Chapter 70

Ch-70

The castle of Zair bore an uncanny resemblance to the Emerald Castle of Sethian. It wasn’t merely a matter of appearance; the very structure was identical. While it was customary for the emperor’s five children to each possess castles that shared similar exteriors but varied interiors, this place felt like a replica of Sethian’s domain.

Hovering silently through the corridor, Yi Gyeol cautiously phased through a door ahead.

"Just as I thought..."

As expected, beyond the door lay a study. The arrangement of bookshelves, even their sheer number, mirrored that of Sethian’s.

Ever since Yi Gyeol had learned to read, he insisted on selecting books personally from Sethian's study rather than relying on the one-sided choices he retrieved from the imperial library. Though he’d only observed in his ethereal state, he’d taken enough time to carefully inspect the bookshelves and their contents. That familiarity now made the resemblance glaringly obvious.

The majority of the books here were not only identical to those Sethian owned but were arranged in the exact same way. While other rooms contained slight variations—additional furniture or a different layout that served as distinguishing features—this study felt almost unnervingly like a doppelgänger.

"Could this really be coincidence?"

Even as the question crossed his mind, Yi Gyeol was certain it wasn’t. Sethian wasn’t the type to meticulously replicate Zair’s castle, let alone mimic the selection and placement of books.

The reason behind this peculiar design eluded him, but the sheer mimicry left a bitter aftertaste.

Surveying the study one last time, Yi Gyeol stepped back out into the corridor and resumed his flight. Though passing straight through walls would have been faster, he refrained; the thought of accidentally entering a room where Zair might be lurking weighed heavily on his mind. Zair, unlike most others, could still see him in this state, making carelessness a dangerous luxury.

As he cautiously entered yet another room, Yi Gyeol’s thoughts churned.

What he truly wanted was to leave this castle, to scour every corner of the outside world for Sethian. After all, it was absurd to think she would remain here in Zair’s castle after being framed for fratricide and arrested. Yet, despite the futility of staying, Yi Gyeol stubbornly lingered.

Even if he found Sethian and threw himself into her embrace, what good would it do? There was nothing he could offer in his current state.

"I have to focus on what I can do."

As an incorporeal spirit, he was invisible to most—save a rare few, like Zair and Roa. That meant this was an opportunity, a rare chance to uncover what Zair was plotting and what lay ahead.

He knew Zair sought Sethian’s death. That much was undeniable. It wasn’t just Zair—all their siblings harbored the same intent. Despite their relentless assaults, Sethian had never retaliated in kind. She never sought vengeance, never aimed to kill in return. To Yi Gyeol, Sethian was almost saintlike, her icy exterior a mere facade.

Yet Zair had turned this virtuous sibling into a murderer in the eyes of all.

"The Emperor knew that Sethian was scheming to eliminate us one by one," Zair had once proclaimed. "Not just me—all our siblings would have fallen by his hand. That’s why His Majesty joined me in uncovering his plans. But who could have imagined Sethian would kill our brother even before the day of his capture?"

Lies.

Sethian would never do such a thing.

Everything was Zair’s fabrication. Somewhere in this castle, there must be evidence. And where better to start than close to the criminal himself? The clearest clues often lay near the culprit.

Yi Gyeol steeled himself, nerves tightly wound. He knew that if Zair discovered him wandering the halls, the consequences could be catastrophic. Yet he remained vigilant, his sharp mind racing as he scanned every corner.

For now, the only anomaly was how closely this castle mirrored Sethian’s. The resemblance extended to the layout, the purpose of each room, and even the placement of furniture.

But then, just as frustration began to set in over the lack of progress, Yi Gyeol froze.

At the far end of a corridor stood a door. He recognized it instantly—Sethian’s castle had an identical room. Beyond that door lay a salon, a gathering space furnished with ornate decorations, art pieces, tables, and an abundance of chairs. Stocked with poetry collections, chessboards, and playing cards, it was designed for social events. Sethian had never used hers, leaving it untouched. A quick glance revealed Zair’s version was similarly neglected.

After a brief look around, Yi Gyeol retreated from the room, back into the corridor. His gaze shifted to what initially seemed like a plain wall.

Two familiar spirits, in the form of white butterflies, hovered in place. They stood like sentinels, separated by a small gap.

"Come to think of it..."

Yi Gyeol returned to the salon for a closer inspection. Though spacious, this version felt marginally smaller than Sethian’s.

