01. “I’m Barlow II Vance, your dear groom."

The wedding was dull. The only things that remained in Liquorice's mind were the meaningless noise and the heavy weight of her wedding dress.

The grand hall was adorned with towering candelabras and golden drapes, but its opulence failed to mask the stiffness in the air. Nobles, dressed in their finest, whispered behind lace fans, their expressions unreadable. The priest's voice droned on, reciting vows that neither the bride nor the absent groom seemed to care for.

Liquorice felt suffocated under the weight of the embroidered gown—a masterpiece of white silk and silver threads, its long train cascading like a river behind her. The golden crown atop her head, adorned with pearls and jade, pressed uncomfortably against her temples, making her head throb.

Since Duke Barlow had not arrived yet, she had to face the hard journey from Rye Valley to Jadeherb alone.

Mary helped her change from the heavy wedding dress into a lighter but still formal one—a long, cream-colored gown with a high collar and delicate gold embroidery.

Liquorice was guided into the luxurious carriage.

The carriage slowly passed through the city gates. From the window, Liquorice saw townspeople standing on both sides of the road, their eyes focused on the wedding convoy.

A month ago, the people of Santjord had been told about the sacred meaning and the mission of peace behind this wedding.

It was a special wedding, so they were curious.

But what they truly cared about was whether this marriage would bring them more security for their daily meals.

The servants started throwing wedding candies, making the crowd noisy and chaotic as they scrambled to grab them.

Liquorice frowned and quickly pulled down the curtain. The carriage became noticeably darker.

"My lady, would you like to rest?" Mary, who was sitting near the coachman, asked immediately.

"I don't think I can sleep."

Mary did not reply.

She seemed to be sensitive to Liquorice's every movement. If Liquorice wanted to escape now, it would be almost impossible under Mary's watchful eyes.

The carriage sped up as it left the city gates, heading into the desert before reaching Jadeherb.

The constant shaking, combined with the rising heat in the desert, slowly drained Liquorice's strength.

Her mind and body felt numb.

She wasn't exactly unwell, but she wasn't fine either. It was like having food stuck in her throat—neither swallowable nor spit out.

Worse, she couldn't even sleep—a temporary escape from the discomfort her body was enduring.

Just when she thought nothing could be worse…

A piercing roar shattered the air.

Liquorice jolted upright.

The monsters were coming.

Liquorice hadn't even had time to call out to Mary before the carriage overturned. 

That meant the monsters had been lying in ambush beneath the sand all along, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

This was impossible. Every carriage in the convoy carried the scent of Green Grass—the best defense against those bizarre desert creatures. 

This wedding was far too important for Santjord to be careless in preparing the carriages. There could only be one reason for this: someone didn't want her to make it to Jadeherb alive. 

There weren't many knights in the convoy, and the servants had no means of resisting. They would soon become an easy feast for the monsters. 

Everything happened too fast. By the time Liquorice grasped the situation, the creatures had already surrounded her and Mary. 

The thick scent of green grass clinging to their dresses kept the monsters at bay. 

They stood in a circle, waiting. The moment the scent faded enough, their lives would be over. 

"Mary, run…" Liquorice's voice was weak. 

Her leg had been injured when she crawled out of the carriage, a wooden stake piercing straight through her calf. The blood from her wound agitated the monsters. One of them, unable to hold back, lunged forward—only for the scent of Green Grass to strike its mind like a sharp blow, sending it into a painful frenzy. 

The others quickly learned to be more patient. 

Liquorice gasped for breath, lying on her back in the sand. Above her, the sky stretched vast and blue, the glaring sunlight forcing her to squint. 

For the first time, she saw the monsters up close. 

Ugly, drooling, and repulsive. 

A shiver ran through her at the thought of how she would die—torn apart by those grotesque fangs. 

She refused to accept such an end, but… there was no way for her life. 

Mary had seen the wound on her leg. Liquorice could no longer run, and they were far from Rye Valley. If Mary carried her on her back, the sweat from her body would quickly overpower the scent of Green Grass. 

The maid hesitated for a few seconds. 

In the end, survival came first. 

Mary stripped layers from Liquorice's dress and draped them over herself. The more Green Grass scent, the higher the chance she will survive to run back to Rye Valley.

Feeling the slight tremor from Liquorice's body, Mary said, "They won't tear you apart right away. I left enough fabric and enough Green Grass scent to hold off those fucking monsters." 

"Yeah," Liquorice replied, feeling dejected at the thought of her death. 

"At least, you're still somewhat useful until the very last moment of your life." Her voice carried a hint of mockery. 

Liquorice's mind drifted to moments from the past instead of paying attention to the maid. 

"Any last words? I can pass them for you," Mary asked. 

"No, just run and stop bothering me." Liquorice sighed. She didn't want a stranger intruding on her last moments. 

