I Am Not The Duke's Evil Son
Chapter 55: Novarian

Chapter 55: Novarian

Huff!

Arthur exhaled deeply, releasing some of his exhaustion, and cursed angrily.

’Damn it.’ But he quickly calmed himself. He was extremely irritated by what he’d just had to endure, but it wasn’t over yet. One more obstacle remained before him Novarian himself.

Once he regained his composure, he stood upright, placing his hands behind his back and displaying a noble’s grace. Though his clothes were slightly torn and dirty, it didn’t lessen his imposing aura in the slightest. He believed that the essence of nobility lay in one’s gaze and posture, while clothing was merely a secondary ornament.

With sharp and enigmatic eyes, he activated the Plot Savant skill and examined Novarian’s information.

[Name: Novarian Eirnos]

[Race: Half-Elf, Half ???]

[Level: C]

[Class: Arcane]

[Skills: Swordsmanship (C), Archery (D), Horsemanship (D), Explosive Steps (C), Solid Body (C), Exploding Fireballs (D), Fireball (C), wind Slash (C), Enhancement Magic (D), Magic Shield (D), Commander’s Aura (C), Lie Detection (D), Iron Will (D), Illusion Magic (C), Absolute Presence (C), Fire Breath (C), Claws of Malice (C), Berserk (C), Spider Web (D), Magic Whip (D), Heightened Senses (C), Self-Healing (C), Curse of Ancestral Blood (-A)]

[Equipped Items: ??? Ring (SS), Magic-Enhancing Necklace (C), Magic Silver Sword (C)]

Upon seeing the extensive list of skills and items Novarian possessed, Arthur felt a twinge of envy.

’Even knowing all this... it still feels excessive.’

Huff.

’Regardless, he’s still the protagonist of my favorite story—one I imagined countless times. I won’t lie—his beauty exceeded my expectations. And that snow-white hair... it’s truly distinctive.’

Unlike the general public who saw Novarian as a handsome young man with black hair and beautiful blue eyes, Arthur saw something different. Or rather, he saw the truth hidden behind the illusion magic: a youth of ethereal beauty, with milky-white hair, subtly pointed ears, and pale greenish-white eyes. Calling him a prince from a fantasy tale wouldn’t even do him justice. It was no surprise, given he carried elven blood, known across the lands for their beauty. Yet ironically, that same blood was the source of his constant suffering.

Elves were a race despised by humans, not just humans, but by all the major races of the continent. As punishment for their past transgressions, the elves now lived in isolation on a small continent of their own.

So, who was Novarian, truly?

Naturally, he wasn’t an ordinary person. His story began simply enough: a woman from a remote village in the Barony of Thistledown encountered a severely injured, mysterious man in the Darkthorn Forest. The man was holding an extraordinarily beautiful infant in his arms. Amid his apparent death throes, he begged the woman to take the child and raise him.

The woman was an ordinary, impoverished soul in her forties. She lived alone, unloved, unseen. She had no children, no family, and was infertile. Her only marriage had failed.

For reasons unknown, she accepted the baby—Novarian and agreed to the man’s conditions: hide the child’s true identity at all costs and raise him well. The man gave her a strange transparent ring, instructing her to hand it to him when he turned eighteen. As a reward, he gave her several gold coins. After that, he vanished, never to be seen again.

The sudden appearance of a baby turned her life upside down, but not in a bad way. The child eased her loneliness and brought kindness and love into her cold, dark world. The money slightly improved her living conditions. But her fellow villagers thought otherwise. They called her a thief for suddenly having a child, and some dubbed Novarian a "demonic cursed child" because of his unnatural beauty, especially his distinctive eyes.

As time passed, his white hair grew in leading to a serious problem. Humans loathed white hair, associating it with elves and labeling it a curse. To protect him from human cruelty, the woman dyed his hair with powdered black charcoal. She also covered his face and body in ash, coal, or dirt to hide his indescribable beauty, fearing he would attract greedy gazes. Because of this, the villagers mocked him, calling him "Charcoal Ember."

Even after reaching adulthood, Novarian’s life didn’t improve. The youth of the village hated him out of jealousy, and the girls resented him, not because he was unattractive, but because none of them had the courage to love someone so otherworldly. Their admiration turned to anger and hatred.

What worsened his suffering was discovering that his magical and physical potential were nearly nonexistent. He seemed doomed to a life of mediocrity and misery. But everything changed when he turned eighteen and received the mysterious ring—now worn on his finger.

The early Chapters of the novel flashed through Arthur’s mind swiftly. During that short period, Novarian had already slain all the monsters in the area. He sheathed his sword and stared at Arthur with mysterious, inquisitive eyes.

Arthur gave a faint smile as he saw the look.

"You’re truly strong. Thank you for your help."

Novarian nodded, his sharp gaze softening into a more humble expression.

"No need to thank me, sir. You’re strong and brave yourself. Watching how you faced those monsters made me realize how vital experience and knowledge are."

’Good. A strong first impression.’ Arthur smiled inwardly. He stepped forward and extended his hand in a respectful and eager gesture.

"I am Arvane. It’s a pleasure to meet you. May I ask who you are, sir?"

Novarian also stepped forward and raised his hand for a handshake—an act of politeness and respect. But suddenly, he froze. He inhaled deeply through his nose, narrowed his gaze, then in a flash, drew his sword and pointed it at Arthur’s throat.

"You. What is the meaning of this?"

Arthur flinched slightly and stepped back, withdrawing his extended hand. He stared at the blade now pressed to his neck and asked,

"Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? What is this supposed to mean?"

Novarian furrowed his brows in frustration, his voice stern.

"Answer me. Why do you have a Beast Lure on you? Were you planning something?"

Arthur’s expression tensed. He glanced at his clothes and sniffed them, then showed a contemplative expression and began thinking, completely unbothered by the blade on his neck.

This unsettled Novarian. He was already highly suspicious and rarely trusted strangers. The silence lingered, amplifying his frustration. He pressed the sword closer to Arthur’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

Arthur grabbed the blade and shouted angrily,

"Stop! What do you think you’re doing?! If you wanted to kill me, why go through the trouble of saving me from those beasts ?"

Despite the situation, there was no fear in his voice.

"Shut up and answer. What are you planning?"

’This annoying bastard... I expected something like this. But the real problem is that Lie Detection skill of his. If my answers seem even a bit suspicious, he’ll be onto me. He probably won’t kill me—but he will beat the crap out of me. That much is certain. And worse... it’ll ruin my entire plan.’

Arthur let out a long sigh, then responded:

"Relax. I mean you no harm—I swear on my life."

"As for the Beast Lure... A hooded man in black robes sprayed something on my clothes."