Stepping back into the corridor, he approached the space between the spirits. What appeared to be a solid wall had a subtle giveaway: a peculiar door handle. From the salon’s entrance, it was so seamlessly concealed it could easily be mistaken for part of the wall.

Unlike the soldiers stationed throughout the castle, these spirits guarded the area. While they couldn’t physically repel intruders, they could swiftly and discreetly alert Zair.

The handle itself was strange—a keyhole surrounded by four small circular indentations. It was unlike anything Yi Gyeol had seen before, clearly designed to ensure only the rightful owner could access it.

An inexplicable certainty gripped him.

This was it. The one place that differed from Sethian’s castle.

This hidden chamber must be Zair’s secret, the heart of his schemes.

A surge of tension and excitement coursed through Yi Gyeol as he approached the door with utmost caution, careful not to disturb the vigilant spirits.

---

“…But I don’t think he’s going to say much more than denying it’s his doing.”

Terron, the young commander of the Templars clad in black armor, delivered a terse report. Zair, who had been listening with rapt attention, leaned back in his chair and propped his chin on his hand, his expression clouded with puzzlement.

“What are you thinking?”

To Zair’s softly muttered question, Terron offered no immediate reply. Beneath the shadow of his black mask, his lips twitched awkwardly, as though he were about to speak, yet no words escaped him.

“What of the minions in the Emerald Castle?”

“They, too, maintain the Prince of Sethian’s innocence but take no further action.”

The sound of the horse’s uneven breathing—halting and irregular rather than the steady rhythm one might expect—seemed to grate against Zair’s already frayed nerves. Yet, he did not lash out or display displeasure. On the contrary, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as though some unseen thought amused him.

“Tell the Templars this: if anything happens, you may take his life. Just make sure to hold onto the body.”

At these words, Terron’s shoulders stiffened, his hands balling into tight fists. Encased in black gloves, his fingers appeared unnatural—jagged and uneven in both size and length, a grotesque reminder of his imperfect form.

“Without this body, I would…”

Terron’s voice faltered as his courage wavered under Zair’s piercing gaze. The mask obscured his expression, but the faint twist of his lips suggested a struggle to suppress his unease.

Zair’s scowl softened abruptly, giving way to a low chuckle.

“Don’t worry. The next body you’ll inhabit will be flawless—a perfect human form, unlike the previous failures. It will be crafted with the intelligence of a soul, ensuring that the rejection you’ve suffered before will be negligible.”

“A new body…”

Terron’s voice quivered, tinged with barely contained excitement.

The prospect of a perfect, human-like form—one devoid of the glaring defects and constant rejection he had endured—lit a spark of hope within him. His trembling fists betrayed the depth of his anticipation.

For the first time in a long while, Terron’s steps were filled with purpose as he departed the laboratory. Watching this, Zair’s smile widened, his amusement deepening.

His thoughts turned to the woman confined within his chambers.

A flawless human body, so perfect that no one could discern it was manufactured.

Zair’s heart raced as he envisioned the culmination of his work, a body brought to life by his ingenuity.

“To achieve that, a quick brainwashing is essential,” he murmured.

Though it was earlier than planned, the time had come to employ the drug he had perfected through Eda. This concoction was no ordinary substance—it dulled judgment, sapped mental resilience, and drove its victim into deep despair and loneliness, fostering an unnatural dependence on those nearby.

To Zair’s calculating mind, it was the ideal tool for someone like Joo Yi Gyeol.

The mere thought of her tearfully clinging to him sent a twisted thrill coursing through his veins.

Was this, perhaps, how Sethian had felt?

As the image of Sethian’s marks came to mind—faint traces left to defy erasure—Zair’s grin widened. The thought of what expressions Sethian might wear when confronted with the fruits of his work filled him with an almost euphoric anticipation.

END OF THE CHAPTER

Chapter 69

 

Chapter 69

At the emperor's words, Sethian’s brows twitched and arched sharply.

It was something even Roa hadn’t mentioned, and something Sethian himself had never cared about in the slightest.

He had assumed that once the master died, the engraved magic stone binding the soul would vanish, leaving behind a wandering spirit without a vessel. If the spirit had not fully transitioned into the realm of the dead and was instead tethered by the Crown Prince's authority, it might still return to its original body if the body were intact.

