Chapter 23

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Chapter 120

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“How may I be of service?”

I’d expected him to refuse outright, but the count responded readily.

“Do you even know what I’m about to ask before agreeing so quickly?”

“Didn’t I tell you before? Call on me anytime you need help.”

The count acted like he’d assist no matter what I said.

“Ask away.”

His expression made it clear he truly intended to help me.

After finishing my conversation with the count, I returned to my room. Comparing it to before I left, I noticed something had changed.

Did I leave the window open?

No way.

The Northern Region was too cold to even open the windows in the first place.

And sure enough, something sat on the windowsill.

Upon closer inspection, I found a vial filled with some unknown liquid, and a note placed beneath it.

[If Yurta does anything strange, pour this on him.

It’s a drug that causes an extreme rejection reaction upon contact with Transcendents.]

Dillon, no doubt.

There was no name on the note, but no one else would pull something like this.

“There’s medicine like this?”

Even if it existed, most such things came from the Cursed Land and were hard to obtain.

“Sis.”

Speak of the devil—Yurta’s voice came from beyond the door.

Looks like you’re no saint yourself.

I crumpled up Dillon’s note and tossed it away.

Sorry, Dillon. I need Yurta right now.

I opened the door and locked eyes with garnet-red irises brimming with desire.

The man, with his sculpted features, flashed a picture-perfect smile the moment he saw me.

But when I lunged forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, that composure shattered completely.

I rested my head against Yurta’s chest.

As our bodies pressed seamlessly together, Yurta’s breathing grew ragged, as if he could barely hold onto his sanity.

I listened quietly to his quickened heartbeat, then lifted my head.

“Help me, Yurta.”

“...Sis.”

He drew in a breath, as if summoning every ounce of patience.

“Save me.”

“...”

“You’re the only one who can save me right now.”

“...Sis.”

His voice boiled over, barely containing his desire. But I drove the wedge deeper, ignoring it.

“Kidnap me.”

At last, his reason snapped completely.

With trembling hands, he gripped my shoulders.

His voice burned as he whispered, eyes twitching faintly at the corners.

“If that’s what you want, sis.”

Once Rozhi left, Rihart sank into thought.

“Captain, can you tell us what happened during the attack?”

The priests grabbed him, bombarding him with questions, but Rihart didn’t respond.

“Is something wrong with your throat?”

As if.

Even with diminished regeneration, he was still a Transcendent. His wounds had mostly healed.

Seeing no sign of him speaking, the priests seemed to assume something was wrong with his body.

But he couldn’t have cared less about them.

When Rozhi betrayed him and he fled to the Cursed Land, Rihart had stood at death’s door.

Back then, he’d been filled with rage, no doubt.

He hated the woman who’d whispered sweet nothings with a serpent’s tongue, only to push him off the cliff. How could he not resent her?

For a long time, he’d been swept up in the emotions of that betrayal.

Why did I ever trust her?

He kept circling the same thoughts, stuck in place.

Reliving that time over and over.

Three years was a long, long stretch.

The battlefield was a nonstop horror show of people dying.

Amid it all, he remembered the gentle voice asking if he was okay three years ago, and the warm embrace that followed.

That was all that lingered.

It was more than enough time for vengeful feelings to fade like illusions.

Yeah. Time to admit it.

His time in the Marquis Evantes household hadn’t been great overall, but that one woman he’d found there had stirred something real in him.

Three years.

Memories tend to beautify themselves, and anger gradually dims.

All that remained was the simple urge to see her again.

When they met once more...

Should he just forgive her?

As that thought crossed his mind, he stood in the heart of the battlefield, drenched head to toe in blood.

The enemy army lay annihilated, and the war finally came to an end.

His pristine silver sword, once gleaming, had dulled after slicing through countless flesh, stained crimson.

He felt somehow repulsed by himself.

He’d never enjoyed slaughter. Quite the opposite, really.

Blood’s stench was revolting enough, pounding at his head like a migraine.

Why had he crawled into this hellhole?

If she hadn’t betrayed him as promised, he wouldn’t be here.

No, he didn’t want to forgive her that easily.

Having endured this slaughter he despised, he wanted that time back from her.

And so, after three years, he met the woman again.

After that long endurance, what he felt was how unbearably lovable she was.

The woman trying to fool him with a straw-colored brown wig was ridiculous yet oddly cute.

Definitely, he’d gone properly mad.

The resentment hadn’t vanished, but it was overshadowed by the urge to hold her.

So you can’t announce your engagement to Marquis Evantes here.

Of course, Rihart knew it was all selfishness on his part.

But so what if it was selfish?

He had to have that woman in his grasp.

