My Ruin to You - Chapter 70

In the end, everything would return to how it was. She’d left because she couldn’t stand it—because living in Valen’s shadow had suffocated her. But if she went back now, she’d be smaller, meeker, forced to hide behind him, not beside him.

If asked whether that fate was worse than dying branded a criminal, the answer was obviously no. But did that mean she should eagerly seize his hand now, just because she felt a flicker of regret? Again, no. The best path was to capture the Marquis or a councilor—or to prove her innocence definitively. Yet without Valen’s help, both were nearly impossible.

‘If it ever gets too hard, come find me.’

His words from years ago echoed bitterly. She’d sworn she never would.

But now—

Roseline stared at the snow, her breath a pale mist in the cold air, and wondered if pride was worth dying for.

But it wasn’t as if she had no other options. Aside from choosing to return to Valen, the only realistic hope left was the Emperor’s promise.

“Ah—”

Roseline had been trudging along, her gaze fixed on the white snow underfoot, when Valen suddenly stopped. He pulled her arm, tucking her behind him as if to hide her. Bewildered, she stared at his back. The knights, too, seemed to sense something amiss and quickly moved to shield Valen, weapons at the ready.

“……”

The tension in the air made it clear this wasn’t the time for questions. Without a word, Roseline cast protective barriers over the knights—everyone except His Highness, of course. The moment her magic brushed against them, one of the knights flinched, and Valen turned his head slightly, exhaling sharply as his eyes narrowed.

“…It’s dangerous.”

“Isn’t it more dangerous if I lose control of my temper?”

“What? You’d throw a tantrum over this?”

“Try me. So don’t give them anything.”

No wonder he’d been so irritable every time she used her magic—like a child fighting over a toy.

She was too stunned to reply, but for someone engaging in such a petty standoff, his expression was disturbingly sharp. Reluctantly, she nodded, and only then did Valen turn back to face forward. Roseline peeked around him to assess the situation.

From one of the five branching paths Valen had burned to ashes the day before, a group of shadows was hesitantly approaching.

“Survivors, Your Highness,” one of the knights murmured.

The guild master glanced at Valen, silently asking if they could lower their guard and sheathe their swords. But Valen shook his head.

Meanwhile, the approaching group quickened their pace upon spotting the knights. There were about ten of them—men, women, even a child—their tattered clothes making it impossible to guess their status.

“W-we’re not infected!”

A man at the front nearly stumbled as he ran forward, spreading his hands to show he was unarmed. But that was all. For those who had survived hell, the swords pointed at them mattered less than the fragile hope of salvation. The man swallowed dryly, about to speak again, when—

“Step back and show respect. You stand before His Grace, the Grand Duke.”

The guild master’s stern voice cut through the air, and the man’s exhausted eyes widened. The others behind him wore similarly stunned expressions.

“Enough.”

Valen silenced them with a single word. Caught between kneeling and standing, they awkwardly straightened before bowing deeply.

“W-we greet His Grace, the Grand Duke.”

The man’s voice trembled—not just with awe, but with desperation, tension, hope. The kind of hope that came from realizing they might finally escape this living hell.

“State your names and status.”

The guild master’s sharp gaze swept over them as he spoke.

“I am Morris, chief overseer of the Brun Trading Company.”

Roseline exhaled silently. There was no time for relief at the appearance of survivors. The man, oblivious to the origins of the plague, proudly declared his affiliation with the Marquis—unaware that, in this moment, it was less a credential and more an indictment.

Logically, how much could a mere trade overseer know about the plague?

But the world had long since abandoned logic.

“You’ve been hiding all this time?”

“Yes. Last evening, we saw the fires spreading through the village and gathered amongst ourselves. We thought there might be other survivors, but to find Your Grace here—we scarcely know how to contain our gratitude. Please, take us with you.”

Morris pressed his forehead into the snow, and the others followed suit, bowing deeply in desperate supplication. A child, mimicking the adults’ clumsy gestures, suddenly brightened and pointed somewhere with a grin.

“Look! It’s the Awakener!”