Chapter 156: A Romantic and Illusory Dream.

Chapter 156 A Romantic and Otherworldly Dream

In the old duke's recollection, his first encounter with his wife was like a romantic and otherworldly dream.

In his youth, the duke loved hunting. He reveled in the fierce wind stirred by galloping steeds and savored the thrill of his heart pounding with excitement.

The rush of hormones and the thrill that set his nerves alight could erase an entire month's worth of monotony and fatigue.

To ensure his safety, the duke had formed a retinue of mounted archers, tasked with protecting him during each hunting expedition and occasionally assisting in hunting stags and other large prey.

"The day I met my wife—Hekate—was supposed to be an ordinary hunt."

At this point, the duke's expression turned wistful, though it was unclear whether he was recalling his wife's face or the carefree days riding through the woods.

After a pause, he sighed and continued, "But as dusk approached, I became fixated on chasing a hare and strayed beyond our usual hunting grounds. Before I knew it, my guards and I were lost in the darkening forest."

Night’s mantle slowly unfurled across the sky.

Even as the last remnants of twilight vanished and the full moon rose above the treetops, they still couldn’t find their way out.

Many of the guards were skilled at navigating the wilderness—

But that night, the stars were unusually erratic. Through the gaps in the dense branches, all they could see was a dazzling yet chaotic scattering of stars, strewn across the sky like a handful of salt with no discernible pattern.

They attempted to ride forward, but even their steadfast horses balked, their hooves hesitating over the dry leaves and twigs as if some dread beast prowled in the depths of the woods.

While helping the duke calm his frightened horse, a young man named John unfortunately fell from his saddle and was blinded by a sharp branch.

After much desperate struggle, the duke and his guards had to admit:

They were hopelessly lost.

—In that star-chaotic night, deep within the lightless, untrodden woods.

"Just as we were resigned to despair and preparing to camp for the night, Hekate appeared before us."

Lost in the distant memory, the duke felt as though he could see that swaying lantern again, and the black-robed woman who walked toward them with a slow, deliberate pace.

Under the boundless night sky, the flickering candlelight became the brightest star among the countless others.

The flame swayed with the lantern-bearer’s movements, casting the unfamiliar woman in a shimmering, otherworldly aura. Her unique, gentle smile shone through her dove-gray eyes, and her golden hair spilled like liquid gold, as if a painted beauty had stepped out of a canvas.

"Are you lost travelers?"

The full moon hung behind her on the branches. Silvered by moonlight, she extended a helping hand and said, "I am Hekate. I can take you to a nearby village where you can spend the night."

"There, you need not fear the starving beasts of the dark. There will be endless wine to warm you and downy beds to rest in."

Her soft voice drifted from the boundary between lamplight and shadow, painting a haven woven from dreams in the heart of the perilous woods.

The duke and his guards shared wary looks, still harboring suspicion.

Yet compared to the gnawing chill of the deserted forest, how inviting was the haven Hekate described?

And when they considered their numbers—strong guards, sharp weapons, and battle-trained steeds—what was there to fear?

And so, the duke and his party chose to trust this woman who had appeared all too fortuitously—even suspiciously so—and followed her to the village she spoke of.

"...There really is a village here?"

Standing before the settlement, someone murmured in awe, their gaze lingering on the well-lit wooden houses. "Why do I remember this forest being completely uninhabited?"

Yes, it was unbelievable.

—And yet, the village was palpably real. The sturdy wooden beams, the smooth stone steps, the warm glow of lanterns—all of it lay before them, tangible and undeniable.

Perhaps it was the depth of the night, but the duke’s memories from then on grew hazy.

All he remembered was that everyone seemed to be walking through a surreal, beautiful dream. In a daze, this remote, nameless village in the woods seemed to be paved with gold, jewels, and wine...

Every imaginable delight—real or fantastical—could be found there.

Wine flowed endlessly like streams across the ground, the aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, and the group reveled, laughed, and feasted heedless of the passage of time.

Meanwhile, in an unnoticed corner, Hekate stood in her flowing black robes, lantern in hand, watching them with that same gentle, sphinx-like smile.

A drunken guard raised his cup. "Thank you for your kindness, Hekate!"

"There’s no need for thanks," she replied, her pale lips curving slightly. "I merely kept my promise."

Her voice carried an oracular gravity as she added, "To bring you... a dream untouched by fear, hardship, or suffering."

How did that night come to an end?

No one could recall the details.

All they knew was that, exhausted, they eventually sank into layers of cushions and blankets—luxuries no ordinary farmer could afford—sinking deeper, deeper...

