Chapter 75
After a long silence, a small round head briefly appeared. Someone hiding their small body among the vines timidly stepped forward, fingers outstretched.
Cyrone spotted the fragile figure and unknowingly let out a weary smile. Elia Reiffers glanced at Cyrone’s emotionless face, looking uncertain.
“I’m truly sorry if I disturbed your prayers, Your Highness.”
Elia said, bowing deeply. She felt she had no right to speak up, having followed him as if possessed, embarrassed that she seemed to be chasing after him.
But contrary to her expectations, Cyrone didn’t say much. Instead, he raised a hand, calling the child closer.
“Why did you follow me?”
His voice held no reproach or scolding. Elia’s eyes brightened as she replied.
“I don’t really know. I just…”
She blushed as if genuinely unsure why she had come so far. Looking at that flushed face, Cyrone tilted his head and smiled.
“You were the one who followed me all this way, weren’t you?”
The tone of his question was equally strange. When Elia looked up at him in confusion, their gazes intertwined.
“…Yes. I followed you.”
Elia nodded. Cyrone smiled satisfiedly, looking up at the holy statue before them. The iron tower that was already swallowed by darkness was looming behind it.
* * *
The writing on the paper remained unchanged from the day before. Next to Elia’s name, the space was still blank.
Cyrone lifted the pen as if making a difficult decision but then put it back down. Apparently, one or two nights wouldn’t be enough to gather strength.
He pressed his reddened, bloodshot eyes tightly. Recently, he hadn’t been able to sleep deeply, and fatigue weighed heavily. As he drifted into a light sleep—
“…Ugh!”
Suddenly, an inexplicable pain tore through his heart. Cyrone groaned softly, his shoulders trembling. He gasped and coughed violently. Hot blood split his dry lips, spilling out and ruining his pale face.
“Haah, haah.”
Cyrone glared at the blood that spilled from within him. It was dark and bright red. His forehead grew soaked with cold sweat, and Cyrone hurriedly covered his ears as if trying to block out phantom sounds.
‘…It’s time, Cyrone.’
But it was useless. The voice echoing from his soul only grew clearer the more he covered his ears. A shapeless blackness flickered in and out of his blurred vision.
Panting, Cyrone collapsed onto the desk.
Cyrone barely held onto his fading vision as he stared down at Elia’s name written on the paper. Fate was pressing him urgently now.
Time was running out.
* * *
Rias spent countless nights lost in thought. Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months.
Two seasons had already passed since the day Elia was supposed to die. According to the books chronicling the history of darkness, a single season was enough for a soul to be stolen. To be claimed by an evil spirit was swift and merciless.
Countless emperors of Kelyon, their consorts, and their children all died without a trace. Like an instinct flowing through their blood, they surrendered their souls to the devil and perished. And yet, that unchanging fate must have dragged him into an even deeper abyss.
This was the tragic price the Edelward family had to bear in exchange for a lifetime of prosperity and glory.
“Cyrone, how on earth do you keep holding on?”
Rias murmured quietly. The moonlight resting on his head was cold. He already knew Cyrone possessed superhuman endurance, but not to this extent. If his assumptions were correct, Cyrone was desperately resisting that corrupting force with every ounce of strength he had.
Yet, it was a demonic power even the revered first Emperor could not overcome. Though time passed, bloodlines mixed, and purity diluted, darkening the devil’s blood, the outcome remained the same.
If the demonic blood flowing through Cyrone’s veins was any clearer, the curse would have already consumed him.
“Pitiful soul.”
Rias clicked his tongue. That life was so tragic, so pitiable, it almost made him laugh.
“Well then, if that’s the case, I’ll help you.”
Rias got up from his seat as if making a firm decision. Clang! A plate stacked on the floor shattered instantly. Sharp shards scattered everywhere. Rias clenched the jagged fragments beneath his feet with fierce determination.
Harder, even harder. When the sound of flesh tearing suddenly echoed, Rias trembled. Blood began to gush out as if it had been waiting.
“Take my half-blood, then become whole, Cyrone.”
The Edelward bloodline he’d always considered a burden would be used like this. For the first time, Rias truly felt the power of the Edelward blood flowing through his veins, and he groaned.
“Ugh…”
Only after the blood pooled like a dark puddle did Rias dig his nails into his skin. The blood-painted patterns seeped across the cold iron floor of the prison cell.
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