RMCOM 1

Chapter 1

Prologue

“Chersinia.”

The voice calling her name was gentle enough to stir the heart.

Chersinia lifted her head, searching for its owner.

Before her stood a man in uniform, striding toward her without hesitation.

As he approached with long, confident steps, his black hair shimmered beneath the sunlight.

His complexion sparkled like grains of white sand on a beach, and his sharp eyes left a powerful impression.
Within that keen gaze, dark violet irises gleamed brilliantly, like a radiant night sky.

A straight, high-bridged nose.
A sharp, clean jawline.

He was a man of striking beauty.

Each time he moved, well-defined muscles shifted beneath his clothes, stretching under broad, sturdy shoulders.

Tall and long-legged, he walked toward her like a living painting.

How does he know my name?

Chersinia bit her lip anxiously.

She had never seen this man before. How could he possibly know her name?

Had rumors already spread to neighboring towns?

She only wanted to live quietly. Where had everything gone wrong…?

The man stopped in front of Chersinia, who was lost in worried thought.

Without the slightest hesitation, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head before her.

“W-What are you doing…?”

Chersinia froze at the sudden action.

A gentle breeze passed between them.

With it came a scent—unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar.

A man’s scent.

Her chest trembled subtly.

The man lifted his head and fixed his gaze on her wrist, where rope marks remained.

His eyes burned as they lingered there, intense like fire.

Feeling uncomfortable, she moved to hide her hand behind her back.

But he was faster.

He caught her hand.

His grip was light—careful, as if afraid he might hurt her.

He drew her hand toward his lips.

Those moist eyes studied the bruised wrist, then pressed a kiss to it.

“Wh-What…?”

Her shaken voice trembled softly.

The soft, yielding sensation startled her before she could stop him.

Yet she didn’t pull her hand away, nor did she push him aside.

It was because of that inexplicably familiar scent.

For a long moment, the man continued to kiss the back of her hand—

as if it were a precious treasure he had cherished for years.

Chersinia gazed down at him quietly.

Though she had never seen him before, he felt oddly familiar.

It was confusing.

After some time—how long, she didn’t know—he finally lifted his lips from her hand.

The place his lips had touched burned hot, like a blossom of heat blooming there.

That warmth rippled through her body as a shiver.

The man raised his eyes, clouded with desire.

Chersinia met those dark violet eyes, reflecting her image.

No way…

Her pupils trembled.

She knew it was impossible.
She knew they were completely different people.

And yet, that familiar gaze made her lips part unconsciously.

“Ben…?”

The name slipped from her lips, beautiful as birdsong.

Perhaps satisfied to hear it, the man smiled—a smile dazzling enough to outshine the world.

“My Chersinia.
I’ve missed you.”

At the sight of his crescent-moon eyes curving softly, Chersinia sucked in a sharp breath.

* * *

Three years ago.

A cliché Cinderella story where a commoner heroine catches the crown prince’s eye and becomes his bride.

Within that predictable tale, Chersinia was the villain.

She was written as the only mage in the Belpar Empire—an omnipotent woman who wielded the power of fire freely.

She could spew flames to burn everything to ash, release heat or absorb it at will.

An outright overpowered existence.

There was no one in the Empire who could defeat her.

Portrayed purely as a witch, she burned the heroine’s mother, scorched half the Empire, and even kidnapped the crown prince—attempting to kill him.

In the end, the crown prince escaped thanks to protagonist plot armor, and her crime remained an attempt.

A villain to the bone, steeped in every imaginable atrocity.

Her end was nothing short of miserable.

Once captured, fifteen merciless iron arrows rained down upon her.

Iron arrows she couldn’t burn away.

As if that weren’t enough, she was beheaded by the crown prince himself, in front of everyone.

Blood spilled as she closed her red eyes.

The crowd cheered at her death.
The crown prince sighed in relief.

Her death was meticulously planned.

A stage prepared long ago for the sole purpose of killing Chersinia.

An episode meant to make the male lead shine brighter.

She was nothing more than a sacrifice for the author.

With her gone, peace returned to the Empire.

The crown prince and crown princess wed amid endless blessings, and the novel ended.

Bullshit.

A love story built on the sacrifice of one person—what utter nonsense.

Sitting at a table, she thought this bitterly, her leg bouncing restlessly beneath it.

“Is that really how you’re going to end it?”

