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Facing Marguerite’s worried expression only made the betrayal boiling inside Benedict more unbearable.

Of course, her concern wasn’t entirely a lie.

But it wasn’t the kind of worry one human might have for another.

No, she wasn’t concerned about Benedict himself—she was worried about the essential tool for her goals breaking down.

‘Come to think of it… Marguerite has always been like that.’

When someone was overwhelmed with emotion, she would always say exactly what they wanted to hear.

And with those words, she would ensnare them, bending their hearts to her will.

The entire process itself…

‘…It must be thanks to her countless regressions.’

She internalized the reactions people desired and used them perfectly to her advantage.

Through this, she would naturally align others with her side, leading them to collaborate in her ultimate goal of completely annihilating this world.

…Utterly revolting.

Benedict clenched his lips tightly, forcing them not to curl into a grimace.

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll feel better after some rest.”

“Still…”

“I just have a headache. I’d like some quiet to rest.”

Marguerite stared at him in silence for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh and nodding.

“All right. But if it gets worse, you must call for me, okay?”

“Yes, I will.”

With that, Marguerite finally left.

Benedict, having just rinsed his mouth, paused to look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

A pale face.

Dark shadows carved deeply beneath his eyes.

‘This must be a side effect of the Nyx magic.’

It felt like someone was hammering his head with a giant mallet.

Not an ounce of strength was left in his body.

But no pain could compare to the self-loathing he felt now.

‘I…’

Benedict gripped the sink tightly, his knuckles turning white as bone protruded beneath his skin.

‘I’ve always just stood by, watching Lady Lepherian suffer.’

The second prince, who had insulted Elze at the Diorlance Club.

The empress, who had mocked her outright at the imperial ball.

…And even Marguerite, who had mercilessly swung a blade at Elze.

He had never once tried to stop any of it.

[It’s worth finding out. About you, me, and that little runt from Kalleid currently acting as the magic circle’s battery…]

[What sins we’ve committed against Elze.]

Dante’s calm yet weighty voice clung to his ears, refusing to leave.

Benedict gritted his teeth.

“Damn it.”

The taste of blood seeped into his mouth.

“Damn it all!”

Unable to hold back any longer, Benedict slammed his fist into the mirror.

Crash!

The shattered mirror pieces rained down to the floor.

Bright red drops of blood splattered onto the jagged fragments.

“Hah… hah… hah…”

Reflected in the fragmented shards was his distorted, crumpled face, broken into countless pieces.

His hand was a wreck, but he couldn’t even feel the pain.

Benedict let out a rough, bitter laugh before heaving again, bile rising uncontrollably.

“Ugh!”

The vomit pouring out of him felt just like himself—
Dirty… repulsive.

* * *

The next day.

Marguerite descended into the basement where the magic circle was spread out and froze in shock.

Benedict was glaring at the magic circle with bloodshot eyes.

His fingers were stained with chalk dust, saturated with magical energy.

It seemed he had been fasting and altering the magic circle for some time…

“Benedict?!”

Marguerite rushed to him in a panic.

And there, she saw that Benedict’s left hand was wrapped haphazardly in a blood-soaked bandage.

Shocked, she immediately grasped his hand.

“My heavens, what happened to your hand?”

“…”

Benedict casually turned to look at Marguerite.

Having broken the mirror yesterday in his rage, Benedict’s hand was a mess of cuts and bruises.

“I’m fine.”

Benedict casually tried to pull his hand away.

“I just tripped from dizziness and injured myself. There’s no need to worry.”

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes. There’s no need to worry…”

As he spoke with his usual indifferent expression, Benedict swayed slightly.

The dizziness had struck again.

“Ugh.”

Marguerite, not knowing what else to do, reached out to support him.

“You were feeling unwell yesterday too. Why don’t you rest inside for a bit?”

“…”

For a brief moment, Benedict took a step back, hesitating.

Marguerite tilted her head and called out to him.

“Benedict?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

Benedict smiled, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Helping you, Marguerite, is a joy for me.”

“My goodness.”

Marguerite’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“To hear you say that, I truly feel like a lucky person.”

…That disgusting sentiment.

Nausea surged to the back of his throat.

Suppressing it with all his might, Benedict shook his head.

“It’s nothing. I’m doing it because I want to.”

“But you’re very precious to me as well.”

Precious, huh.

Benedict let out a hollow laugh.

If it were the old him, he would have naively believed Marguerite genuinely cared about him as a person.

But to her, Benedict was nothing more than a tool for improving, maintaining, and supplying magical power to the magic circle.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

Marguerite sweetly added.

But that moment passed quickly.

“By the way, Benedict. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

His emerald green eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I think the magic circle has been slightly altered. Did you make adjustments?”

Had she noticed?

Benedict masked his unease and answered.

“Yes, that’s correct. I made some adjustments to the formula.”

“Really? Why?”

“It seems that Duke Kalleid’s magic is being supplied somewhat inefficiently.”

“Hm.”

Marguerite scrutinized the magic circle with a hawk-like gaze.

She spotted a few changes to the formula.

Certainly, this structure seemed like it would allow Lucian’s magic to flow more efficiently through the entire circle…

“More importantly, you should check on Duke Kalleid.”

Benedict spoke again.

“No matter how much I adjust the formula, if the Duke is in poor condition, it will all be useless.”

“Ah, right. I’ll do that.”

Finally reassured, Marguerite smiled in satisfaction.

“Then, Benedict, good work.”

Marguerite gracefully exited the basement.

Waiting for her to completely disappear from sight, Benedict let out a long sigh.

“…Hah.”

The tension that had been tightly coiling around his body began to loosen slightly.

Benedict’s gaze drifted to the massive magic circle before him.

The aftereffects of Nyx’s magic were still lingering.

From time to time, his vision blurred and his temples throbbed as if pierced by needles.

…But.

‘I couldn’t just lay down and do nothing.’

The ever-present self-loathing continued to lash at him.

So, as soon as the nausea subsided a bit, Benedict descended into the basement to continue modifying the magic circle.

However, he couldn’t touch any formula directly influencing the time-reversal magic.

If he did, Marguerite would definitely notice.

She was a natural genius in magic, and the foundation of this magic circle had been built by her hands.

Benedict could only make minor adjustments to the formula or improve the efficiency of the magic implementation.

Therefore, the direction he chose was…

‘Duke Kalleid.’

Lucian was responsible for supplying magic to the circle.

Which meant, if something happened to Lucian and he couldn’t provide magic…

‘The time-reversal magic would fail to work.’

Thus, Benedict altered the formula so that, at the moment Lucian supplied magic to the circle, his memories of the past would be triggered.

‘I… I stood by and watched Lady Lepherian die.’

Dozens, hundreds of times.

He had only watched, like an outsider, as she bled and died.

The horrific regret.

Benedict was certain.

The moment Lucian’s memories were triggered…

‘He will waver.’

Just like Benedict himself had.

And that alone would be enough.

Imbuing the magic circle with power and using it as a base to cast a great spell.

This was an extremely delicate task.

A confused and dizzy Lucian would no longer be able to supply magic to the circle.

…And if that happened, the time-reversal magic would be stalled, even if only for a moment.

‘This is all I can do.’

Benedict sneered bitterly.

Still, he planned to struggle, as much as he could.

After all,

‘Dante.’

Benedict clenched his teeth.

‘That bastard… despite the countless repeated times.’

He gripped the chalk tightly in his hand.

‘He never once gave up on Lady Lepherian.’