Aurelia's POV:
When Father first told me my fiancé would be the heir of House Deveraux, I thought I had hit the jackpot.
The Deveraux family—one of the most prestigious noble houses in the empire. Their heir was supposed to be brilliant, dashing, talented… practically a prince charming straight out of a romance tale.
At least, that's what I thought.
.
.
.
Then I met him.
Lucius Deveraux.
The dreams I had of a fairy-tale fiancé? Shattered the moment I laid eyes on him.
Chubby. Rude. Zero talent for magic. A walking disappointment wrapped in silver hair.
Was he even really a Deveraux?
Well… his hair was undeniably pure silver, so unfortunately, yes.
Still, my family waited. Four whole years, praying he would improve.
But the only thing that grew… was his belly.
The future Duke had become the future disaster.
So when Father finally decided to call off the engagement, I was thrilled. At last, I was free from this humiliation.
I turned toward the so-called heir, who was staring at me with those dull, pig-like eyes, and snapped,
"Stop looking at me like that."
Lucius—no, Sammy, the poor soul who had woken up in this body—blinked, utterly baffled.
(This woman… is she seriously picking a fight right now?)
Instead of answering, Lucius simply turned on his heel and walked away.
"H-Hey! Where are you going?!" I called after him.
He stopped just long enough to glance over his shoulder, expression blank, before turning away again.
"Do you still think you can act like this?!" I yelled, my voice rising in disbelief.
He finally spoke, his tone flat.
"What do you even want? You made it clear you hate being around me. So why are you bothering me now?"
I froze.
This… this wasn't the Lucius I knew.
The old Lucius would have groveled, tried to impress me, begged for my attention like some desperate dog.
But now? He looked at me like I was some random nuisance on the street.
"Wait… is this some new tactic to win me over?" I muttered under my breath.
Well, whatever. Time to end this farce once and for all.
"Just so you know," I said with a smirk, "we came here to break off the engagement."
"Okay," he replied instantly.
I nearly tripped. "O-Okay?! That's all you have to say?"
"Was I supposed to cry about it?" he asked, expression unreadable.
"Tch. Figures," I scoffed. "Not that you could match me anyway. I'm already a First Circle Magician, while you can't even cast basic spells. All you've gained in four years is weight."
His ears twitched at the word magician.
"Magic?" he said sharply.
I blinked. "…Yes?"
"Wait—there's really magic in this world?" he asked, eyes suddenly lighting up like a child discovering sweets for the first time.
…What kind of reaction was that?!
"Yes," I said slowly. "I'm a First Circle Magician. You, on the other hand, can't even call yourself an apprentice. Are you even a real Deveraux?"
But he ignored the insult completely, leaning forward with an almost manic look.
"Show me," he said eagerly.
"…Excuse me?"
"Your magic. Show me," he repeated.
I frowned, but fine. If he wanted to embarrass himself, I'd give him a front-row seat.
With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a small Fireball spell—simple, but enough to prove my point.
The way his eyes sparkled, you'd think I had just performed the grandest magic in existence.
(Magic! There's actually real magic in this world!) He screamed internally, practically vibrating with excitement.
And then, without another word, he bolted off like a madman, leaving me standing there in complete confusion.
.
.
.
"…What just happened?" I muttered.
.....
Meanwhile, in the Duke's office, the crackle of the fireplace was the only sound filling the heavy silence.
Marquis Emmerich de Velcourne sat opposite Duke Dominic von Deveraux, his usually bright demeanor dimmed by the somber look in his eyes.
"Brother," Emmerich began, his voice low, carrying both regret and weariness.
Dominic closed his eyes briefly before replying, equally heavy-hearted, "I know."
"So… you already knew," Emmerich muttered, his shoulders sagging. He let out a deep sigh before continuing, "I understand this will stain the Deveraux name. For that, I'll offer whatever compensation I can."
Dominic shook his head. "It isn't your fault. That boy… he only grew worse as the years passed. I can't blame you for feeling disappointed as a father. Aurelia, on the other hand… she shines so brightly. She'll achieve greatness one day."
Emmerich's gaze softened, as though looking past Dominic to a memory long buried. "Brother… do you still remember the frontier? When we were nothing but reckless young men trying to earn our families' recognition?"
A faint smile tugged at Dominic's lips. "Of course. I remember the ambush… and how you took an arrow meant for me."
Emmerich chuckled, tapping his chest where the old wound had long since healed. "The healers were out of mana that day. The scar stayed… but so did the vow we made afterward—to be brothers, no matter what. We even swore to wed our children one day, didn't we?"
For the first time that night, a spark lit in the Marquis's eyes. "That's it!"
Dominic raised a brow. "What is?"
"Perhaps that's exactly what the boy needs," Emmerich said firmly. "Send him to the frontier. Let him taste life and death—let the wilds forge him into a man."
The Duke leaned back in his chair, frowning in thought. "And if he doesn't survive? He has no talent for sword or magic."
Emmerich's lips curled into a small smile. "Recently, the church entrusted me with something… a potion. One said to awaken a person's dormant potential. Only one vial can be made each century, blessed by the deity herself."
Dominic's eyes widened. "So you were the chosen one this time. But why… give it to him? It is a gift beyond value."
"Because," Emmerich said softly, "I believe it was given to me for this very reason. We're both fathers now. I thought… maybe this is the deity's way of giving your son a second chance."
Dominic fell silent. His gaze lingered on the fire as memories of his youth—their battles, their vows, their dreams—flickered like the flames before him.
"…I had already given up on the boy," Dominic admitted at last. "But you… you still believe?"
Emmerich raised his glass of wine. "It's not him I believe in. It's the blood of the Deveraux. It's you."
Dominic let out a faint laugh, the first in what felt like ages. Slowly, he lifted his own glass.
"...Alright," the Duke said at last, his voice low but firm. "Let's give the boy… one last chance."
The Marquis's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. He nodded once, the firelight glinting in his eyes.
Their cups clinked, and for a brief moment, the years melted away. Two men who had once shared battlefields and brotherhood now shared the faint hope that one reckless boy might yet be forged into something greater.