This was mere conjecture—nothing more, nothing less. After the matter had drifted outside the realm of Sethian's interest, he hadn’t spared it another thought.

But the idea that the spirit might be entirely extinguished? That had never crossed his mind. Hearing such a notion from the emperor, who had always seemed indifferent to soul magic and any form of arcane arts, felt deeply unsettling.

"The lifespan of a soul is finite, just as it is for the living," the emperor explained, his tone grave. "If the soul belongs to someone who has already died, it will dissipate like smoke once its lingering desire fades. If it belongs to the living, it will perish alongside the master’s life force."

If Sethian died, Joo Yi Gyeol would die as well.

It was an entirely logical outcome. Without the life force to sustain it, the soul had no means to continue existing. To Sethian, it seemed almost absurd to speak of such an inevitability with this level of gravity.

As he looked at the emperor with disinterest, unable to relate to the tangle of worry and pity in the man’s expression, the emperor’s face darkened further.

"...Yes, it’s no wonder you don’t yet understand," the emperor murmured, his voice trembling faintly as though weighed down by an insurmountable fear.

Sethian, still unmoved and unable to grasp what the emperor found so terrifying, observed him with a detached gaze.

After a moment, the emperor closed his heavy eyelids, collecting himself before speaking again in a steadier tone.

"I will grant you the Crown Prince’s position, as you wish. However, you must make me a promise."

"If it’s something within reason, I’ll gladly do so," Sethian replied, his voice composed.

Indulging the dying whims of an old man seemed a small enough price to pay, especially if it meant avoiding unnecessary entanglements later.

After what felt like a lengthy deliberation, the emperor’s demand was one Sethian hadn’t anticipated in the slightest.

---

Even now, Sethian found the emperor’s request—a plea, almost—unwelcome. But it hadn’t been so unreasonable that he couldn’t agree to it.

"Unexpected, I suppose," he thought to himself.

The emperor’s one condition was simple:

Do not kill your siblings.

For most people, such a promise would be self-evident, not something anyone needed to explicitly request. But in a situation where siblings were actively scheming against each other, it was far from an easy thing to uphold.

During the time Sethian spent alongside Joo Yi Gyeol as Crown Prince, he had gradually clarified his once-ambiguous thoughts about the throne.

He would claim it.

To ascend to the throne, the deaths of his bothersome siblings were practically a necessity. Those who had always regarded him as a thorn in their side would inevitably obstruct his path, making the journey to the throne anything but smooth. Moreover, even after donning the emperor’s crown, their existence would remain a significant hindrance.

The simplest, cleanest solution would have been to build on their own misdeeds, fabricate an elaborate conspiracy, and accuse them of treason for attempting to assassinate the Crown Prince. He could then swiftly execute them and display their heads outside the palace gates, leaving no room for speculation.

It was as if the emperor had read his mind, for he had summoned a sorcerer to prepare an "Oath of Command" contract. By swearing this oath with his soul, Sethian was bound to never bring about his siblings’ deaths directly. At most, he could exile them to far-off lands or imprison them in underground cells until their dying breaths.

"The emperor knows this, so there’s no way he would suspect me of being responsible for Mendel's murder," Sethian reasoned.

The Oath of Command was absolute. The emperor, who had personally witnessed Sethian promise not to kill his siblings in exchange for the Crown Prince title, would never entertain the notion that Sethian had violated the agreement. Instead, he would likely reveal the contract and demand the true culprit be found.

There could only be one explanation.

Someone had "possessed" the emperor. And if such a thing were possible, it could only be Zair.

Even if the current incident wasn’t fully resolved, Zair wouldn’t care. With the first prince Mendel dead and Sethian imprisoned in the Tower of Trials as a suspect, the next most likely candidate for the throne was Zair, the second prince. While the third prince, Remines, and the first princess, Elina, could theoretically join forces to challenge him, their chances of successfully toppling Zair seemed slim.

This assumption, of course, rested on the premise that Zair wouldn’t use his "possession" tricks any further. If he continued to manipulate witnesses and stage false testimonies, everything would unfold according to his will.

Including Joo Yi Gyeol.

A flicker of heat ignited within Sethian’s otherwise cold and calculating mind.

By now, most of his trusted aides and key figures from Emerald Castle were likely imprisoned in the damp, oppressive dungeons. The mere thought that Joo Yi Gyeol might be among them made him want to break down the door and escape immediately.

