Raising the Northern Grand Duchy as a Max-Level All-Master-Chapter 110.2

“…? Please, tell me.”

Perhaps Rune Renslet’s ambiguous affections were the issue.

“Isabelle, that disgusting witch, also carries Rune Renslet’s child. She conceived six months before I did.”

Her blissful expression quickly darkened.

Her eyes, filled with hatred and contempt as she mentioned Isabelle, burned with emotions far more intense than anything I had felt, even as a necromancer.

“Use a curse, poison—whatever you must—to get rid of that woman’s child.”

“!!”

“A bastard born of a witch in the proud Renslet Ducal House? This cannot be allowed. Don’t you agree?”

“That is impossible! Such an act would be a crime far greater than treason! Moreover, Isabelle is a direct disciple of the Archwitch. Ordinary poisons or curses will not work on her.”

I immediately rejected her request.

“Hah… This timidity and gloom are precisely why you’re treated the way you are.”

“Excuse me?”

But the Grand Duchess did not back down.

“You pride yourself on your expertise in curses and poison, don’t you? Or are you saying you’re less capable than the witches? What will you do if you’re completely overshadowed and driven out of the North?”

“!”

“Get rid of Isabelle’s child. Make her infertile. Better yet, kill her.”

The Grand Duchess seemed more like a necromancer than I did.

“If you do this, when my child ascends as Grand Duke, I will entrust all magical affairs in the North to you and the Devil’s Den.”

Was it the constant anxiety, competition, and jealousy?

Her words sounded seductively tempting.

“…I will carry out your orders.”

At the time, I accepted the Grand Duchess’s request as if under a spell.

The fear of losing our place.

The paranoia of being persecuted and exiled again.

The jealousy and inferiority complex toward the witches.

The excessive ambition to become the sole magical power in the North.

All of these emotions culminated in a result that was utterly vile.

“Is this Isabelle’s hair?”

“Yes. I bribed the maids to obtain it.”

“Violet hair is rare. Well done.”

Curses were second nature to necromancers.

We had even developed combat curses that could be cast quickly during battle.

A properly executed curse could be so devastating that death might seem a mercy.

“Are you really going through with this?”

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“…Yes.”

“But this is a curse on a witch. They’re as familiar with curses as we are.”

“Isn’t a witch human?”

The surrounding necromancers unanimously voiced their concerns, but at the time, I was already half-mad.

“Most importantly, we have that dungeon we discovered in the Demon Realm.”

“?!”

“We could take this opportunity to test some of the magic we deciphered there.”

“Ohhh! What a brilliant idea, truly!”

“Yes, let’s do it immediately!”

Before long, my madness had infected the entire Devil’s Den.

Necromancers are beings with dried-up emotions. Yet, when ignited by a catalyst, they could become more emotional than anyone.

If harnessed properly, these emotional waves could transform into remarkable determination, but when corrupted, as they were now, they turned into vile obsession. ŕ𝖆₦o͍ᛒĘ𝘚

“Once again, we’re reminded… those Golden Age mages who fled to the Demon Realm…”

“They were certainly not normal, even by our standards.”

“For necromancers like us to find this unsettling…”

“The hypothesis that the Demon Realm was a prison ward from the Golden Age might just be true.”

“At least it has proven useful to us.”

“Indeed, it has.”

The curse was prepared smoothly.

The ruins from the Golden Age, discovered in the Demon Realm, provided invaluable knowledge.

Little did we know it would become the seed of our downfall.

A month passed like an arrow carried by the northern winds.

[Curse it!]

[Curse it!]

In secrecy, I and the necromancers of the Devil’s Den executed the curse.

We set up a massive magic circle deep within the Demon Realm, far from Haven.

At the center of the circle was a straw doll, pierced with pins, containing locks of Isabelle’s violet hair.

Screeeeeech!

Around the doll, sacrificial offerings were arranged—pregnant women kidnapped from nearby Haven.

Kyaaaahhh!

Kwoooaargh!

Among the sacrifices were also monsters and beasts, all of which were pregnant, just like the humans.

They were all impaled into the magic circle in the same manner as the doll.

Fear, despair, screams, and maternal instincts—all these emotions served as the driving force for the curse magic.

“Yes, curse us! The stronger your resentment, the stronger this curse will be.”

Because Isabelle was a direct disciple of the Archwitch, the preparation had to be far more meticulous and cruel than for an ordinary woman.

Fwoooom!

The curse activated.

The blood-red energy of the magic circle, fueled by life and emotions, gathered into a single point and shot skyward, hurtling northward.

“Ahaha… hahaha!”

“Kekekeke!”

We watched with maniacal laughter.

There was no turning back now.

“For the time being, everyone should avoid external activities.”

“Yes!”

“Gather information from adventurers about external news. Particularly, do not spare any expense in acquiring updates from Renslet Castle.”

Even in my madness, I retained some caution.

After completing the curse, we remained hidden in Haven, lying low.

All our attention was focused on the news coming from Renslet Castle.

But something felt off.

“What’s going on…?”

A month passed, then two. Still, there was no news.

“Isabelle has given birth to a healthy baby boy!”

“?!”

And then, the worst news imaginable arrived, carrying on southern winds.

“Her Grace the Grand Duchess requests your presence.”

“The Grand Duchess?!”

I climbed to the High Tower with heavy steps, burdened by unanswered questions.

“What on earth happened?”

“!!”

And there, I learned how everything had gone wrong.

“The witch… and her child… are perfectly healthy.”

Under the Grand Duchess’s intense questioning, I couldn’t utter a word of defense. Not even an apology.

‘Why… Why is the curse affecting the Grand Duchess?!’

My trembling gaze darted between the Grand Duchess’s swollen belly and her forehead.

“Do you have anything to say? If not, please stop looking at me with such an unsettling expression.”

Visible only to those who had cast the curse, the mark of the curse was unmistakably etched on Beatrice’s lower abdomen and forehead.