“Well, I suppose it will take about three days to reach Aran by carriage.”
“Is that so?”
“….”
“Uh… Then, shall we set off? Don’t worry. I’ll let you know in advance when we need to stop for a break.”
No response followed.
Emily glanced inside her cold carriage, frowned at her aching bones, and closed the door.
Kreeekeng!
After studying the old but antique black carriage for a moment, she settled down on the coachman’s seat.
For a coachman of her age and rank, Emily gave a rough tug on the horse’s reins, feeling the urge to tear out her own hair.
“Let’s go, Francis. I guess you can figure out the path yourself.”
A white horse with a stylish white mane let out a rough snort and slowly began pulling the carriage, much larger than its own body.
Travelers who noticed the peculiar sight of the white horse pulling the carriage looked startled, but the Kente villagers merely waved, bidding Emily and Julius farewell.
“Priestess Emily! I hope you have a good trip!”
“Oh it’s Francis! Did you cut his horn again?! Can’t you give the guy a break?”
“Julius, be careful not to have any children while traveling—or you’ll end up like me!”
Emily, irritated by the remark, kicked Francis’ rear. The magical energy emanating from his broken horn flickered, and she slumped onto the coach seat, covering her face with a hand.
“Once upon a time, he was a cute foal that toddled around, but now he’s grown so much. Honestly, it’s embarrassing to be seen with him.”
Francis, the white horse with broken yet still beautiful horns, flicked his tail in apparent protest, swatting Emily’s face.
Their relationship was anything but harmonious—a superior who was constantly exasperated and a guardian beast who rebelled in petty ways.
There was no charming tale of devotion here. The truth was about a mischievous divine beast infatuated with the sight of a beautiful maiden in her youth, only to find himself on the receiving end of her wrath as she repeatedly broke his horn whenever the opportunity arose.
The so-called unicorn, revered as an auspicious animal and a symbol of worship, had his horn chipped and smoothed by Emily all morning. She now trimmed it further with a knife taken from her pocket.
Glancing into the carriage, Emily noticed Julius’s wife unbuttoning a few buttons of her blouse, perhaps from the heat, sitting cross-legged with an air of seductive ease.
No—those empty eyes, filled with malice and corruption, belonged not to a mortal woman but to a high-ranking devil, the Emperor’s Nightmare.
That very morning, the creature had suddenly stirred, opened its eyes, and without a word, began pursuing Julius’s lips. Despite Julius’s desperate cries of his wife’s name, there was no response.
“Cecil, Cecil! Why are you doing this all of a sudden?”
“…Ha, ha…”
“Julius! Get ahold of yourself! That’s not your wife anymore!”
Emily recalled the chaotic morning and tried to piece together a reason for the abrupt shift in behavior, but no answer came. She prayed silently, her eyes on Francis’s horn as it grew smoother under her hands.
“Our Father in heaven, if you see this, please stop testing us and give us answers.”
The sun shining down from the vast sky offered no reply.
Unable to endure her frustration any longer, Emily tore at her hair and twisted in her seat.
***
The luxurious black carriage, though aged, retained its inner brilliance.
Julius sat inside, his expression dark as he watched the woman before him, unmoving despite the swaying carriage.
Until yesterday, everything had seemed perfect—a fleeting dream of divine providence.
“Julius Tapnel’s wife, Cecil Lionelta, is not dead.”
The words echoed endlessly in his mind, stirring his blood and ripping at his heart.
Just as memories of that day threatened to surface, the silence broke. The devil across from him finally spoke.
“Your complexion looks poor. Come, take your place in my arms, child of Rom.”
“… …”
The nightmare’s gentle tone belied its sinister nature. Its smile offered mock comfort, its words dripping with deceit.
“In the end… In the end, was it all a deception?” Julius murmured.
“Me? Deceive you? What nonsense are you spouting now?”
The devil’s blackened gaze never left Julius’s lips, an unsettling mix of longing and cruelty in its depths.
“Have you enjoyed mocking me this whole time? Laughing as I suffer and mourn Cecile? Yes, I am pathetic—pathetic for not being able to kill you even now!”
Kwadang!
Emily, who had been secretly eavesdropping from the coach seat, jolted upright at Julius’s sudden shout, smacking her head against the roof.
Though the priestess could be heard whining about her throbbing skull, Julius remained unmoved, glaring at the devil as though he had lost everything.
“Hmm, you dislike the current situation?”
“… …”
“I didn’t wake up from this dream by choice. Cecile merged with me, correcting her distortion almost entirely.”
“…More nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. The power keeping me confined to the dream weakened. That’s why I stand here now.”
Julius lowered his head, clutching it in his hands. His silent torment only deepened the devil’s satisfaction, and the void in its chest stirred faintly with love.
It knelt before him, reaching out gently, and buried its face against his shoulder.
“Don’t despair. Nothing has changed.”
“… …”
“The divide between Cecile and me is meaningless. Cecile is my name, and I am still your wife.”
“So whisper your love to me. This is not betrayal; it’s proof of true love.”
A cruel smile spread across the devil’s lips, its pale cheeks flushed with color. The memory of Julius’s devotion was intoxicating, like honey.
Outside, black vines crept along the carriage walls, cocooning the two in eerie stillness.
“So, whisper love to your heart’s content,” the devil murmured, clutching Julius tightly as if unwilling to ever let go.
“I am your beloved wife.”
The devil’s temptation was a force Julius found himself unable to resist.
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Check out my other projects: Rehabilitating the Villainess, Pushover Extra Trains the Villainesses, I Picked Up an Amnesiac Witch, Transmigrated as the Butler of a Defeated Heroine, My Summons Are Special