Chosen by the Northern Grand Duke

Chapter 2. Elaine Serzila

“We’ve arrived.”

Before his eyes stood a wall. Not only stretching left and right but towering so high that its top was out of sight—The great wall of the Serzila Ducal House, separating the continent from the Otherworld.

The wall had grown larger.

The closer they got, the more Harad felt the sheer scale of it. A sort of nostalgia welled up inside him.

‘To think I’d see this wall again.’

The Grand Duke had once been proud of this wall. She had loved the Northerners living inside and the warriors who pledged their loyalty to Serzila. Surely, as Grand Duke, she still did.

And so Harad decided he should too. He looked differently at the back of Gullen’s bald head.

Thick snowflakes slid down the scalp, but it didn’t exactly look charming.

Beyond the gate was a city. Though built in varying styles, the buildings had all been unified in color by the snow. The wide road crunched beneath their feet as the snow dirtied with each step.

That familiar city. Harad draped his slipping cloak over his shoulders and walked through it. Everyone wore similar fur coats.

It felt comforting—and even more so because it was the Grand Duke’s doing.

If she had returned instead, the Grand Duke would surely have cried. Before her would be the land she loved most and failed to protect—Elaine Serzila’s beloved Serzila.

‘Told you to go instead.’

The inner gate opened.

Gullen, who had been watching him, spoke.

“I’ll say it again—be careful.”

The inner gate opened.

Gullen, who had been watching him, spoke.

“You being a mage is only known inside the inner fortress.”

Mages were to be executed on the spot. But Serzila had chosen to capture Harad instead of killing him. Of course, the Church knew nothing.

If Harad’s existence became public, Serzila would face enormous trouble.

“I heard the Grand Duke’s heir lives here.”

Harad asked himself. Though he’d entered the inner fortress, neither the Grand Duke nor the heir was in sight.

‘Ah right, it wasn’t the Grand Duke’s son but daughter.’

Anyway, In his past life, they’d met as soon as he’d entered through the gates.

“Why are you asking about them?”

“Just good to know. We’ll be living together from now on.”

“...Don’t concern yourself. They’re busy. And you won’t be sharing anything with them.”

His first meeting with Elaine Serzila was already different.

Why?

‘Ah, we arrived a day late.’

It was because Gullen had buried the villagers’ bodies after killing the magical beast.

That hadn’t happened in his past life. Back then, it had been Gullen guiding the way. He had avoided villages, worried Harad’s identity might be exposed.

But this time they stopped at a village—because Harad had insisted on it.

‘The future changes with even the smallest of things.’

It was an obvious yet crucial point.

“You’ll likely meet the Grand Duke tomorrow.”

Another change.

Originally, he’d waited fifteen days, but now Gullen said he’d meet her tomorrow.

‘Must be because I killed that magical beast.’

Though Gullen would later rise to become the Great Warrior, right now he was just a rookie knight.

Sure, he’d left his axe behind, but to Harad that was trivial.

The Gullen of this era couldn’t defeat that beast no matter what he did.

But Harad—who everyone thought was a wreck—had done it.

That was probably why the audience with the Grand Duke had been moved up.

After some time, Harad reached the annex.

It was the smallest annex in the inner fortress.

He’d stayed there in his past life.

He knew not only the building’s layout but also the hidden passages.

They weren’t good memories. Back then, no matter where he went, he was called a wreck. Even the staff disliked a hostage who only wasted food. Not just because he was a hostage—but because he was a mage.

It would likely be the same this time. Though, it wouldn’t last years like before.

“Will someone come get me tomorrow?”

“...Most likely.”

Gullen left just like that. His retreating figure felt a little cold. There was a sense of distance.

“We were pretty close, though.”

Would that happen again this time? Harad couldn’t be sure.

The future changes with the smallest things.

This life would flow very differently from the last.

The annex door was open. No signs of life could be felt, and the dust in every corner danced through the air, stirred by the incoming wind.

Pop. A tiny spark flickered near his nose and mouth.

His magic had reacted to the dust trying to enter through his nostrils.

The origin that all mages possess.

***

‘There’s something inside me.’

‘What could be in there besides Mom and Dad?’

‘A big space. I think it’s bigger than our house—no, bigger than our whole domain. And in it... there’s no Mom or Dad, just a little sun.’

That’s what little Harad had said. Inside him was a vast space. And in that vast interior floated a tiny sun. A sun the size of a child’s fist.

‘Forget that. You have no such thing as a sun.’

