly, I was tempted to let him, but I knew they would need their father, for better or worse. Just as I opened my mouth to chide my eldest, Sebastian spoke again.
"You need to eat and get some rest. Experts will be coming in tomorrow to assess your condition."
Experts? What experts? I shot him a disbelieving look that could not be disguised. "If even the great Dr. Owen was helpless, who else could possibly make a difference?" Nozel chimed in, sarcasm dripping from his voice. It was rude, yes, but far from incorrect. Unless these experts hailed from outside the Clover Kingdom—which seemed improbable—they'd offer no genuine hope. Diamond would likely celebrate my downfall rather than assist me, Spade had closed itself off to outsiders, and the Heart Kingdom specialized only in natural mana elements, completely incapable of working miracles in healing.
I met Sebastian's gaze, searching for any hint of sincerity or understanding, but all I saw was the same indifferent mask he wore like armor. How could he be so unfeeling even now? The overwhelming weight of my situation pressed down on me, but I was resolute: I would withstand this storm, even if he refused to see my struggles.
I braced myself for Sebastian to reprimand Nozel for speaking out of turn, but to my surprise, he merely offered him an understanding nod. "I never said anything about a doctor. I said experts." He emphasized that last word, whatever it meant, before turning his gaze to me. "They're much better equipped for dealing with your particular situation." His eyes shifted toward Nozel, narrowing in on his throat, and I felt a chill run down my spine. "Both of yours."
What? He...he...he actually—"You know?!" Nozel echoed my shock, the accusation hanging heavily in the air. He knows about the curse—not just mine, but Nozel's too. He knows the truth.
Sebastian's only response was a silent nod, plunging the room back into an eerie silence.
"H-how?" I managed to stammer, my heart racing with dread and a glimmer of hope. "Why?" How had he found out? Did he always know, and if so, why wait until now to give me this flicker of hope? Did he take pleasure in playing games with me like this? Tears spilled over, despite my attempts to rein them in, pleading silently for a response, for any form of reassurance.
I anticipated mockery or taunts aimed at Nozel and me, yet what I received shattered my expectations. Sebastian hung his head, shame palpable in his posture. The complex emotions writ large on his face, the guilt that marred his features, knocked the wind out of me. No, this must be a lie. Acier, he's just manipulating you; don't let yourself believe this. I couldn't shake the thought that this was yet another cruel game, one more opportunity for him to revel in my despair.
"Any response I give you...won't satisfy you." He forced himself to meet my gaze, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. "So it's better not to ask." Ignoring my desperate plea for something more, for understanding, he continued, "Eat up...and get some rest...both of you. Your fate isn't sealed yet...so don't give up hope. Come tomorrow, I swear things will start to change." And just like that, he turned to the door, allowing the spell to unravel, restoring the room to its previous state, much to Noelle's displeasure. I found myself trying to reach out to him, my heart racing.
"Sebastian," I called hoarsely, just as I had countless times before, hoping against hope that this time he would stop and face me. But as always, he swung the door open and walked away, indifferent to my call or the accusations Aurelia hurled in his wake, deeply misunderstanding the situation.
I felt Nozel squeeze my hand, his gaze filled with a mixture of anxiety and hope that he struggled to conceal. "Your fate isn't sealed yet...so don't give up hope." Fine then, I thought, just one last time—I will keep my fingers crossed. But deep down, I resolved that this would truly be the final time.
Weekly Power Status
200+ Power
Ranking 
155 Power
stone 
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