Chapter 11

Chapter 11

A mark that signifies two people as soulmates.

Those who are bound by this mark not only share each other’s magical attributes, but can also exchange mana—an extremely advantageous connection.

Because of that, the soulmate mark requires mutual consent, along with a complex set of conditions and rigorous rituals, to be properly established.

But even if all those prerequisites are met without issue, the probability of actually imprinting as soulmates is less than three percent.

Even among Mythos, it’s incredibly difficult to achieve; so what kind of Mythos could possibly form a soulmate bond with a Logos?

It was theoretically impossible.

Ordinary people, who cannot see or use mana, simply cannot form a soulmate bond with a Mythos. It wasn’t just unlikely—it couldn’t happen.

Did I see that wrong?

Am I hallucinating?

Rose looked back and forth between his face and the left side of his chest with a dazed expression, then shut her eyes tight as if trying to escape the sight of it.

When she cautiously opened her eyes again, the mark on the left side of his chest was undeniably a soulmate mark.

So I wasn’t mistaken!

Still hoping it was some sort of mix-up, Rose glanced down at her own left chest.

Dear God. What in the world is this!

On her own body, in the same place, was the exact same soulmate mark that had appeared on him.

A rose and an eagle.

Even if she didn’t understand the rest, there was no way she could mistake the rose—it clearly represented her.

Then the eagle must represent him.

The design, etched into both their chests, stood as proof that they were designated partners in this inexplicable bond.

In that moment of disbelief, Rose realized that the phrase “the world went dark before my eyes” wasn’t just a metaphor.

It’s fine… this must’ve happened due to some kind of error or fluke.

It had to be.

The only relief she could find was in how faint the mark still appeared to be.

Since it shouldn’t have been able to form at all, there was a high chance it would just fade away on its own.

Please let it disappear…

Even as she tried to convince herself, anxiety churned in her chest.

What if it didn’t?

Ordinary people can’t see mana, only its effects—so he won’t be able to see the mark.

Then in the worst-case scenario, maybe she could just ignore it and pretend nothing happened?

But even if he couldn’t see it, the idea of stamping a mark of ownership onto the body of a perfectly decent unmarried man, without his consent…

It was like filing a marriage certificate at city hall behind his back—without him ever knowing.

If she imagined Mr. James Dautryche—though that name was still unknown to her—and the woman who might someday become his lover or wife…

Ugh, I feel so guilty!

On top of that, having a Logos as a soulmate would inevitably cause serious problems for Rose.

As a Neutral type, her mana production was already lower than average—but the only person she could now share mana with was an ordinary person who couldn’t give any back.

And the soulmate mark wasn’t some magical fix-all.

Since it allowed her to share mana freely, it also meant her mana consumption would rise—while the recovery rate would slow down.

In the worst-case scenario, forming this bond with a non-magical person could leave Rose mana-depleted… and dead.

No matter how she looked at it, her only option was to keep silent until she could find a way to nullify the mark.

Once I finish up closing up this business, I need to start looking into it.

Rose got to her feet, thinking over the chaos she’d caused tonight.

Her lower body still burned as if scorched, and her legs were too weak to properly stand—but she could move if she forced herself.

Leaving behind the steady rhythm of Jack Dillon’s breathing, she quietly gathered her clothes.

The man lying under a sleep spell looked utterly beautiful.

His brow was furrowed, possibly due to some dream, but even that didn’t mar his appearance; if anything, it gave him an air of dangerous allure.

He really is unbelievably handsome.

To have such a man as her first partner—at the very least, it would be something she could remember for a lifetime.

With that thought, Rose gently pressed her finger against the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing it out. Then she stood.

Did I forget anything?

She had cleaned the messy bedsheets and changed her clothes.

Her hair and eye color were once again suited to Olga Blavatsky.

She left a small note expressing her thanks and apologies, along with a carefully folded paper flower, and set them both on the nightstand. Now all that was left was to leave.

The guilt from branding him still lingered, but since he was an ordinary person who couldn’t see or feel the mana-based mark, it should be fine.

I’ll definitely find a way to nullify it and come back.

She turned off the gas lamp, packed her things, and opened the door.

It was already past 2 a.m., but the party downstairs was still lively and brightly lit.

Avoiding the main hall where the festivities were held, she slipped quickly through the staff passageways.

“Please tell the Countess something urgent came up and I had to leave. And could you summon my carriage to the back gate?”

“Yes, Miss Blavatsky.”

She handed the sleepy young footman a few coins as a tip, and his tired face immediately lit up.

Standing alone at the back gate in the chilly dawn air, the reality of what she’d done washed over her like a crashing wave.

I really did it. I really went through with it.

Well. It’s done now.

This time, the world definitely won’t end.

Definitely.

It has to be that way.

James Dautryche awoke just as dawn was breaking—6:30 a.m.

The weak light filtering through the curtains dimly lit the room, and James was startled to find himself alone.

“I fell asleep?”

The room was spotless, as if he had been alone the entire time.

The clothes he’d discarded were hanging neatly in the wardrobe without a single wrinkle, and the sheets—once tangled in the aftermath of passion—had been carefully folded and placed in a basket by the door.

What the hell is going on?

And what about this bathrobe he was wearing?

That small woman had supposedly stripped the bed, gone to the bathroom for the robe, dressed a full-grown man in it, and laid him back in bed?

And he hadn’t woken up even once through all of that?

Unless she’d used some kind of magic, it was impossible for her to have done it all alone.

Maybe she had help…

Or maybe… it was all a dream?

But even that theory didn’t hold. The traces of the night still lingered clearly on his body.

The confusion didn’t last long. James quickly collected himself and scanned the room again.

That was when he spotted the short note left on the nightstand.

Thank you for last night.
And… I’m sorry.
I’m leaving behind this flower as a small apology.
I hope you’ll like it.
– Olga Blavatsky

Next to the note was a small paper flower, folded from the same type of paper.

James picked up the tiny blossom, which barely covered half his palm, and his expression darkened.

“…This paper flower.”

It was something he remembered.

A familiar type: pull the petals on either side, and a hidden burst of confetti would explode from within.

He never imagined someone else would know this trick.

As childhood memories surged in, James reflexively gripped the petals—then stopped himself.

The blurry image of a laughing girl folding newspaper with tiny hands flashed in his mind, along with the sound of her delighted giggles as the confetti burst.

He placed the flower back on the nightstand without pulling the petals.

You said I looked like the kind of man who doesn’t get hung up on things?

Well now, Miss Blavatsky…

You really don’t know how petty I can be.

James stared at the note and the paper flower, a cold smile curling on his lips.

He knew exactly what he had to do next.

He would go to Mrs. Chester immediately and get Miss Blavatsky’s contact information.

But first, he couldn’t show up in front of the Countess in this state.

He untied the robe and began to change—only to finally notice what had happened to his body.

“…Ha. What the hell did she do to me.”

A breath of laughter escaped him—almost disbelieving.

Not only did she sleep with James Dautryche and run away—she left a magical mark on me, too?

Olga Blavatsky, necromancer from Morgenia…

Let’s just say, we’re going to be very legally entangled from now on.

In more ways than one.