RODH Chapter 60

60.

Seor clutched Ian’s cooling body and cried out.

“Ian! Ian!”

With trembling hands, Nevan gently closed Ian’s eyes.

“This can’t be happening…”

Lucian refused to believe Ian was truly dead.

But there wasn’t the faintest breath left in Ian. His limp body was nothing more than a corpse—his soul already gone.

Alvis, barely detached from the magic circle, muttered incoherently.

“Lord Ian… he sacrificed himself. He knew exactly what his ability was. That’s why he…”

“Shut up! Everyone be quiet. Ian, Ian. There’s no way you’re dead. Didn’t you constantly provoke me beyond your place? Just like then—do it again. Ian…”

Seor pulled Ian tightly into his arms.

Perhaps because of the cold weather, Ian’s body had gone frigid with frightening speed.

Afraid of losing even that little warmth, Seor called for Peter, saying they needed to take Ian to a healer right away.

Peter looked down at Ian’s lifeless body in a daze, then placed a hand on Seor’s shoulder and spoke.

“…It’s already too late, Your Highness.”

“No. No, it’s not. Ian can’t be dead. Ian…”

Seor stared blankly as Nevan pressed a kiss to the red scar carved into Ian’s palm.

What on earth did you do, Ian Pearl Ruben?

What did you do for the magic circle to grow powerful enough to take even your life?

Seor had felt it, too, during the battle.

There was no hope of victory for Nevan, who kept hacking at the endlessly regenerating limbs of the Demon Lord.

Under the blood-red sky, they fought in the sleet that fell like rain, like souls trapped in a living hell.

And then—there was light.

A dazzling light erupted from Alvis’s barely-formed magic circle, so intense it could have blinded them, as it set the Demon Lord ablaze.

Seor saw it clearly: the Demon Lord’s massive body splitting in half, its very fragments ignited by light magic.

KIEEEEEEHHK!

The Demon Lord let out a final screech, trying desperately to crawl beyond the circle.

But Nevan drove his sword through its head, pinning it down, stopping it.

The Demon Lord thrashed and screamed… and then melted into nothing.

When its form vanished without a trace, the light of the magic circle began to slowly fade.

Seor had been ready to praise Alvis for his efforts.

But before that, Ian came first.

When Seor grabbed Ian’s shoulders, still resting on the circle, Ian was barely conscious.

‘Ian, Ian!’

He was clinging to the grass with broken hands, refusing to let go.

When Seor pried them away, blood dripped from his palms.

The long, deep wounds were enough to make anyone wince just from looking.

Seor called Ian’s name again and again, and finally, Ian opened his mouth.

‘The Demon Lord…’

Seor told him it had been completely incinerated by the magic circle—by the very spell Ian had helped cast.

Relief washed over Ian’s green eyes, and the heaving rise and fall of his chest began to slow.

Then, as Ian’s pupils dilated fully and his breath stopped for good, a single tear fell from Seor’s golden eyes.

He had lost something precious.

Ian was dead.

---

There’s only one real advantage to the northern cold:

Corpses don’t decay right away.

Ian Pearl Ruben, once heir to House Ruben, now lay in a coffin.

The physician had to explain the circumstances of Ian’s death from his perspective, and Alvis, from his own.

The physician claimed cardiac arrest as the cause.

But Alvis disagreed.

“Could you step out for a moment?”

At Alvis’s request, the physician bowed and left the chapel.

Gathered in the room were Seor, Peter, Lucian, and Nevan.

After briefly explaining the concept of life magic, Alvis spoke:

“Lord Ian amplified the spell using his own life.”

A heavy silence settled among the dominant alphas—each of them usually unshakable.

Seor muttered bitterly.

“So that’s why you insisted on coming to the North? Just to sacrifice your life?”

Even Peter, who had been offering quiet comfort to Seor, couldn’t hide his grief in that moment.

He had desperately awaited the day Ian would appoint him as his knight protector—and all he received in return was Ian’s death.

Faced with an ending no one had wanted, Lucian couldn’t even bring himself to speak.

I respect your choice, Ian.

I shouldn’t have.

I should never have respected that choice.

The pale gray coffin made from Winstol wood fit Ian’s body exactly.

Lucian stepped up to the coffin resting on the dais and hugged it tightly once.

And then, in a voice too soft for anyone else to hear, he whispered:

“I miss you, Ian.”

I wish you’d open your eyes again.

Could something magical like that really happen?

