* * *
On the other hand, Eren looked visibly relieved at not having to be alone with Julius.
Ashard mouthed something to Eren, just for him to see.
—Did you really think I’d leave you two alone?
Eren read his lips and let out a satisfied grin.
But that smile didn’t last long. Julius’s voice echoed in his ear again.
“I was hoping to go alone with you, Count. What a shame.”
He whispered just loud enough for only Eren to hear.
The hot breath brushing against his ear made Eren instinctively want to scowl, but what followed left him too flustered to react.
‘Huh…?’
That wet, slick sensation from below—he couldn’t possibly mistake it.
He knew that feeling from last night.
It wasn’t just his pants; even the chair beneath him felt damp.
His eyes trembled slightly with the confusion washing over him.
‘Why is this happening…?’
He knew the artifact’s effects hadn’t worn off yet.
Even so, this shouldn’t be happening.
The spell was meant to activate based on the user’s state of arousal.
Which meant—his body had reacted to Julius.
‘That can’t be.’
If it had been Ashard, maybe—but Julius?
Eren was certain something had gone wrong.
Regardless of his body’s condition, this wasn’t what he wanted.
That much was clear.
Eren bit his lip hard. He tried to suppress it, but his body only grew wetter, as if to defy his will.
The best option now was to leave this place as quickly as possible.
When the sensation from below made him twitch slightly, Julius turned his head toward him.
“I’ve been noticing it for a while now… The Count’s body is giving off an indecent scent.”
Julius leaned in and murmured in a low voice. Eren, completely thrown off, didn’t even know how to respond.
He quickly looked around for an excuse, then abruptly stood up, careful not to turn his back toward Julius.
“I’m not feeling well. I’ll excuse myself.”
“You do look rather pale. Please rest, Count.”
Even after saying something like that, Julius acted nonchalantly.
Eren glared at him sharply, then slowly backed away.
Ashard, watching Eren hurry out of the dining room, stood up as well.
“I doubt he wants to be alone with just me, so I’ll take my leave too.”
Ashard followed Eren out.
Normally, Julius would’ve glared daggers at Ashard for going after Eren.
But instead, he covered his eyes with one hand and let out a laugh.
“Heh… Ahahaha!”
The wet stain Eren had left on the seat was still clearly visible.
Julius ran his hand over it, brought it to his lips, and licked it.
He repeated the act a few times, and by now, the bulge in his pants was impossible to ignore.
“God, he just keeps turning me on. I want him more and more.”
The servants of the Firentium household stared blankly at the front gate.
It was only their first day working for a duke’s household.
But they were already convinced—this family was doomed
It wasn’t just a feeling.
“Is that…?”
“…It is, right? I’m not seeing things?”
Faced with a maid’s question laced with disbelief, the other servants present could only nod with vacant expressions.
There was no denying it.
The symbol of the imperial family that everyone recognized—silver hair and violet eyes.
The infamous temperament, long rumored but never directly witnessed.
There was only one person in the empire—no, in the world—who matched that description.
“…Unfortunately, that’s His Highness Prince Elyrion.”
Amid the sandstorm swirling through the shattered front gate, one man stood unbothered.
He was Elyrion Fridit — a prince of the empire, and the mad master of the Mage Tower of Trovien.
The servants, all experienced enough to have passed the rigorous standards of a duke’s household, struggled to maintain their expressions.
Internally, however, they were in complete disarray.
If it were even remotely possible, they would have withdrawn their applications to House Firentium in an instant.
“Of all people, why him… why him…!”
“Is there anyone here who’d like to submit their resignation with me?”
“……”
Their hearts screamed yes, but none dared step forward.
Though the title had only recently been restored, this was a duke’s household — the highest rank among the nobility of the empire.
To resign just a day after starting such a prestigious position would shatter all the career credentials they had built up over the years.
Besides, they had beaten fierce competition to get in — the benefits alone were far too good to give up so easily.
The servants exchanged glances and gave firm, resolute nods.
“Surely he’s not actually going to tear through the whole mansion like the rumors say… right?”
“Of course not, rumors always get blown out of proportion.”
Even as they tried to mentally reassure themselves, they all knew —
Rumors always contained some truth.