What had he dreamed of during those three years? He wanted to know.

How much impact she’d had on him—he wanted to measure that weight.

“Captain! We have a big problem!”

Just then, another priest burst into his room.

The voice snapped him from his reverie, irritating him enough to furrow his brow slightly. Then the priest dropped a bombshell.

“Marquis Evantes’s fiancée has disappeared!”

One might expect hesitation at being asked outright to whisk me away, but Yurta followed through without a second’s pause.

Of course, there was some back-and-forth.

<Just wait a moment, sis. Let me prepare...>

<No. We have to go now.>

I tightened my arms around him and whispered through choked sobs.

<You must’ve heard what happened today. That’s why you came looking for me.>

<...I was just worried about you, sis.>

<Yeah. Of course you were.>

I muttered bitterly.

Yurta patted my back soothingly in response.

<It’s not your fault, sis. This trap...>

<It is my fault.>

Yurta’s face filled with confusion.

<...I panicked back then and couldn’t fix it, just ran. That’s why we need to escape right now.>

Hearing that, Yurta immediately scooped me up and slipped out of the castle.

True to his Transcendent nature, no one spotted us as he swiftly carried me away.

That’s exactly why I chose him.

And now...

Yurta had fled deep into the Northern Region’s forests with me in his arms.

The snow-covered woods were freezing cold. I exhaled a puff of white breath and thought.

This should be far enough.

Yurta’s usefulness ended once he got me out of the castle undetected.

I glanced up at him.

Pale skin, garnet-red eyes. Yurta was strikingly handsome himself.

At this point, I was curious what their parents—who’d passed on such genes to Dillon and Yurta—looked like.

No, no. Not the time to get distracted by faces.

I shook my head and snapped back to reality.

“Sis?”

Yurta eyed me curiously.

“It’s nothing.”

I looked around.

After running so long in his arms, the Northern castle was out of sight.

“That’s enough, Yurta. Put me down now.”

“We need to go farther, sis.”

“I know. But I’ll walk from here. We’ve come plenty far already.”

He looked reluctant, but eventually set me down.

His attitude was softer than before. Because I’d chosen him this time?

Back when I decided, Yurta had seemed perfect for the job.

He was the one who could get me out of the Northern castle the fastest without being seen.

That’s why I picked him.

Of course, there was a bigger reason too. One that made it have to be him.

“Yurta.”

A fierce wind blew.

“What exactly is the curse you put on Dillon?”

Dillon. At that name, his soft gaze turned icy.

“It hurts Dillon to be in the same space as me.”

“...Even now, it’s all about Dillon for you, sis?”

He asked in exasperation, then his eyes sharpened as realization dawned.

“Is that why you asked me? Because of Dillon?”

“...”

“Your silence confirms it.”

“Yurta, Dillon’s your brother.”

His brow furrowed as if he’d heard something outrageous.

“How could you curse your own brother? Are you insane?”

“Then you should’ve chosen me instead, sis. Not gone running to Dillon.”

There it was again.

Yurta looked hurt even after saying it.

It was pitiful, but I didn’t fall for that wretched act.

Not when I had far more pathetic things around me, and I knew what true misery looked like.

For the cursed one to make that face, while daring to curse him? It only deepened my disillusionment with Yurta.

“What curse did you put on Dillon?”

He clamped his mouth shut, clearly with no intention of telling.

I’d suspected as much...

“You’ll never lift the curse, will you?”

Yurta’s red eyes flashed.

“Why would I? For whose sake?”

He spat the words like blood, flashing a cruel smile.

“Come to think of it, this is the first time you’ve chosen me, sis.”

He seemed lost in thought, mulling his own words.

“If it weren’t for the curse, you would’ve picked Dillon today, right?”

“...No. I would’ve chosen you.”

I gave him the answer he wanted, but it was a lie. If Dillon weren’t suffering, I wouldn’t have picked Yurta.

I would’ve asked Dillon, just like he said.

From my perspective, Dillon was better than the unsettling Yurta, even if I felt a bit guilty.

“No way.”

Yurta saw right through it and denied my words.

He wore an expression of self-pity, then burst into laughter.

“We should’ve done this from the start.”

“...”

“Then you never would’ve gone to Dillon even once.”

No trace of regret in his attitude—I was fed up all over again.

The moment I betrayed Rihart, had I seemed that selfish too?

I’d panicked and blurted things out, but at least I’d felt remorse.

Not Yurta, though.

“You just have to get your way, don’t you?”

“...”

Yurta fell silent.

He would never lift Dillon’s curse.

“Fine. Got it.”

Without hesitation, I splashed the liquid Dillon had given me all over him.

You writhe in pain too.