Chapter 89

“You do understand what ‘to learn’ means, right?”

 

“Yes. I never learned it.”

 

Hayden shook his head again.

 

“Then how can you use it?”

 

“Baby just use it.”

 

Hayden made Caldeon speechless.

 

Baby just uses it—then what was he, who couldn’t just use it and had to learn it through ancient texts?

 

“So you’re saying… if you just think of using the power, it comes out naturally?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Dad doesn’t just use it?”

 

“……I learned from ancient texts since I was your age. I could already read the Imperial language by then.”

 

He didn’t mean to compete with his son, but the instinctive urge to boast slipped out—especially when his own child wielded his inherited black mana far more effortlessly than he ever had.

 

Hayden’s tiny shoulders lifted in a casual shrug.

 

“Baby can wead bwack magic book too.”

 

“…What?!”

 

His pronunciation was clumsy, but the meaning was unmistakable—he had read the Black Grimoire.

 

“You read the Black Grimoire?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Baby wead that.”

 

“How? What did it say?”

 

“Um… about waking up the Evil God?”

 

Caldeon’s eyes widened.

 

“Said you gotta summon it and hold it here.”

 

Hayden made a bowl shape with his hands.

 

To resurrect the Evil God in perfect form, one needed a vessel to contain it.

 

That was clearly what Hayden was referring to.

 

Caldeon stared at his son, the question that had been crawling up from the bottom of his mind suddenly breaking out of his mouth.

 

“Did Enria and I… give birth to a genius…?”

 

 

***

 

 

“Please drink this.”

 

Enria offered Belona the tea the servant had brought in.

 

She had cried so hard her throat must have been sore, but even at Enria’s gentle urging, Belona just stared blankly out the window with swollen eyes.

 

“The tea will help you calm down.”

 

“…Is the North always this white?”

 

The sudden question made Enria follow her gaze.

 

“Yes. It snows almost all year round—except for about ten days.”

 

“…He once said it was strangely fitting. That a land of pure white should be ruled by someone who uses black mana.”

 

Belona’s lips curved faintly with a bittersweet memory, then the smile faded.

 

“He said it was fascinating. The North… and Duke Jupiter.”

 

Her eyes, which had been stubbornly fixed outside, slowly returned to Enria.

 

Enria realized the memories she was recalling were her memories with Groen. She wasn’t sure what to say; she could only look at Belona’s face.

 

“Groen tried to kill you too, didn’t he?”

 

“……”

 

“He—and all the Tower mages—believed that black-robed sorcerer was the Tower Master.”

 

She added that the Tower Master’s command was absolute. And Groen, who believed that man to be his father, thought it was only natural to obey.

 

“That’s why.”

 

Belona was trying to defend the man she loved.

 

That he had no choice but to follow orders because he truly believed the black sorcerer was his father.

 

That he hadn’t acted out of malice or personal gain.

 

That he, too, had been deceived.

 

She wanted the dead man’s sins to be understood, forgiven even.

 

Enria nodded gently.

 

“I know. Everyone knows.”

 

It was okay. She shouldn’t torment herself.

 

Groen wasn’t someone to be hated. He had been a victim of the black sorcerer, just as they were.

 

‘He kept trying to kill me and Hayden, but that was because he’d been used… and for Belona’s sake, forgiving him is right.’

 

With that in mind, Enria tried her best to reassure her.

 

Belona nodded—a small gesture, loaded with sorrow and hope.

 

Silence settled heavy between them.

 

Enria debated whether to speak or to remain quiet.

 

In the end, she chose silence. Forced conversation would only shake Belona’s fragile mind.

 

As if sensing her thoughts, Belona spoke first.

 

“How… does one avenge someone?”

 

Her eyes were still on the snowy window. The words sounded halfway between a question and a whisper to herself.

 

“Will I… be able to avenge Groen properly?”

 

“You will. We’ll do it together.”

 

Enria’s firm, unwavering voice drew Belona’s gaze.

 

“If all of us unite our strength, that man will pay for his crimes—with death.”

 

“……”

 

“He will face judgment. That’s why we’re all gathered here.”

 

Belona nodded slowly—as if willing it to be true.

 

Knock, knock.

 

The door opened and Chavel stepped in.

 

“Lady Enria, the master requests your presence.”

 

“Caldeon is looking for me?”

 

Enria instinctively stood up, then paused and looked at Belona.

 

“I can be alone.”

 

Belona seemed to know exactly what she was worried about.

 

She could be alone—but should she?

 

Belona had once been so broken she could barely speak. Though she’d regained many memories and seemed stable on the surface, Enria still hesitated.

 

A wounded mind could appear fine one moment, then collapse the next.

 

Loneliness had a way of digging in without warning.

 

 

“Chavel, would you stay with Miss Belona for a while?”

 

Chavel bowed and moved toward Belona.

 

“I really am fine,” Belona insisted.

 

“Being alone gets lonely. Loneliness shows up without warning. Having someone to talk to will help.”

 

Belona didn’t argue further.

 

Enria watched Chavel strike up gentle conversation, then slipped out and headed toward Caldeon.

 

He had never sent a servant to fetch her before. She worried something had happened.

 

But as she walked, her pace slowed.

 

If it were urgent, Caldeon would have come himself.

 

He hadn’t—likely because she was with Belona.

 

When she finally pushed open the break-room door—

 

Caldeon and Hayden were intensely focused on something above their heads.

 

Something that looked disturbingly like…

 

her face.

 

Enria’s eyes nearly popped out.

 

“Enria.”

 

“Mommy.”

 

Both father and son greeted her at the same time.

 

“…What exactly is this?”

 

The black mana portrait floating in the air was undeniably her.

 

“It’s you.”

 

“It’s mommy.”

 

They answered in perfect sync again.

 

Enria hurried inside and shut the door.

 

“What are you teaching him with black mana?”

 

She assumed Caldeon was instructing Hayden in how to draw her face, and scolded him.

 

Caldeon pointed at Hayden with a wounded expression.

 

“Hayden made it first. I only copied him.”

 

Her eyes flicked back to the images—one drawn by Hayden, one by Caldeon.

 

Hayden’s version was adorably soft and round.

 

Caldeon’s was more delicate, gentle, feminine.

 

Enria realized how differently the two of them saw her.

 

Caldeon asked, “Do you like it?”

 

She nodded.

 

“It’s touching. I didn’t think you two would make my face out of black mana.”

 

“I didn’t either. If Hayden hadn’t shown me, I never would’ve thought to create anything like this. So, Enria…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Our son is undeniably a genius.”

 

Caldeon said it with complete conviction.

 

Enria couldn’t deny it. Hayden used holy power and black mana freely without ever being taught.

 

She looked at Hayden and nodded.

 

“I agree. He used healing magic with holy power without me teaching him how.”

 

“Same for black mana. And apparently he read the Black Grimoire when the black sorcerer kidnapped him.”

 

Enria’s eyes widened.

 

“The Black Grimoire?”

 

“Yes. Even I can’t fully read it. It’s written in the unique language used only by black sorcerers.”

 

The fact that Hayden read it effortlessly made her stare at him again.

 

He wasn’t listening at all—completely absorbed in smoothing out the shadow-portrait of Enria, working with the focus of a sculptor carving his masterpiece.

 

Then a strange thought flashed across Enria’s mind.

 

‘No way…’

 

Her eyes widened.

 

‘Could Hayden… be a transmigrator like me?’