Then, just as suddenly, his thoughts turned icy again.

Zair was undoubtedly after Joo Yi Gyeol.

He had likely deduced that Joo Yi Gyeol, who resided in Sethian’s chambers, was a living soul with a body forged through forbidden magic. To someone like Zair, who was fanatically obsessed with soul magic, Joo Yi Gyeol was a perfect specimen—a treasure unlike any other.

The idea of Joo Yi Gyeol being captured by Zair and having his soul enslaved made Sethian’s blood run cold.

If he stayed idle, Zair would place the imperial crown on his head, strip Sethian of his title, and claim Joo Yi Gyeol for himself.

With his teeth clenched, Sethian stared out the small, grimy window toward the silhouette of Zair’s castle.

"Things won’t go your way," he muttered to himself.

Joo Yi Gyeol was his. Sethian had molded him into someone who would only ever look at him. Just as Sethian couldn’t help but fixate on Joo Yi Gyeol, Joo Yi Gyeol was equally unwavering in his loyalty.

Recalling the singular devotion in Joo Yi Gyeol’s eyes, Sethian’s lips curved into a faint smile. The coldness that had gripped his body vanished, replaced by a resolute warmth.

"I won’t let him cry. I’ll move, too."

For Joo Yi Gyeol, who was likely navigating treacherous waters on his own, Sethian knew he couldn’t remain passive.

As he shifted his gaze from the distant castle back to the confines of his room, a measured knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Knock, knock."

"It’s time for your meal."

Without awaiting permission, the guard opened the door.

Sethian, calm and composed as ever, watched as a young male servant entered, carrying a tray laden with a steaming bowl of meat soup, two loaves of warm rye bread, and a glass of wine.

The guard placed a wooden chair and a single table in the room, the standard setup for mealtime in captivity, and then left.

The servant, his expression cold and eyes devoid of warmth, arranged the food on the table with meticulous care. Sethian, still perched casually on his bed, broke the silence with an emotionless voice.

"Already healed, I see."

The servant paused, tray still in hand, and turned to face him. Sethian’s gaze locked onto the man’s arm, or rather, the smooth, rounded stump where his hand should have been. The stark contrast in skin tone between the stump and the rest of his arm caught Sethian’s sharp eyes.

"Did they use Iderlo or something similar?"

The servant’s cold demeanor softened into a polite smile.

"From today onward, I will serve as your personal attendant during your stay here, Your Highness. Though one hand is inconvenient, I will serve you with the same devotion I showed His Majesty."

The smile was flawless, but the servant’s eyes remained devoid of mirth.

END OF THE CHAPTER

 

FAIRY TRAP INTRODUCTION

Joo Yi-Gyeol, who sleeps 22 hours a day has Rostov Syndrome.

Learning to escape from the body while asleep, he follows a golden butterfly he encountered one day and crossed to another dimension.

And there, he met the 4th prince Seth and saved him multiple times…

* * *

“Who said you could die as you please?”

Seth’s hands wrapped around Yi-Gyeol’s face. His cheeks, wrapped in those big hands, felt excessively hot.

“You can’t die even if you want to.”

Seth’s face came close. His and Yi-Gyeol’s foreheads lightly touched.

“I am the owner of your body. You can’t die without my permission.”

Yi-Gyeol could just inwardly shed tears at Seth’s mysterious remarks.

Associated Names 

[Edit]

Fairy Trap
FT
페어리 트랩

 

Chapter 68

 

Ch-68

In the dim and shadowed recesses of the imperial grounds, hidden behind the towering presence of the Mage Tower, a foreboding stone tower stood. Composed of coarse black bricks stacked one upon another, the structure stretched to a height of twenty floors—slightly less than the Mage Tower—but its subterranean depths extended so far below ground that it easily surpassed its rival in scale.

Beneath the stone tower lay a dank, oppressive prison where all manner of criminals were confined. If one ascended past the first-floor entrance to the second floor, they would find a space used to detain suspects awaiting trial. While the air there was marginally less stifling, the surroundings were no less grim. Beyond that, successive levels served little purpose beyond facilitating the climb to the top floor. Each step up the seemingly endless staircase sapped the strength of even the most resolute, making the summit feel all the more unreachable.

