Chapter 27
As the knight approached, Nielsen opened the lamp and dropped the letter between the candle flames. The paper turned to ash as it burned away.
“Won’t you really save her? If only we could get Raphael’s Holy Sword somehow…!”
At Nielsen’s noticeably agitated words, Cyrone let out a short, mocking laugh.
“Humans are like that, knowing they’ll regret it, yet refusing to change.”
Nielsen was left speechless. After all, even if they saved the deposed Empress, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t repeat her actions. Just like Cyrone said, humans often refuse to change despite knowing they’ll regret it.
Before long, the horse’s head slowly turned toward Welrod Palace as they entered the capital. The city gates yawned wide, welcoming the procession.
At that moment, Cyrone quietly asked Nielsen, who was riding beside him,
“Do you, by any chance, desire something so badly you’d sell your soul to Belial?”
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Nielsen tilted his head in confusion. Though he had been at Cyrone’s side for over ten years, Cyrone had never once spoken the true name of the demon. Even now, while his mother Loran was slowly going mad after selling her soul to Belial.
“Belial…”
After a long pause, Nielsen finally spoke.
Belial, the fallen angel who had once been a shining messenger of god but was cast into hell for coveting what could not be had. A devil who loved the most wicked things.
“To be honest, I don’t understand.”
Every human, at least once in their life, has something they’d give their heart for. Belial knew the power of that human desire. That was why his magic was the most seductive, and terrifying, in the world.
“If it’s something worth going that far for…”
Nielsen furrowed his brow quietly. The things deposed Empress Loran wanted so badly, even willing to turn back time for, despite knowing the fate laid before her, what could they possibly be?
“No matter what you gain, you’ll regret it in the end.”
Nielsen said, sounding bitter. Listening to that, Cyrone suddenly let out a low laugh. The laugh was cold as always, but today it lingered longer, more hollow.
“If you can have it, even if it means regretting it.”
A strange gleam flickered in Cyrone’s playful eyes. He gripped the reins tightly.
The whip sliced through the air as the horse surged forward with speed. Watching Cyrone’s retreating figure, Nielsen slowly repeated the words in his mind.
“If you can have it, even if it means regretting it.”
…Humans refuse to change despite knowing they’ll regret it.
Nielsen’s brow furrowed slightly.
* * *
Back at the palace, Cyrone quickly changed into simpler clothes and headed to his office. As he hurriedly opened the door, he saw the silhouette of someone already seated there.
Only then did he let out a slight, relieved smile.
“Were you waiting?”
Elia slowly lift her head. Her face looked worn and drained from the past half day.
“What exactly is your reason for doing this?”
That was the blunt question Elia spat out. Her emotionless eyes slashed at Cyrone like claws. In that gaze were filthy impurities she had never shown before.
“I said I’m finally breaking away from Your Highness, so why on earth…?”
Elia bit her lip hard. Cyrone’s fingers gripping her shoulder tightened more and more.
“You shouldn’t have said you liked me! No, you shouldn’t have liked me. You shouldn’t have even met me!”
Elia roughly shook off Cyrone’s hand and shouted. Her regret spilled over into bitter resentment.
“Don’t cry.”
Cyrone looked at Elia’s tear-streaked face. His eyes were filled with a tangle of emotions. He gently brushed aside her tangled hair. His touch on her face was desperate and filled with sorrow.
“When you do that, it messes with my heart.”
Cyrone furrowed his brow slightly in confusion. Elia’s tears stirred a strange feeling in him. One he had never felt, not even when his mother was dragged away in chains.
But Cyrone couldn’t understand it. Was it anger? No. Sadness? No. He had no idea what to call that feeling.
“What the hell is wrong?”
He muttered like a madman. Cyrone wanted to hold Elia in his arms right then. But he couldn’t reach out. He felt as if she would shatter the moment his hand touched her.
What if Elia standing before him was just an illusion, a mirage that would vanish like a dream…? That thought frightened him more and more.
“Why are you angry at me because of someone else?”
Cyrone gripped Elia’s shoulder firmly, bewildered. Her lips trembled violently, deep red in the cold moonlight that seemed to pierce through to his heart.
“Why? Who the hell is that guy to you, that you treat me like this?”
The pressure from Cyrone’s hand on Elia grew stronger. He asked, almost enraged, unable to believe it.
“Elia. The only one you love is me.”
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