The Fated Sword: The Duke's Second Life

Chapter 3

His eyes then caught his reflection in the mirror across from the bed.

His face was young.

There were no lines of age.

And on the bedside table...

The silver sword lay there, clean and completely unscathed.

The door opened.

A woman entered carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers.

Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, crowned with delicate flowers. Her eyes were as gentle as an evening sky, matching the soft-colored hanfu that made her appear both graceful and enchanting.

"Good morning, my husband," she said with a sincere smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

Maxwell stared at her, completely frozen.

That smile.

That voice.

"Liora..."

His voice trembled between shock and disbelief.

The woman looked startled.

"Maxwell? Why are you looking at me like that? Did you have a nightmare?"

Maxwell did not answer.

He immediately rose from the bed and pulled Liora into his arms.

He held her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body, then simply stared at her for a long moment as though afraid she might disappear if he looked away.

But the air, the scent of flowers, and the warmth of Liora's hand against his forehead all felt real.

"Do you have a fever?"

Too real.

"You need to get ready for the Flower Festival this afternoon. Don't tell me you're feeling unwell, Maxwell. The Empress won't be pleased, and..."

"What did you say? The Flower Festival?"

Maxwell fell silent.

The Flower Festival was the first celebration organized by the Empress.

Three years ago.

"Three years ago..."

He stared into the distance.

"I've returned... to three years before the betrayal."

Liora loosened Maxwell's embrace and checked his forehead again.

"Are you really not running a fever?"

Maxwell shook his head, his gaze filled with tenderness.

"Then which consort are you taking with you?"

Maxwell answered his wife's question with a gentle, loving look.

"Liora, I'm taking you to the festival."

Deep inside, Maxwell smiled with happiness.

'This time, I won't let you die because of my mistakes again, Liora.'

Liora stared at him in confusion and pointed at herself.

"Me?"

"But you've never taken me with you before."

Maxwell slowly lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand with profound gratitude.

"Yes. I'll give you the most beautiful dress and jewelry. You will attend the Flower Festival with me, my dear..."

"B-but..."

Her words were cut short when Maxwell pressed his lips against hers, kissing her with all the love and longing he had been forced to bury in his previous life.

"Maxwell, it's still morning... I haven't even bathed..."

But Maxwell had already lifted his wife into his arms and gently carried her back to the bed.

"I want you... I want us to have a child..."

Duke Maxwell embraced his wife with tears in his eyes, not tears of loss, but tears of gratitude for the new hope fate had given him.

Two hours later, after an intimate moments filled with renewed affection, Liora had fallen into a deep sleep.

Maxwell looked at his sleeping wife, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips.

"This time, I'll protect you..."

He rose and put on his robe.

Then his eyes fell upon a letter lying on the table, bearing a royal seal he knew all too well.

The date...

"Three years before the night of the betrayal."

He had been given the Emperor's younger sister as a consort as a reward for his victory in the war against the Uzhria tribe, a group of rebels who had risen against the kingdom at the time.

The world seemed to stop turning.

Maxwell stood there, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

His final memories were still painfully vivid. Liora covered in blood, her body burning, and her gentle voice becoming the final sound of his former life.

Then there was Consort Shera, the woman who had poisoned him before betraying him with Darius, the guard he had trusted.

'Forgive me... I failed to save our child... but you have to live.'

Liora's final words pierced Maxwell's chest like thousands of swords.

His eyes burned, but no tears fell.

Only pain and anger pressed heavily against his breath.

"Liora..." he murmured. "Fate has given me one chance... and this time, I will not be a fool."

He looked down at his own hands and slowly clenched them.

Those hands had once been stained with the blood of the woman who had loved him unconditionally, not because he had killed her himself, but because he had failed to protect her, failed to protect their child, and failed to protect the glory of the Maxwell family, which had ultimately fallen because of him.

Now, those same hands would become the weapons he needed to destroy everything he had once believed in.

"Shera..."

---

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Your Grace, it is almost lunchtime. Consort Shera has been waiting for you in the back garden," his personal servant announced politely.

But to Maxwell, that voice sounded like a whisper from the devil himself.

His blood boiled instantly.

Consort Shera.

The woman who would poison him, laugh at his downfall, and sleep in the arms of the guard he had personally elevated.

The woman he had married, yet whose marriage bed he had never shared.

Maxwell remembered how easily he had been captivated by her beauty, intoxicated by the fragrance that surrounded her delicate, alluring body as she moved gracefully during her dances.

Three years ago, at this exact point in time, she was the woman he trusted most.

He had defended her even when others warned him about her.

He had even allowed Liora to be mistreated by that cunning woman because of misunderstandings Shera had carefully manipulated and opinions she had deliberately planted in his mind.

Maxwell turned toward the open window.

In the back garden, he could faintly see a woman in an emerald-green dress sitting beneath a cherry blossom tree as its petals drifted down around her.

She was beautiful.

Gentle, almost like a fairy playing a zither beneath the heavens.

Her long black hair flowed freely in the breeze, and the soft smile that had once deceived him remained as charming as ever.

Maxwell's hand tightened into a fist, his nails digging into his palm.

"Not yet," he murmured, suppressing the anger threatening to explode from within him. "Not yet. You will pay for the cruelty you once inflicted, Shera."