At the pinnacle, one would find solitary confinement rooms devoid of cuffs or chains. Yet, due to their position, cloaked in the shadow of the Mage Tower, and with narrow windows barely admitting light, these cells exuded an oppressive atmosphere. Sethian stood alone in one such room, an empty expanse sparsely furnished with only a large, solitary bed. He, however, seemed utterly indifferent to his surroundings.

Stationed by the minuscule window, which scarcely spanned half the breadth of his face, Sethian gazed outward. The height made it impossible to see the ground below, but as his sharp eyes roamed, he caught a glimpse of Zair’s palace in the distance.

It was clear to Sethian that Zair was behind all of this. There was no other plausible explanation for the events that had unfolded. Most likely, Zair had employed the same soul-binding technique he had once used on a raven, this time upon humans, compelling them to fabricate evidence and frame Sethian for the murder of the first imperial prince, Mendel.

“The Imperial Knights would only act under direct orders from His Majesty…”

Sethian’s thoughts drifted to his last audience with the emperor. He had visited with gifts to request the position of crown prince. At the time, the emperor, bedridden and frail, had revealed a different demeanor than usual.

At their last meeting, the emperor, who typically struggled even to breathe or keep his eyes open, had greeted Sethian’s sudden request for the Crown Prince title with a faint, sardonic smile.

"So you waited for me to open my eyes, not to check on my health, but to make such a bold demand?" he chuckled weakly.

"Would inquiring about your health improve your condition, Your Majesty?" Sethian retorted, his tone as dry as his expression.

As if anticipating his response, the aging emperor simply let out a raspy cough, his expression unchanging.

"Leave. I have no intention of giving the Crown Prince title to anyone," he declared firmly.

"I expected as much," Sethian replied evenly, his voice devoid of disappointment.

He had never truly believed the emperor would grant his request.

"Knowing this, I prepared a small gift that I believe you will find most pleasing."

Sethian took a step closer to the emperor’s bedside, presenting him with an ornate, jewel-encrusted box. Its subtle weight settled on the emperor's lap, and he cast him an unreadable look before slowly opening the box.

The moment the lid was lifted, the emperor’s breath hitched. For a brief moment, Sethian feared he might collapse entirely, robbing his of the chance to speak. Thankfully, he remained conscious, though his bloodshot eyes widened in shock as he stared at the contents of the box.

The metallic tang of blood wafted through the room as he gazed down at the severed hand inside, its cut surface still glistening with fresh warmth.

"You always held this hand so dearly. Now you can touch it whenever you like," Sethian said, his tone devoid of remorse. "If this doesn't suffice, I can prepare a larger box for the rest."

Despite the grotesque display, Sethian’s expression remained impassive. The emperor, trembling with a mix of rage and despair, merely stared at the bloodied hand, his lips trembling as he bit down hard enough to turn them pale.

"Why... Why would you go so far, just for a meaningless title?" the emperor whispered, his voice cracking.

"Because, Your Majesty, a meaningless title should be easy enough to grant. Unless, of course, you want an even grander gesture to convince you," Sethian replied coldly, his unflinching eyes gleaming with a chilling determination.

The emperor met her gaze, his own filled with a strange mix of pity and faded affection. Sighing heavily, he relented.

"Very well. I will grant you the title of Crown Prince. But tell me—why now? What has changed? Do you suddenly desire the throne?"

His voice softened, almost pleading, as if hoping to understand the enigma before him.

Sethian’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile as she replied, "No, Your Majesty. The throne doesn't interest me. My interest lies elsewhere."

For a fleeting moment, his cold expression softened, as though recalling something—or someone—he found truly captivating.

"There's someone who piques my interest," he finally admitted. "And the only way to hold them, even temporarily, is through the forbidden art of soul alchemy."

Hearing this, the emperor's expression darkened. The weight of his words struck him harder than the sight of the severed hand.

"Soul alchemy... That path is fraught with peril, Sethian. It will drain your life force. Sustaining another’s form requires a constant sacrifice of your vitality."

"I am aware of the cost," Sethian replied without hesitation. "And I have already decided it is a price worth paying."

But the emperor shook his head, his gaze filled with despair.

"It is not your life I fear for, child," he said softly, his trembling hand gripping the edge of the box. "It is the soul you bind to your own. When your time ends, theirs will vanish with it. Have you considered the cost of their annihilation?"

The emperor’s voice carried a rare emotion—desperation. Yet in Sethian’s eyes, there was no doubt, no hesitation—only resolve.

END OF THE CHAPTER