In the Winter Castle, within the chamber of a Freyden direct descendant—a place almost freezing—Yulie stared at her sword, her face nearly vacant as she turned the blade, examining both its flat and the hilt.0

The fine metal tempered to absorb mana, the blade shaped to a fine edge through the years, the grip molded by its owner's touch, and the sword's grain reflecting the lamplight were all worthy of admiration.0

"This is my sword..." Yulie muttered, gripping the sword with her own hand.0

At that moment, goosebumps prickled along Yulie’s spine, and her hair stood on end. The sword gripped tightly in her hands made it impossible to tell whether it held her or she held it, providing irrefutable evidence of the passage of a decade.0

“… Hmm.”0

Yulie, shivering from a chill—no, actually trembling from the biting cold—sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the house’s clock as Josephine’s words rewound in her ears.0

"Because he is your former fiancé, whose engagement was broken off because of your curse."0

The shock was so immense for Yulie that she found it difficult to comprehend everything, since she and Deculein had been strangers with no common ground from the outset.0

“Deculein.”0

Yulie knew Deculein, a mage of the Mage Tower and a university celebrity who, according to noble gossip, was an exceedingly bad person known for leading bullying at the academy, engaging in cartel activities, and instigating violence among other offenses…0

However, the Deculein Yulie saw then was a man who definitively claimed his own things, living only for...0