The mocking voice, dripping with contempt, grated on her nerves.

Provoked, she took a deep breath and replied,

“Sixteen. Black.”

With her clear voice, she pushed all her chips onto 16 Black.

The spectators burst into applause at her boldness.

Seated in the very center of the most crowded gambling hall, she was the star.

She had come to the casino seeking a reversal of fortune—and found salvation.

Life is one big gamble.

With an all-or-nothing mindset, she had wagered everything she owned.

And somehow—whether by divine blessing or sheer madness—she hit the jackpot.

Twice in a row.

Please… God, Buddha, anyone—please.

She had clearly lost her mind. She should have stopped after the second win.

She prayed to every deity she could think of.

If she slipped now, ruin would come in an instant.

She desperately hoped that the saying “beginner’s luck runs out fast” wouldn’t apply to her.

Clack.

The ball fell from the dealer’s hand.

It spun around the wheel, clattering as if in slow motion.

Three seconds.

Only three seconds—yet they felt like an eternity.

Unable to hide her anxiety, she clasped her hands beneath the table.

The tense three seconds passed.

And the moment the ball stopped—

“Sixteen Black.”

“Wooooah!”

At the dealer’s cry, the crowd erupted in cheers.

She sprang to her feet, her trembling legs forgotten.

The frantic pounding of her heart transformed into euphoric excitement.

Yes! Yes! I did it! My life is turning around!

Her cheeks lifted with joy.

She forced herself to maintain a poker face, suppressing the grin threatening to escape—

but excitement leaked out anyway, her breath hissing through her nose.

Even that sight was beautiful enough to make the crowd gasp in unison.

“Here you are.”

The dealer handed her a mountain of chips with a wry smile.

She swiftly swept them into the sack she’d prepared in advance.

She hadn’t expected this—but bringing the sack had been the right call.

Unable to suppress her grin any longer, she let out a greedy little laugh.

Jackpot. How much is this, really? A brand-new life—this is it.

She gathered all the chips and headed for the exchange counter.

This was it. She was done.

Pushing her luck any further would only risk losing everything.

Her mood soared as she made a clean exit.

The sack slung over her shoulder was heavy—but she welcomed the weight.

She was one step closer to a quiet, luxurious life.

Her name—burning with desire for wealth—was Chersinia.

And it had been ten days since she had possessed Chersinia’s body.

Chersinia had flame-red hair, snow-white skin, rose-colored eyes, a high nose, and lips as full and red as pomegranate seeds.

A beauty capable of toppling nations.

Once seen, never forgotten.

Her figure matched her face—deep collarbones, slender wrists and ankles, contrasted by a full, shapely body.

A perfect exterior.

But—

She was infamous for her fiery temper, violent personality, reckless use of magic, and complete lack of restraint.

No one stood beside her.

She was always alone.

What good is beauty worthy of admiration, if you end up alone and beheaded?

Her death was even remembered among romance-fantasy readers as a “satisfying” one.

Readers had long wished for her death, given how atrocious her crimes were.

That was what angered her most.

A character who could have been compelling, reduced to nothing more than a plot device.

The novel never explained why Chersinia turned evil.

She existed solely to create incidents—an axis of evil without cause.

A tragic character discarded as an author’s tool.

Even in death, people spoke of her with relief.

Was there anything more pitiful?

“I mean… it’s not like I wanted to become her.”

The irritated words slipped out.

She had only felt sorry for the character.

And yet, when she closed the book and opened her eyes—

she had become Chersinia herself.

Worse, it was three years before the novel even began.

At first, she cursed her fate endlessly.

To think she’d have to experience such a brutal death—

the world went dark.

But then she realized—

Three years still remained.

The story hadn’t begun yet.

And in the novel, Chersinia’s identity as a witch was exposed only midway through.

Which meant—

“Until then, no one knows I’m a witch.”

She began to think this might be divine will.

A chance to live once more.

So she decided to live freely.

Just like recklessly winning money at a casino.

She knew the ending—and she had no intention of repeating it.

She would live as an ordinary woman, not a witch.

Quietly. Peacefully.

Without a horrific death.

Without using magic that could draw trouble.

But if she was going to live—

she wanted a life drenched in luxury.

And for that, she needed money.

The Empire’s only legally sanctioned gambling hall.

That was why she had come here today.

Humming to herself, Chersinia stepped lightly into the exchange counter.