His parents told him to forget. Though young Harad couldn’t at first, he decided to forget once he began to understand the world.

The problem was... it too was a talent. Even when he forgot, even when he ignored it, the small flame constantly tugged at Harad. Like a child begging for attention, it nudged at his heart.

If ignored, the child would cry. But instead of crying, the small flame burned.

Each passing year, it grew larger—unrecognizably so.

That tiny flame the size of a fist had grown to the diameter of Harad’s height.

...Letting it be was his mistake. Harad didn’t know how to control the sun—this vague power. He’d lived a life trying to forget it.

The flame that once only nudged now became a sun that didn’t know how to regulate itself.

Whenever the sun poked at his heart, flames burst beyond the mental plane and into reality.

He’d once woken from a nightmare to find his bed turned to ashes.

Swung a sword, only to see flames lick along the blade.

Whenever he became agitated—or focused—the sun seemed ready to leap into the real world.

One day, a handkerchief a servant gave him caught fire. It traveled through the cloth and to the servant’s arm. The servant burned alive—screaming—his entire body ablaze.

Harad still remembered that scream vividly.

That death made an already fragile Harad even more delicate.

And it drew the Otherworld.

More precisely—a mage.

To a mage, another mage is both a comrade and prey.

They nourish their origin by consuming others’. And if it was fire—rare as it is—then it was more than reason enough.

The mage killed all the servants.

He tore out his parents’ hearts while they were still alive and devoured them.

That night. If Serzila hadn’t coincidentally arrived at Iagar for a related reason, Harad would’ve met the same fate...

‘This part doesn’t change with regression.’

In the vast space, the sun floated to the left.

It hovered at eye level—not high above—because it wasn’t a real sun.

That was Harad’s magic. His talent and his origin since birth.

All mages are born with such an origin.

Just as Harad has a sun, other mages have different origins in their hearts.

‘Was it always this small?’

No matter how he looked, the sun was small.

Harad stared bitterly at the sun, its diameter now about his height. Even that was larger than three days ago—thanks to the magical beast.

Compared to before regression, it was nothing. Until recently, the sun had grown so massive that its edges were beyond sight.

‘Fine. I’ll grow it again.’

It wasn’t a big problem.

He wasn’t the 20-year-old Harad, still reeling from his family’s massacre.

He was Harad, the Grand Duke’s escort knight—who’d been through war and hell.

The sun spat fire. To some, it might be searing—but to Harad, it was just warmth.

The flame slithered like a snake, dancing over Harad’s hand. It almost looked affectionate.

Stretch. He thought it, and the flame unraveled like threads from all ten fingers.

They roamed the air freely—drawing shapes, forming letters.

His breath became fire. Though its strength was paltry, it resembled the dragon’s breath found in Otherworld legends.

The fire continued to roam.

Sometimes it became a gauntlet, other times a sword.

‘Even after all that neglect, I’m still Second Rank.’

Mage ranks are divided into six levels.

Second Rank is something most mages reach only after ten years of training or slaying dozens of magical beasts.

Yet Harad was already there. And all he’d done in life... was survive.

Objectively speaking, it made no sense. Magic, fundamentally, is like muscle. If you don’t use it, it doesn’t grow.

‘The Otherworld had seven Sixth-Rankers, didn’t it?’

Before regression, Harad had been Fifth Rank. He was the strongest mage on the continent—yet the Otherworld still had many mages who matched or exceeded him.

‘Sixth Rank...’

He could reach it. Now that he faced his talent again, he was more confident than ever.

‘You’re only worthless if you give up.’

That’s when—he heard a faint cough.

‘First floor.’

Someone had entered the annex.

A servant? Gullen? Whoever it was, this hadn’t happened in the past.

Back then, Harad had been left alone.

At mealtimes, a maid came to bring food. That was all.

‘But it’s already past dinner.’

He’d already eaten the hard bread the maid left by heating it with fire.

The coughing stopped. But the presence came closer—up the stairs, and then—The door burst open.

“Harad Iagar?”

The man who barged in wasn’t particularly tall—about the same height as Harad.

But he didn’t look weak. If anything, he seemed tougher.

It might’ve been bias—Harad knew him well.

“So you’re Iagar’s hostage?”

Black hair. Crimson eyes, intense.

The man was incredibly handsome.

“You look as weak as they said.”

Truthfully, he looked weak too. But Harad knew this man couldn’t possibly be weak by birth.

He was the idol of the North. And would only become greater.

“Elaine Serzila.”

His former liege—and friend.