Lucian forgot entirely that a mana master was present. He spoke to Ian’s soul, which surely was wandering somewhere nearby.

But, of course, there was no reply.

“I plan to take Ian back to House Ruben. But would it be alright to hold a brief funeral here in the North first?” Seor asked.

Nevan, his face pale, nodded.

“This afternoon, when the bell rings, we’ll place a branch of Winstol blossoms on the coffin.”

Because real Winstol flowers were hard to come by, Nevan said they would attach paper blossoms to a tree branch instead.

“Very well. Then I’ll leave now to inform House Ruben.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ll go help with the funeral preparations as well,” Peter added.

After Seor and Peter, Alvis was the next to leave the chapel.

Using fire magic, Alvis melted a portion of the frozen ground and scattered seeds he had brought with him.

“Grow.”

With that short casting, a blue flower—one that resembled Ian—bloomed from the earth.

Its name was Stardust.

True to its name, the glittering flower sparkled like fragments of stars and gave off a rich, honeyed fragrance.

The scent drew curious spirits toward it, but Alvis had no time to entertain them.

He returned to his assigned quarters and began trimming the flower.

His hands were busy picking off dry, brittle leaves one by one.

Lord Alvis, do you know anything about light magic?

He had sworn not to make the same mistake again. But this time, too, he had lost someone precious because of magic.

His vision blurred.

“Lord Ian…”

He called the name of someone who would never answer again—and knew he would miss him forever.

Meanwhile, even after Lucian left, having held Ian’s coffin for a long time, Nevan remained.

Only once everyone else had gone did he step closer to Ian’s coffin.

“Why are you so merciless…”

He had been ready to die at the hands of the Demon Lord.

If the North was destroyed because of that, he had accepted it as fate.

But Ian had gone and changed that fate.

Nevan hadn’t rested his battle-worn body.

Or rather, he couldn’t bring himself to.

“If you are the one who brings spring… then wake up.”

He spoke with desperate hope.

Like the day his mother and father died, he didn’t want to be left behind alone again.

Ian had been a bright soul.

The only person who saw the North in a positive light.

When Ian’s letters had grown shorter, Nevan had thought, Ah, he’s finally picked up the northern speech patterns.

And at the same time… he had felt a little lonely.

Ian’s letters had always been chatty, like a lark chirping at dawn.

Was that why he had liked them?

Nevan didn’t know.

And now, he would never know.

That night Ian had wiped away his tears, saying he pitied Nevan.

Nevan had felt heat rise in his chest and dizziness wash over him.

At the time, he thought it was just the physical reaction from his first contact with an omega—but when he asked Klain, it seemed it hadn’t been that.

Ian was just… the kind of person who could make you dizzy with how good he was.

And perhaps… the only one he could truly open his heart to.

Nevan placed the paper flowers atop the coffin.

Then he left the chapel.

---

“O spirit of the Winstol tree, I beg you, have mercy on this pitiful soul. Guide them, so they do not lose their way in the snowstorms of Ferost.”

The northern priest swept the paper Winstol blossoms across both sides of the coffin.

“O great spirit of Ferost, open the path for this soul. The soul, as pure as a deer, has now left the flesh and begun its journey.”

Northerners believe that when a person dies, their soul begins a journey.

Seor, who had heard this before the funeral, fought back a wave of emotion.

He couldn’t help thinking how that immature boy who always liked to argue was really going to make it through such a long journey.

Lucian must’ve had the same thought, as he whispered,

“Do you think Ian will be able to go safely?”

“We can only pray he does,” Alvis replied.

The priest sprinkled holy water and then gestured for those left behind to speak their final farewells.

Seor was the first to step forward.

“I wrote the letter announcing your death. No matter how I wrote it, none of it captured what I truly felt. Ian Pearl Ruben… you were my mate. Even if you died as the Dragon Clan’s crown princess, it doesn’t change the fact that you were mine.”

Next, Peter spoke.

“Lord Ian. I waited so long, hoping to be appointed as your knight protector. I never imagined things would turn out like this. But more than anything, what I want to say is… I never once thought ill of you.”

Alvis placed the carefully groomed Stardust flower on the coffin and broke into quiet sobs.

Next to him, Lucian took out a gold pendant he had kept in his pocket.

There was no photo inside.

“Goodbye, my beloved crown princess. If we’d had just a little more time together, I would’ve shown you so much more. I think I’ll always feel like this was all my fault. Forever.”

And finally, Nevan stepped forward.

He placed a letter on Ian’s coffin and quietly closed his eyes.