The first and second stages were, literally, the erasing of thought. At that time, the subject’s entire body would be bound, and sorcery laid upon them to gradually constrict the mind. If the prince was still in stage one or two, escape might still be somewhat possible. But once he crossed into stage three, there would be no way back.
Stage three was the erasure of the “self.”
During this period, runes were engraved one by one, allowing the master to control the mind-shattered body, and the subject began to lose sovereignty over his own flesh.
The average human mind was weaker than one might expect. In three days, the second stage could be completed, and stage three would begin. Beyond that, the duration of “education” was uncertain, for the length varied depending on the person. Though the average was said to be a month, there were many cases in which it ended far sooner.
I have to stop it before that point. Beyond that, there’s no turning back.
After passing stage three, the subject could not even hold up his own body, reduced to something like a fool. From there, stage four was said to instill loyalty to the family.
“From stage four onward, the ‘education’ is practically complete.”
From stage four, the subject was drilled with repeated spells and suggestions that controlled not only his bowels and bladder but even his lust.
If a family member ordered him to piss, he must piss; if commanded to strip, he must strip. Every order from the master had to be obeyed. Having passed stages one through three, there was no shame left. Instead, in that barren, empty heart, a seed of “joy in loyalty” was sown.
Stage five was practice—collaring the subject with small but piercing fears, repeating it until the leash held firm. And if this succeeded, then came the final sixth stage: self-rationalization.
Self-rationalization.
When I first heard of it, I had thought little of it. But from the Marquis’s brief explanation, I realized just how horrifying it was.
A person who endured every stage would come to believe that he was “grateful to have been educated.” How could that be sane? How much relentless torment must one endure to be brought to that point?
And only the heads of houses can perform it.
The Marquis had explained every stage, but never the critical details. No doubt those were reserved for the heir—Erhan—or himself alone.
The very fact that he had explained this much was because he favored me greatly. Sorcery such as this had long been condemned as defiance against the gods, and no one dared touch it, not even the royals.
That was how foul and unsettling the stages were. I knew only a handful of minor spells and the general outline of “education,” never the specifics. The more people knew, the greater the chance the sorcery could be undone.
But I know the book.
Though nothing more had surfaced yet, I had read it. Perhaps I could find some way, somehow. Gripping my pounding head, I wrestled with the thought.
But the harder I thought, the more my fever flared, and the less I could find any clear solution.
“My child, what is it? Your fever is rising again…”
Because in the end, I was nothing but a weak fourteen-year-old boy, forced to face my mother’s worried eyes.
Even if I somehow succeeded in freeing the prince this instant with this frail, half-grown body, how could I possibly survive the consequences?
So what could I do now?
That was the question…
…Wait. Couldn’t I interfere?
I didn’t have the power to twist the novel completely out of shape. Nor did I have the confidence.
But even if I’d already been handed my death sentence, I didn’t want to sit with folded hands, neck bared, waiting for the blade.
I needed time to think of how to change the future.
And I had to plan carefully, moving in ways the Marquis would not notice.
“Mother, could you leave me for a moment? I think I need to wash—I’m sweating a lot.”
Conveniently, my body was not normal. Whether from the nightmare or not, my forehead was already damp with sweat.
Mother blinked in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected me to ask her to leave. Then she hurriedly took out a handkerchief.
“Oh, heavens, my mind! And this sweat…”
She gently wiped my brow. That touch was full of love, and I longed to lean into it endlessly—but I didn’t have that luxury.
“I really want to wash quickly.”
I pushed her back lightly. She looked at me with hurt eyes, but then glanced at the servant beside her, signaling to prepare a bath.
“Oh, my child. Every time you can do something on your own, I feel so lonely.”
“That’s not it. It’s just… I smell of sweat now. I feel embarrassed.”
And that was true. Mother, who hated filth and despised anything lacking refinement, nevertheless made an exception for me.
She would never stoop to pick a handkerchief off the floor, and yet she herself had wiped my brow, had nursed me with her own hands. That meant she truly loved me.
“You are the most precious thing I possess. What of you could ever be shameful? Never.”
She said it firmly.
Overwhelmed by the love pouring over me, I lifted my eyes to her, at a loss for words. She smiled like sunlight and brushed her cheek against mine.
“Take care of yourself.”
Perhaps because my state looked dire, she rose earlier than usual, touching my face gently with a worried look.
“I love you.”
“And I love you, my child.”
At times, her love felt burdensome; at others, deeply moving.
She hugged me tightly once more, then stood and walked toward the door. Her back remained straight, her posture elegant, no trace of weakness in her exit. I smiled faintly at the sight—until the door shut with a sharp click, and the smile vanished instantly.
My face hardened the moment she was gone.
I want us to survive together.
Alone, I might be able to find some way to escape. But I didn’t want that.
My mother, beautiful and noble, as if she had stepped from a fairy tale—
If this truly was inside a book, if my memories were real, then I wanted to survive together with her. Which meant I couldn’t waste a single moment.
I jumped to my feet, sat at my desk, and opened a notebook. Hastily, I began to write in Hangul, a language I had thought I would never use again after being reborn.
[3 days]
The day I first saw Zachary Thaddeus, I lost consciousness.
In the three days I was unconscious, the Marquis must have already begun the education.
If the education had already started, I could not recklessly attempt to help him escape.
[Interference]
So I thought of interference. If events followed the original story, how could I disrupt them?
I was still a child, with no power, so whatever I did had to be accomplished without much force.
It also had to avoid causing damage to the family, avoid drawing the world’s notice—Zachary’s presence had to be hidden. But at the same time, I needed to help him succeed, and secure my own life.
“Haa…”
Was there such a way?
I dropped my pen, pressing my forehead to the desk in frustration.
The safest path was freeing Zachary at once, but since that wasn’t possible…
Could I at least twist the story until then? How could I keep Zachary from slaughtering our family? What perspective must he hold of us—
“…What if he felt goodwill?”
My eyes flew open.
Why did I only now think of something so simple, so primal?
I lifted my head sharply, as though I had never been bowed at all. Ripping apart the page of scribbled nonsense, I wrote one word large and clear, staring at it.
Goodwill.
If Zachary could feel goodwill toward the people of this house, then perhaps—even if only slightly—the odds of survival would rise.
And instilling goodwill might be easier than I thought.