The Third Northern Duchess, Lumia Winterfell.
As the youngest daughter of the Winterfell Grand Duke, she had two older brothers, two older sisters, and a widowed father.
She was also the main character in the 56th Betrothal Contest, a cherished tradition of the Grand Ducal family.
Moreover…
She was an enigmatic woman, often referred to as the “Ghost of the North.”
“Who on earth could the Third Duchess be?”
“No one has ever seen her, how could we know?”
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll reveal herself in this betrothal contest.”
“Rumor has it that a plague left her face disfigured. You remember that epidemic from ten years ago, right? She must have gotten that dreadful disease.”
“Nonsense! They say the Grand Duke hides her away because of her astonishing beauty.”
“No way! I heard she’s actually a deformed freak missing an arm!”
Secrets certainly breed rumors.
And when it comes to rumors, those with extreme opposites often dominate discussions.
A stunning beauty, a hideous creature, a one-armed monstrosity, among others.
It’s clear that the prevalence of negative gossip stems from human nature’s craving for juicy narratives.
That’s why the idea of the Third Northern Duchess as the “One-Armed Freak” became prevalent.
Of course, her family, the central advisor Gelwood, and her maid Marien were aware of the truth.
She was neither disfigured nor a freak.
None of those rumors had any basis.
Contrary to the notion that she was kept hidden by the Grand Duke, she had enrolled in the Royal Academy, unable to suppress her thirst for knowledge.
However, she didn’t register as Lumia Winterfell, but as the Countess Erenscia from a distant barony.
Even Logan Winterfell, her father, couldn’t stand in the way of her quest for knowledge.
From a young age, Lumia loved exploration and learning; as soon as she learned to read, she was completely absorbed in books.
Later, as she developed a keen interest in academic pursuits, her thirst for “learning” intensified.
Naturally, her father’s worries deepened.
No matter how many toys he brought from across the continent, she remained uninterested, preferring to devour ancient texts instead.
Eventually, Lumia set her sights on the outside world, determined to quench her thirst for knowledge at the Royal Academy. This led to months of arguments with her father.
But as a protective father, he refused to let her go.
All because of a curse cast by the chieftain of a long-destroyed northern beast tribe.
“Haven’t I told you? Until that curse is lifted, I can’t let you be exposed to the outside world.”
Even when Lumia begged with tears in her eyes, desperate and obstinate, Logan stood firm.
But just like a flower wilts in the absence of sunlight, Lumia began to wither from her unquenched thirst for knowledge until, ultimately, Logan had no choice but to relent.
What father would let his daughter shrivel up and die, bound by an uncertain curse?
“Never reveal your name! You must keep your identity secret. Understand?”
“Father, you worry too much. Who would think I’m from the North with this vibrant red hair?”
“True. But still, be careful. If anyone bothers you, contact me immediately!”
“Yes, yes! Don’t worry! I’ll write to you when I arrive!”
And so, Lumia Winterfell enrolled at the Royal Academy, becoming completely immersed in the knowledge she had yearned for, for three whole years.
Of course, three years weren’t enough to sate her thirst, and her heart longed to pursue a PhD under a renowned professor—but alas, that didn’t happen.
She had made a promise with her father for a mere [three years].
After burying herself in libraries and labs for three years, she returned to the Northern territory, her heart filled with new desires.
“My daughter! Congratulations on your graduation!”
Logan was immensely happy.
His daughter had returned safely, and he thought the curse would finally be behind them.
Logan, unable to see the three years of suffering etched in her, could only rejoice.
And Lumia, being a good daughter, chose to hide her troubles from him.
“Hoho, just words? You owe me a gift!”
“Of course! What do you wish for?”
“Yay~! I made a list on my way back! Here it is!”
“…What in the world is all this?”
“These are essential materials and tools I need for my experiments!”
Thus, back in the North, Lumia set up a large laboratory in the upper floors of the Second Castle and began to focus more on experiments than on studies.
For someone like her…
“A betrothal contest? I have no interest in that…”
There was no way she would care about a contest for a marriage partner.
In her eyes, it seemed childish, dull, and above all—an annoyance.
“The curse is lifted, and you’ve reached marrying age, it’s time to find you a spouse.”
With no grounds to refuse a long-standing family tradition, Lumia had to participate in the betrothal contest. As she lazily skimmed through the finalist list Gelwood handed her, her eyes landed on four names.
Deron Caelid.
Blund Rosfell.
Kyle Beallon.
Elden Raphelion.
Those were names that should not have been on that finalist list.
“…How?”
Lumia Winterfell.
A bookish student, who didn’t care about anything outside her studies, suddenly found herself intrigued by the absurdity of the betrothal contest from that moment onward.
