Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

＊＊＊

“I’m losing my mind.”

 

Verndia muttered under his breath as he lay collapsed, coated in dust. He was in serious trouble.

The shock he had just taken caused the curse spreading through his arm to surge violently, cracking the force that had been restraining the flame of his heart.

He had assumed it would end quickly and hadn’t brought Lia’s medicine but his carelessness had costed a lot.

 

“Ha…”

 

As if reflecting his turmoil, violet flames began to flicker from his fingertips.

Watching them only made him more unsettled, and that agitation caused the flames to swell further, creating a vicious cycle.

Desperate to escape this wretched situation, he racked his brain.

No matter how hard he tried, there was no clear solution.

The violet flame was the symbol of Lestir.

Verndia had been born with a flame so powerful that he was said to be the reincarnation of the first Duke of Lestir. But unlike his predecessor, he had never found a partner capable of restraining and stabilizing him.

Even so, the House of Lestir had not abandoned hope.

They believed that, as in the distant past, a strong ability-bearer who embodied ice might one day be born in Silkisia.

But twenty years ago, after ‘that incident’ in Silkisia, they let go of that hope.

No matter how great the power, if it could not be controlled, it was nothing more than a burden.

That was why Verndia had always shown that he could wield the flame, while carefully hiding the fact that he could not fully control it.

And now, of all places, the very situation he feared most was unfolding right in the heart of enemy territory.

He bit down on his lip, anxiety gnawing at him.

 

‘A way, there has to be a way—’

 

Suddenly, a clear breeze swept through.

It was cold and sharp, yet strangely refreshing.

Because of the flame in his heart, Verndia had never felt cold. Even in the depths of winter, he had always been overheated.

And yet now, in an empty indoor space, he was experiencing cold for the first time in his life.

The moment he realized it, the rampaging flames quietly subsided.

 

‘This is—?’

 

He stared blankly at his now-still hand.

Then, abruptly, he pushed himself up and followed the source of the wind.

What he saw made his entire body shudder.

A power equal and opposite to Lestir’s unextinguishable flame, the unfrozen ice of Silkisia.

That immense presence was flowing from the false duchess, Psychke Silkisia.

 

‘What… is this?’

 

His thoughts refused to align.

Like someone staring at a puzzle shattered into tens of thousands of pieces, Verndia could only stand there, transfixed.

He didn’t hear the clash of steel nor did he feel the heat of the fierce battle.

He stood there like a fool for a long moment until Psychke’s aura suddenly clouded, darkening like storm clouds in a clear sky.

Snapped back to reality, Verndia moved at once.

He drove his sword straight into the mercenary’s vital point, not even thinking to conceal the sword aura in his haste.

 

“Ha… ha…”

 

Psychke turned her unfocused gaze toward her suddenly arrived fiancé.

Even when fighting dozens at once, her breathing had never been this ragged.

 

“D-damn it…”

 

The mercenary stared blankly at the sword buried in his chest, violet energy clinging to the blade.

He realized, too late, that the man who had ambushed him was the Empire’s sole Swordmaster.

That realization was his last.

With a single flick of Verndia’s hand, he died without even managing a final scream.

 

“Hghh…”

 

Psychke let out a thin groan and collapsed to the ground. At the same time, the mana in her bracelet was exhausted, and her appearance reverted to normal.

Had Verndia arrived even a moment later, her identity would have been exposed.

She struggled to steady her exhausted body, breathing hard. The mercenary had been strong and persistent but the real cause of her fatigue lay elsewhere.

 

‘It’s harder to control than usual.’

 

Before, it had felt like blocking a flood from a lake with her bare hands.

Today, it was more like trying to hold back the sea. The hole through which her power leaked felt noticeably larger.

 

‘Why is this happening? If this keeps up, I won’t be able to draw up mana at all.’

 

Still gasping, she glanced at the sword in her hand.

The fight had taken longer than expected, and a thin layer of frost clung to the bloodstained blade.

Noticing Verndia approaching, Psychke discreetly moved the sword farther away so he wouldn’t see it.

Then, without warning, Verndia extended his hand.

 

“Take it.”

 

Psychke stared up at him, baffled by the inexplicable action of a man known to dislike physical contact.

 

His fiancé frowned slightly, “Are you not going to take it?”

 

He was the one who offered, yet his tone sounded more like a threat than a request.

Too tired to argue, Psychke silently took his hand.

In the next instant, she was pulled up and pressed closely against his chest.

 

“…!”

 

Her pupils widened in shock.

The hot breath brushing down from above made her fatigue-stiffened body freeze.

Was he pretending to be a gentle fiancé again?

Even in public, he had never held her this closely. So what was this?