Mary ran off. No monsters chased her—not only because of the overwhelming Green Grass scent clinging to her, but also because they had a more ideal prey. 

Liquorice closed her eyes, feeling a small breeze brush against her cheek. It was the first subtle sign of an approaching sandstorm. 

A piercing horn sound jolted her awake. The monsters turned and ran in one direction. 

Liquorice struggled to push herself up with both hands, seeing a group of people fighting the monsters in the distance. 

Who had come? 

Duke Barlow? No way, he was guarding the ice wall. 

A cavalry unit from Santjord? Impossible, they couldn't have arrived this quickly. 

Or just a band of wandering knights passing through? 

She barely caught a glimpse of their faces before the sandstorm rose, obscuring her vision. 

All she could hear were clashing swords and the agonized screams of the monsters. 

If they could gain the upper hand while fighting in a sandstorm, it meant they were skilled warriors. 

Her curiosity about them only grew. 

The wind eased, the swirling sand making way for the sunlight. 

A man was approaching her. He was tall, with a long sword hanging at his waist. 

As he stepped closer, Liquorice curiously looked at his face—only to see it was completely covered by a scarf. 

The man knelt down beside her. 

She didn't realize she was staring at him with wide, doe-like eyes. 

"This is how you look at the man who saved you?" he chuckled softly. 

He pulled down his scarf, and at the same moment, the sandstorm stopped, allowing the sunlight to reveal his features. 

"I'm Barlow II Vance, your dear groom. Phew, I made it just in time to save my bride." 

"And to save myself from becoming a widower, right?"

Saved?

If Vance had arrived at the wedding on time, things wouldn't have come to this.

In Liquorice's eyes, Vance II Barlow was an irresponsible husband.

But that was just what she kept in her mind.

Ignoring the pain in her leg, she forced a smile.

"Nice to meet you for the first time, Duke Barlow."

Vance frowned. "Uh oh, don't be so formal. We're already mate." He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "From now on, I'll call you Sweet Root, and you'll call me My love. Lovely nicknames are a way to show the depth of our relationship."

Liquorice looked at her hand, which was being held by Vance, then looked at him.

"In Rye Valley, people don't use such cheesy nicknames for their loved ones." Seeing Vance's curious gaze, she added, "If a wife truly loves her husband, she'll call him Blockhead."

"Er..." Vance was puzzled.

"So, please help me up, my Blockhead." Liquorice tried to hold back her laughter at Vance's dumbfounded expression.

Vance reached behind her and supported her back. "But we will live in Jadeherb, not Rye Valley. As a Jadeherb citizen, I'd feel hurt if you called me Blockhead."

His face was only a few inches away from hers. Was it because he lifted her up, or had he leaned in?

"However, as your husband, I must respect your hometown's culture."

"So?" Liquorice asked.

"You can call me Blockhead at night. Your moans will make that hurtful word sound... interesting." He whispered into her ear.

Liquorice's face turned red, and his embrace suddenly felt much warmer.

At last, she caught a glimpse of the man who was now her husband. His words were hard to handle.

Vance easily lifted her up, glancing at her injured leg.

"I'll call a healing witch for you. Don't worry, it won't leave a scar."

Liquorice glanced at the exhausted knights and witches after the battle with the desert monster. She told Vance, "I don't care if my leg has a scar."

Her wound was too deep. With human capabilities at present, it would be hard to fully restore it. Even if possible, it would take great effort.

Vance raised an eyebrow. "You're worried about the tired sorcerers out there. How sweet and healing, just like your name."

Liquorice frowned. She wasn't used to compliments, so she instinctively avoided them. "The road ahead is long. No one knows what dangers we'll face, so we should conserve our strength."

"Okay, I know, I know, my Sweet Root."

Vance carried Liquorice into his carriage, where a sorcerer was already waiting.

He placed her in his lap, holding her tightly, while the witch took her ankle in both hands. She closed her eyes and began chanting in a language Liquorice couldn't understand.

At once, Liquorice felt a burning energy flowing from the witch's hands into her leg.

She instinctively pulled back from the unbearable heat, but the witch's hands gripped her like iron shackles.

Sweat formed on her forehead, her whole body tensed, and her hands unconsciously clenched. She tried to think of something—anything—to ignore the pain and heat in her foot, not even noticing Vance's hand rubbing her back to comfort her.

"It'll be over soon, Liquorice." He whispered into her ear.

"Shut up." Distracted by his whispers, Liquorice snapped.

Vance froze for a few seconds, surprised by his wife's rude response.

Wasn't Liquorice Ryland supposed to be gentle?

Don't tell him his wife had been swapped with someone else.

By the time the treatment ended and the witch let go of her leg, Liquorice was completely drained. She fell weakly into Vance's arms like a rag doll.