And when they made your hands tremble like this, the reality was rarely any better.
Leaving the servants behind, Carlyle stared at Elyrion with a calm expression.
Their eyes met midair, and in that fleeting moment, both men reached the same conclusion.
‘There’s no way this mansion will ever have a quiet day again.’
‘Who the hell is this uptight teacher’s pet? I don’t like him already.’
Carlyle was the first to greet him.
He’d been through more than most — the man who had watched over the rampaging Helid from closest range.
A broken gate wasn’t even worth blinking at.
“I greet His Highness Elyrion, First Prince of Trovien. You must be tired from your long journey — please, come inside…”
Heavy footsteps drew closer.
The swirling sandstorm died down at that very moment.
As Elyrion passed by, a light pat landed on Carlyle’s shoulder —a casual, condescending gesture typically reserved for subordinates.
A hand that paid no mind to the fact that Carlyle was a duke recognized by the emperor himself.
Carlyle furrowed his brow and looked back.
The wind seemed to still in Elyrion’s wake as if time had stopped where he walked.
A surreal scene, wholly mismatched with his unrefined behavior — unbecoming of royalty.
It was as if he had come to tear the mansion apart.
With every step Elyrion took, something else began to fall apart.
Watching this unfold, Carlyle roughly ran a hand through his hair and brushed off the shoulder Elyrion had touched.
“Tch. Guess courtesy means nothing to imperial royalty, no matter where you go.”
Clicking his tongue, he followed the prince into the mansion.
The one thing Carlyle couldn’t tolerate was rudeness.
A broken mansion could be repaired—
“…Ha!”
But the sight before him stopped him short.
Cracked walls everywhere.
Furniture smashed into splinters.
Whatever had been there was now nothing more than powder piled on the floor.
Carlyle gritted his teeth, barely suppressing the anger rising inside him, and scanned the area.
Former master of the Mage Tower, now the prince Elyrion — expelled by his own mages under imperial threat that support would be cut off if they disobeyed orders —was now unleashing his frustration on the Firentium estate.
No one had ever provoked Carlyle’s fury this quickly.
Elyrion, now lying sprawled on the sofa like it was his own home, had earned himself a dubious record.
Carlyle prided himself on his patience, but today proved him wrong.
He resumed his halted steps, striding over to the prince and spoke with evident irritation.
“Your Highness should be the one to clean up the mess Your Highness made.”
“What’s this? Are you giving me orders now?”
“…If that’s how it sounds to you, I suppose it can’t be helped.”
His tone held no concern for misunderstanding.
He was always upright and proper — but even he had exceptions.
“Interesting. I’ve never met anyone like you. Most people grovel the second they see me.”
Carlyle turned to leave, fully ignoring the prince’s comment—only to feel a heavy weight tighten around his neck.
Looking down, he saw a thick collar.
“…What is this?”
“A necklace.”
“It looks more like a collar to me.”
“If that’s how you see it, so be it.”
Carlyle’s face twisted.
It was rare for him to show his emotions so openly.
“Remove it. Now.”
As the calm, collected Carlyle began to show visible anger, Elyrion let out an amused chuckle.
Then, all at once, the smile vanished from his face.
“Look. I didn’t come here to joke around with you. I came to keep an eye on you. That’s a surveillance tool — it’ll track you even if I’m not around, so don’t bother trying to take it off.”
“If that’s the case, surely there were other forms it could take.”
“I like this one.”
“…I am a duke of this empire, personally reinstated by His Majesty. I deserve respec—”
“If it bothers you so much, try being born the emperor’s son next time.”
Carlyle’s mouth clamped shut.
This man wasn’t someone you could reason with.
He was fuming at being cut off, but said nothing more — there was no point.
Without another word, Carlyle turned his back and crushed the artifact around his neck with a flick of his hand.
Destroying a simple mana-made artifact was child’s play.
He’d been holding back out of courtesy for the prince, but clearly, that was unnecessary.
“If you give me one in a more suitable form, I’ll wear it properly.”
It hadn’t been crafted with great effort, but Elyrion thought it decent enough.
Watching it crumble instantly in Carlyle’s hand made his lips curl into a smile.
“Guess I won’t be bored.”
* * *