It all began when a clueless nerd, who knew nothing of the outside world, developed an interest in the Betrothal Contest, hosted by an eccentric researcher rather than by a man.
“…What? Someone’s withdrawn?”
At the words of Gelwood, the central advisor, Lumia’s mystifying blue pupils filled with astonishment.
One couldn’t help but be shocked.
After sacrificing all dignity and going through the preliminaries and finals to become part of the Grand Duchy, it was bewildering for someone to give up at the very end.
Knowing that in the entire history of the Betrothal Contest, no final candidate had ever declared withdrawal, Lumia’s gaze wavered.
Tomorrow, the final evaluation known as the cohabitation would begin.
This meant it was time to slowly erase the records of pain etched over the past three years, one by one.
“Who… declared the withdrawal?”
After checking the competition list, she had formed a plan to wipe away that pain.
But now, the plan needed adjustment.
Naturally, it was reasonable for Lumia’s eyes to be filled with both wonder and bewilderment at this sudden change.
“And…”
“It was Lord Elden Raphelion who declared the withdrawal.”
When Gelwood announced the name of the candidate who pulled out, a flicker of doubt danced in Lumia’s eyes.
Elden Raphelion.
Had that reckless scoundrel noticed something?
That seemed unlikely, though.
He was the only one among the four who didn’t bother with a mask, finding such things cumbersome. He was someone who wouldn’t hesitate to brandish a knife at the first opportunity to secure his own interests, a genuine maniac.
Especially considering his participation was aimed at reviving his declining family, his withdrawal was completely baffling.
Or had he perhaps overheard something?
‘But… Only Father, Gelwood, and Marien know I’m Erenscia.’
Moreover, throughout her three years living as Erenscia Velroc, only her handmaiden, Marien, was privy to her documented suffering.
Neither her father nor her advisor had been shown or informed about it.
Family, advisors, maid.
None among those three had leaked her secret.
Even though their time together had not been long, she trusted Marien unequivocally.
It was simply inconceivable that Marien could be involved in Elden’s withdrawal.
“What did Father say about this?”
“He mentioned that due to the exceptional circumstances, he made it so that, should you wish, you could have a private meeting with the candidate. Even though this goes against the norms of the Betrothal Contest.”
“…Is that so?”
“Yes. His instruction was to leave any decision to your judgment.”
“……”
Lumia fell deep into thought.
She understood that meeting with a candidate before the cohabitation was strictly forbidden.
This was an absolute rule of the contest, a taboo territory.
A finalist’s withdrawal was an unprecedented act, enough to provoke breaking such age-old rules.
“What about you, advisor?”
“Me, My Lady?”
“Did you notice anything unusual about him?”
Lumia, aware of Gelwood’s capabilities, inquired about Elden.
While they had only briefly crossed paths during the main assessments, he had expressed concern about Elden’s demeanor before.
If he had detected something, perhaps it could provide clues regarding this absurd withdrawal.
And…
“I shared my impression with the Grand Duke, but…”
Gelwood’s keen observation indicated a change akin to the North’s ambiance in May. Upon hearing this, Lumia stood up from her chair.
As she set down a flask containing a red liquid on the table, she couldn’t help but let her innate curiosity seep out.
Lumia was a girl born with a tendency to dig into mysteries.
Her thirst for knowledge was molten hot; if it wasn’t cooled, it would cause havoc in her life.
It was that very thirst which compelled her to disregard the risk and enroll in the Royal Academy.
The unexpected withdrawal of a final candidate ignited intense doubt within her. The comparison to the Northern ambiance of May became molten lava that needed to be quelled.
Most importantly,
‘He couldn’t have changed.’
Lumia knew better than anyone what kind of character Elden Raphelion was.
The idea that he could change to become like the May of the North felt preposterous.
It was such a ridiculous thought that she began doubting Gelwood’s judgment for the first time in her life.
He truly mustn’t change.
She hadn’t gone through all these efforts just to hear ridiculous talk about atonement.
Even if his sentence was the lightest among the four, sin is sin.
And atonement must be claimed by the sinner.
For that reason, Elden Raphelion absolutely had to remain unchanged.
‘I have to see him with my own eyes.’
There was definitely something amiss here.
Her instincts screamed at her to unravel this mystery.
“Let’s go meet him.”
With that, Lumia started walking, still wearing the mask she had prepared for the morrow.
And then…
“…I didn’t expect your first steps to be like this, Your Grace.”
Facing Elden Raphelion through the mask, Lumia couldn’t contain her inquisitive nature, blurting out a question.
The sharp, well-thought-out remarks prepared went astray right from the start.
“What is it?”
Her question sprouted out of emotion rather than logic.
It was a question borne out of a necessity to untangle the puzzle before her.
And as Elden processed her inquiry, the thought that crossed his mind was simply,
“Hm? What is what?”
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