My Ruin to You - Chapter 217

It was Valen.

Valen, standing with his back to the light of the corridor, was shrouded in darkness. Roseline, who had awkwardly stepped back after letting go of the doorknob, steadied her startled heart and scrutinized him. His disheveled hair, his panting breath, the gleam of sweat on his nape—all were signs he had rushed here in a hurry.

Valen, in turn, scrutinized Roseline through the half-open door, as if searching for any injuries or anything different from his memory.

It felt familiar. No, it was a clear memory. When they reunited after the plague in the Marquisate, and when she returned after getting lost from encountering bandits, Valen had looked over Roseline with that same anxious gaze.

“…….”

Roseline slowly lowered the hand that had been holding up her hair. As her untied hair cascaded down to cover her back, Valen strode forward, pulled her close, and embraced her.

Trapped in his arms, Roseline helplessly let go of the doorknob. Her heart raced wildly, but she didn’t think to push him away. Her heightened senses were wholly focused on Valen’s ragged breath, his trembling arms, and the lukewarm temperature of his armor.

There were things she had wanted to say if she met Valen, if she went to find him. Everything from the human concern of asking if he was alright now, having heard he’d fainted, to a detailed explanation of today’s battle.

“…I-It’s because of you, Your Highness.”

But the moment she collided with the hard armor, her thoughts vanished, as if her mind had gone blank, and only a familiar complaint spilled out.

“Yes, it’s my fault.”

Valen held Roseline even tighter. His solid arms constricted her waist strongly. Belatedly trying to break free, she pushed against him, but as always, he didn’t budge an inch. The longer the struggle went on, the more Roseline’s strength drained. No matter how much she pushed or struck them, his sturdy arms wouldn’t yield; they only tightened more firmly.

“Do you know how many times this makes now that I’ve nearly crossed the line between life and death?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You said nothing was going according to your plan, but that’s not true, is it? Sending me to the Marquisate, dragging me into this battlefield—it was all you, Your Highness.”

“You’re right. I did all of it. I’m sorry, Roseline.”

Roseline complained incessantly, and Valen only apologized.

Yes, an apology. This formidable man was apologizing. In moments like these, without the blame or intimidation that usually followed, without any excuses or rebuttals, he embraced all of Roseline’s sharp accusations as if they were entirely his fault.

Was that why? His apologies never felt like deceit.

She didn’t know. Maybe it would have been better if he had gotten angry, asking why she stubbornly brought danger upon herself, if he had blamed her for this too.

The arm clutching her waist as if he would die if he let go, and the trembling hand continuously stroking her hair, left a raw wound on Roseline’s heart. A sour ache welled up inside her, and the rims of her eyes grew hot.

“…I did it. I saved you.”

Roseline muttered, thumping her forehead against the hard armor. Her weakened voice was very soft, but to Valen, whose entire focus was on her, it was distinctly clear.

“Yes, you did it.”

Valen pressed his lips against Roseline’s hair. In truth, he took no pleasure in Roseline’s mana or abilities. It had always been that way. Whether it was healing or protection, Roseline’s mana was always directed at others, and he, born with immunity, could never receive it until the day he died. How could it be pleasing when the entire world could receive Roseline’s mana, save for one person—himself alone?

And he hated it. Apart from his constant worry about Roseline using mana outside her affinity, he couldn’t understand it. Other Manifestors conformed to their affinities without even considering transgressing their taboos, so why did she insist on carving away at her own flesh? All he could think about was how to break her of that habit.

But looking back, it was precisely that aspect of Roseline that had drawn his eye; it was that Roseline he had always loved. Moreover, there had never been a moment where her peculiar trait was more of a blessing than this time. No, it had been like that in every crisis. Had it not been for Roseline’s resourcefulness, which he so vehemently opposed, he might have forever lost this warm and lovely presence.