Roland’s heart hammered. He had to move fast—find a magic stone or an Arcane Gear before time ran out, or all his plans would collapse. He’d already spotted a few magic stone shops in the imperial city and was now sprinting toward them.

Just the thought of escaping the marriage nightmare sent a thrill through him. Yet beneath the excitement, a faint unease lingered.

*Something bad is about to happen.*

“Just my imagination! All in my head!” he muttered. “I’ve been unlucky enough already—surely it can’t get worse. Must be paranoia!”

He burst into the first magic stone shop. “Boss! Bring out your finest magic stone—now!”

The shopkeeper flinched, thinking he was being robbed. Before the man could react, Roland leaned hard over the counter and repeated his demand.

“W-we’re sold out… all of them,” the shopkeeper stammered.

“What? Every single one?!” Roland froze. “You messing with me? How is that possible?!”

“H-honest! A group of noble young ladies bought everything not long ago.”

“Ugh, rotten luck!” Roland pressed on. “Then Arcane Gears? No—anything with magical energy!”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “Gone. Even the lowest-grade stones. Why would they buy those? They’re useless to them…”

Roland didn’t wait. He bolted out the door.

The second shop? Same story. Empty shelves. Not a speck left.

The owner said a short-haired beauty had bought everything.

Third shop—identical. Fourth—identical. Always the noble young ladies.

Frustration burned in Roland. *Why now? Why clear out every single shop?! What’s the point?!*

No time to dwell. Time was slipping away.

Fifth shop—predictably stripped bare. Again, the noble girls.

“Holy cow… Am I cursed? Did every magic stone and Arcane Gear vanish overnight?” Roland’s mind reeled.

What were they thinking? Spending hundreds of thousands of gold coins like confetti? Even a wealthy heiress couldn’t burn money like that!

“No. I can’t quit. If I do, I’m finished. There’s still time—I refuse to believe this!” A stubborn spark flickered in his eyes.

Reality slapped back. Shop after shop—empty.

All magic stones and Arcane Gears gone. Either the noble girls or the short-haired beauty. Not a trace remained.

Roland stood frozen on the street, small, helpless, utterly lost. Confusion swirled.

*Why buy everything now? Why leave nothing?*

He scanned the crowd. A cold shiver raced up his spine. He trembled slightly.

He’d noticed the eerie truth.

Not a single mage walked among the passersby. Not one. Everyone was an ordinary civilian.

In this world, mages were everywhere. Most were apprentice mages—eighty percent of all mages, seventy percent of the population.

Even a quiet village had mages. In bustling Oliverlam? Streets should swarm with them.

Yet now—silence. Only plain, ordinary people.

When Roland first arrived, Oliverlam thrived: mages, merchants, adventurers, exotic races—vibrant, alive.

Now? Vanished. As if erased.

Chilling.

Roland sucked in a sharp breath. Instinct screamed: someone was pulling strings. And he already knew who.

If he was right… he’d been set up from the very start. Completely.

Back at the dress shop’s third floor, Silva had changed from her wedding gown into a simple white dress. She sat gracefully, radiating noble poise.

Seeing Roland return, she smiled. “I’m glad you came back. I worried you’d run.”

“With you scheming? How could I escape?” Roland gave a bitter, tired smile. “I’ve heard tales of Princess Silva—brilliant since childhood, sharp strategist, visionary. Now I see they’re true.”

“Hehe.” Silva giggled. “I just wanted to keep my future husband from slipping away.”

Roland finally understood. Silva had orchestrated it all: buying out every shop, clearing mages from the streets to block his escape.

And the scheme demanded immense resources—gold for stones, actors, mages, contingencies…

“Never thought I’d be defeated… by money.” Roland’s voice cracked with shame.

“Spending one million gold coins to keep you?” Silva beamed. “I’m almost surprised it worked.”

One million. Five years’ revenue for a mid-sized town. Wealth beyond imagination.

“Since you know you can’t run,” Silva took his hand, smile gentle, “come marry me.”

“You’re so clever… why cling to such old-fashioned marriage views?” Roland frowned. “Just because I saved you—and saw you… you insist on this? You’re brilliant, yet so traditional. It doesn’t make sense.”

Silva didn’t answer. She gazed at the deepening twilight outside.

“Hey, Roland.”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go get a room.”