Unaware of her thoughts, Verndia felt a hollow disbelief.

 

‘This is absurd.’

 

Being this close, he could tell without a doubt.

Psychke Silkisia was the very ‘unmelting ice’ he had longed for.

Her aura was fading, as though she were in the process of sealing it away but it was unmistakable.

 

‘So it really was possible.’

 

The flame he had controlled with Lia’s medicine had always felt like a savage beast forced into submission with a leash.

It was his power, yet it never truly felt like his own.

But the flame restrained by Psychke’s ability felt different was like an extension of his own limbs, an inseparable part of himself.

For the first time, it truly felt like his.

Reluctant to let go of the sensation that had already vanished, Verndia tightened his grip on her hand, hoping just a little to feel it again.

The intensified stimulation made Psychke falter.

 

“Please let go, Duke.”

 

When he still didn’t release her, she pushed him lightly.

Only then did Verndia come to his senses.

 

“I couldn’t control my strength. My apologies.”

 

He raised both hands, insisting he had only meant to help her up.

With his hands still marred by the curse, there was nothing she could say. Psychke replied briefly, “It’s fine,” and turned away.

And then,

 

“…!”

 

The power she had barely suppressed surged violently.

It felt as though her entire body were filling with ice.

Her pupils dilated in shock, and without even a scream, Psychke collapsed. Her old hair ribbon snapped, and her beautiful silver hair spilled into the air like a waterfall.

 

“Lady Psychke!”

 

Verndia cried out in alarm and caught her.

Her body was icy cold to the touch.

 

＊＊＊

 

The next morning, after spending the night agonizing over what had happened, Verndia headed to see Lia alone at daybreak.

Stopping by the temple on the way, he paid a hefty sum to have the curse on his hand lifted. As a gesture of penance, he wrapped the now-unblemished hand tightly in bandages.

 

“What? You’re still alive?”

 

Seeing that everything but his arm looked fine, Lia remarked flatly seeing the dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept well.

Irritated, Verndia untied the bandages and twisted one corner of his mouth.

 

“I almost fulfilled your wish, but Lady Psychke saved me.”

“Lady Psychke? You took that girl with you?”

 

The mage’s eyes narrowed, a killing intent wholly unfitting her childlike appearance seeping out.

 

Verndia replied calmly, “She followed me.”

“You should’ve stopped her!”

“Do you really think I didn’t try?”

“… Then why did you come alone? Where is she?”

“There was something she had to take care of. She’s fine, so there’s no need to worry.”

 

Verndia took out an emerald necklace from his coat, cracked and shattered in several places.

Lia frowned as she accepted it.

 

“Looks like it had a curse on it.”

“You knew it was a fake, didn’t you?”

“About ninety percent sure. You must’ve suspected it too.”

 

With her free hand, Lia waved casually through the air.

A fist-sized black sphere appeared through a distortion in space, spat out parchment and a pouch, then vanished.

They were documents related to monsters, Psychke’s and Verndia’s medicine.

 

After gathering them, Verndia added evenly, “There was a fake demon beast. Likely the work of worshippers of forbidden magic.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“As I mentioned before, forbidden magic and the Leas incident seem connected in some way. What do you think?”

“Leas…”

 

Lia brushed her fingers over the broken necklace. F

or a fleeting moment, something like longing crossed her face.

She stood there in thought, then clenched the necklace tightly and bit her lip.

Finally, she waved him off, her expression still heavy.

 

“That’s enough. Go.”

“We’re not finished.”

 

Verndia pulled her back from her drifting thoughts.

 

“As the bearer of the unextinguishable flame and the Duke who governs the northern territory of Lestir, I ask you.”

 

The formal tone, used only when houses addressed one another with full decorum, made Lia tense.

What followed justified that gravity.

 

“Lia Coltman. No, Illia Hillaise.”

 

It was a name she hadn’t heard since abandoning her family.

Lia’s eyes churned violently, and the temperature around them plummeted in response.

 

Verndia remained unfazed, “Lady Psychke Silkisia is—”

 

For once, he hesitated, dragging out his words but not from reluctance, but because he hadn’t yet sorted out how to say it.

As he carefully chose his words, his gaze fell on something among the cluttered room.

 

「Imperial Ability-Bearers.」

 

A book detailing the Empire’s ability-holders through history. The gleaming cover suggested it had been acquired recently.

If she’s showing something like that, something he had never seen from his life, then truly… Lady Psychke is.

 

“Lady Psychke is Leas. Which meant, your sister’s daughter—”

“Enough.”

 

A voice colder than bone cut him off.

It was no longer the shrill tone of a child, but that of a middle-aged woman, heavy with years and authority.

 

“She has nothing to do with me.”