Until they succumbed to sleep.

The next morning, the sun rose.

The path out of the forest finally appeared, yet they found themselves loath to depart, still enchanted by the village’s allure.

And the duke, then a handsome and spirited young man, found himself helplessly smitten with Hekate.

Before departing, he invited her to return with him to his lands, declaring his intention to marry her—to swear eternal vows before the eyes of the Nature Sculptor.

"..."

Hearing this, the prophet interjected, "You must have sensed even then that she carried secrets and dangers."

"Of course I did," the duke gave a mirthless laugh, his tone laced with self-mockery. "From the very day I brought Hekate home, terrible rumors spread. Many whispered that their lord had brought back a wicked witch from the deep woods—one who would bring a curse upon the House Iris."

"I knew they were right," the duke said, his expression not calm so much as broken. "But it was already too late... My soul had long been bound to Hekate."

Hekate was not only without lineage and penniless, but her very presence was uncanny. Many tried to dissuade the young duke from marrying her, but none could sway his obdurate will.

Within a month, the duke and the mysterious woman were wed in the sanctuary of the Natural Hymns Society. The wedding ring was set with a rare dove-gray gem, matching Hekate’s eyes—a last, fatal enchantment over the duke’s heart.

The prophet: "..."

He didn’t understand.

A subtle expression crossed the seer’s countenance. It seemed even one far-seeing could not help but be baffled by moonstruck fools.

"Isildur and Ernos are the flesh of my flesh with Hekate... my heart’s own treasures..."

The duke paused, disclosing a shocking secret: "But these two children were not born naturally."

The prophet placed his teacup down, adjusted his posture to sit more upright, and nodded solemnly. "Please continue."

Two years after the duke's marriage to Hekate, she suddenly said, "I want a child."

Just as the duke felt a flush of embarrassment, his wife added, "So, give me a drop of your blood."

"What?" the duke asked in astonishment.

"Give me a drop of blood, and I can use certain means to create a child who inherits our bloodline."

The duke's first instinct was to refuse—such unnatural methods sounded far too much like dangerous cult practices!

But Hekate embraced him from behind, her long golden hair cascading over his shoulders like a suffocating spiderweb, shrouding him.

She cooed into his ear, "Darling, you’ll grant me this, won’t you?"

This time, next time, forever.

The prophet said thoughtfully, "So, you actually let your family accept two children with questionable origins?"

"I claimed publicly that Hekate was pregnant and went to a secluded town for her confinement. Then, nine months later, I brought her and Isildur back to the estate," the duke explained. "Since Isildur had the hereditary purple eyes of our bloodline, no one questioned his identity."

"Besides, my two children aren’t entirely of unknown origin. I can roughly guess how they were... 'created.'"

"When I brought Hekate back, she held the sleeping Isildur in one arm and carried that familiar lantern in the other—its wick burned with a blood-red flame, within which the vague faces and limbs of an infant writhed into shape."

The prophet remarked, "So, it seems she took far longer to create Ernos than Isildur?"

Who would have thought that the siblings were essentially conceived in the same year, yet Ernos wasn’t fully formed until eight years later?

"Yes," the duke replied, with visible guilt in his eyes. "Hekate once told me that a perfect body and soul require longer forging, and Ernos was her most satisfactory... 'handiwork.'"

Struggling to utter the last word, the duke clasped his hands and bowed his head heavily.

This was his greatest shameful secret—his proudest offspring might have initially been born through unnatural means, as some kind of tool.

And to preserve this illusory dream of love, he cowardly avoided these truths, pretending to be an ordinary father before his oblivious children.

After a moment of silence, the prophet said with suspicion, "You really didn’t notice—how strange you become whenever you’re around Hekate?"

The duke froze.

His eyes flashed with disdain as he spoke faster, "You don’t actually believe all of this is the magic of love, do you?"

"To me, your relationship—rather than resembling lovers—seems more like that of an eldritch power and their bewitched fanatic, with souls and wills twisted until reshaped into an unfamiliar self by external forces."

"If I’m not mistaken," the prophet tapped the table, drawing from his vast experience, "she might be an Ability user in the realms of [Nightmare], [Deceit], or [Conspiracy], and of considerable power..."

"She is the 'eldritch power' you personally invited into your family."

Meanwhile, Meng Siyou successfully persuaded Old John, and the two sat in the narrow, alcohol-reeking wooden cabin as Old John slowly recounted his experience from back then.

And this was... a bizarre story vastly different from the duke’s account.