The Lady and the Duke: Frostbound Rebirth

Chapter 7 Golden Awakening

The man watched Seraphel eat another piece of roasted demonic bear meat and found himself strangely puzzled.

Most nobles from the Eastern Kingdom would rather starve than touch demonic beast flesh. To them, it was crude and unclean, something that would corrupt the body and taint the soul.

Yet this young woman ate without hesitation, showing no disgust, no reluctance, and no complaint—just calm acceptance, as though it were perfectly ordinary.

Unknown to him, Seraphel had eaten far worse in her previous life. There had been days when survival itself was a luxury and she had consumed rats, cockroaches, and mold-covered scraps stolen from refuse piles—anything that would allow her to keep moving.

The second daughter of the Solvaine Clan had spent years hiding in darkness, stuffing food into her mouth where no one could see her disgrace. Compared to those memories, roasted demonic bear meat was practically a feast.

The fire crackled softly between them as their conversation gradually faded.

Outside, the storm worsened and snow piled higher around the cave entrance until the world beyond vanished completely beneath a wall of white. Neither of them could leave now, not until morning, unless they wanted to become frozen corpses buried beneath the mountain.

Seraphel found herself watching him again. The man sat cross-legged near the fire, perfectly still, with his hair fallen forward to hide much of his face. If not for the occasional rise and fall of his chest, she might have mistaken him for a statue carved from black stone.

Her gaze drifted lower to his wound, and something about it bothered her. The injury should have begun closing hours ago. Even ordinary cultivators healed faster than common people, and a Northerner’s body should have recovered even quicker. Yet the wound remained open, bleeding, and rotting.

Her eyes narrowed. Slowly, she leaned forward. The closer she looked, the more certain she became. Dark discoloration—purple and black—surrounded the edges of the injury, and a subtle, unnatural energy lingered within the torn flesh.

Cursed energy.

Her heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t a wound inflicted by the demonic bear. The flesh refused to regenerate, the blood wouldn’t clot, and the spiritual pathways around the injury were actively deteriorating. Those were classic signs. Someone had struck him with a powerful demonic weapon.

She thought back to the battle. Truthfully, she had never actually seen what happened. The bear had leaped, the swordsman had drawn his blade, and then the beast had split apart.

At the time, she possessed no cultivation and couldn’t perceive his spiritual fluctuations or follow movements at that speed. She had simply assumed the injury came from the bear, but clearly she had been wrong.

Someone else—someone powerful enough to leave a wound that even this man couldn’t heal—had done this.

And yet he remained conscious.

That alone was terrifying.

Cursed energy didn’t just damage the body; it attacked the spirit, the soul, and life itself.

“Staring at someone’s body is rather rude.”

The sudden voice startled her. Seraphel nearly jumped. The man had turned his head toward her, and though his eyes remained hidden, she could practically feel his amusement.

“I wasn’t staring,” she said quickly.

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You absolutely were.”

Seraphel chose to ignore him. The man chuckled softly, which only made her more embarrassed. The night dragged on as the storm outside showed no signs of stopping.

Eventually, exhaustion won, the flames shrank one by one, and the cave grew darker. Before long, sleep claimed them both.

Seraphel woke sometime later. The fire had nearly burned out, leaving only a few glowing embers. For several moments she sat motionless, blinking away the remnants of sleep, until her gaze drifted toward the opposite side of the cave and froze.

The man’s hair had fallen away from his face. Her breath caught. For a moment, she forgot how to think. He looked unreal—high cheekbones, perfectly balanced features, and skin like polished jade.

The sort of face sculptors spent entire lifetimes trying to recreate.

An immortal.

That was the only word that came to mind. He looked less like a man and more like something that had wandered out of an ancient painting.

Without realizing it, Seraphel found herself moving closer, slowly and quietly, as though drawn by an invisible force. She stopped beside him, stared, and then stared some more.

Eventually, her hand lifted almost against her will. Her fingertips brushed his cheek—soft, cool, and smooth. A strange tingling sensation ran up her arm and her heartbeat accelerated instantly.

“What am I doing?” she whispered in horror a few seconds later. She jerked her hand back and quickly retreated to the opposite side of the cave.

There was important work to do. Taking a steady breath, she retrieved the Blood Flower. Its crimson petals remained vivid and beautiful, yet deadly.

She gathered broad leaves she had collected earlier, packed them with fresh snow near the cave entrance, and carefully crushed the flower against a flat stone.

Red liquid seeped into the snow, turning the mixture first pink, then darker, and finally a deep crimson. A bitter scent filled the cave.

Once satisfied, she wrapped everything inside the leaves and warmed it gently beside the dying fire—not too hot, as the ancient text had been very clear that excessive heat would ruin the medicinal properties. Patience was required.

Hidden behind closed eyes, the man observed everything through his spiritual perception. He wasn’t truly asleep; his cultivation maintained constant awareness of his surroundings.

Curiosity stirred within him as he watched the strange young woman brew what looked like poison beside the dying fire. What exactly was she doing?

Finally, the mixture was ready. Seraphel unwrapped the leaves and, without hesitation, drank everything. The bitter liquid slid down her throat. Immediately, memories surfaced—Aveline, tea, laughter, and the Blood Flower.

Her sister had once told her about it years ago in what Seraphel had believed was a casual, innocent warning. Now she understood.

Aveline had never been warning her; she had been guiding her toward death, patiently planting the idea so the useless second

daughter would eventually remove herself from the board. In her previous life, Seraphel had nearly done exactly that.

A bitter smile appeared on her lips. How foolish she had been.

Then the agony arrived. Without warning or mercy, a blazing heat exploded inside her abdomen. Her eyes widened as the pain intensified instantly, feeling as though a burning blade had been plunged directly into her stomach. She collapsed to her knees, every muscle locking tight.

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Something inside her was changing—breaking and reforming. She clamped both hands over her mouth, refusing to scream, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Her body curled tightly against the cave floor while her skin burned, her bones ached, and her meridians twisted and expanded as though being forcibly reshaped. Every second felt eternal.

Then suddenly—light.

Golden light ignited beneath her skin, brilliant, pure, and divine. Spiritual pathways that had remained dormant for seventeen years burst open.

Power flooded through her body, warm, ancient, and boundless. The cave glowed gold and the air trembled.

The man opened his spiritual senses wider. For the first time that night, genuine surprise touched his expression.

A Divine Gift.

The unmistakable aura filled the cave as golden light danced around Seraphel’s trembling form like countless stars. The awakening had begun.

As he watched the strange woman bathed in divine radiance, the Northerner found himself wondering exactly what kind of terrifying blessing fate had hidden inside someone so utterly unconventional. For some reason… he was looking forward to finding out.