Chapter 210
“If only I had stopped back then—would things have turned out differently? If I had let her go instead of holding on…”
But Kazhan couldn’t. He couldn’t.
It wasn’t just the years of accumulated side effects from his abilities gnawing at his sanity. Every time Ysaris pushed him away, jealousy and rage devoured his reason.
He couldn’t just let her go. He had loved her enough to devote his entire life to her—and the betrayal carved his heart into bloody ribbons until he could see nothing else.
Death won’t save you. You’ll live by my side for the rest of your life, repaying the sins you’ve forgotten.
My…
Beloved, hateful wife.
“…Fine. If she’s determined to die anyway.”
Kazhan felt as though his heart, not just his torso, had been charred black by those flaming arrows. Nothing else could explain this hollow, ashen feeling inside him.
Now wasn’t the time to confront the sins he’d committed in his misunderstanding. The priority was predicting Ysaris’s next move and acting accordingly.
So—last time, Pyrene had stopped her from killing herself. But now?
Mikael’s existence weighed on his mind, but this was a woman who had already fled him once, pregnant and prepared to die. If the dark mage forced her into that so-called “breeding,” the outcome was obvious.
“I’d rather kill everyone with my own hands—and then myself—before letting that happen.”
“Your Majesty!!”
While the others gasped in horror, Trienne’s lips parted in realization.
‘So this is it? The love she spoke of?’
…Even this doesn’t seem normal.
But regardless of Trienne’s thoughts, the situation had flipped. Sensing the rising danger, he silently activated the puppet-string curse on Ysaris—resolved not to die alone.
The medium? Himself.
[…]
As the Duke desperately tried to reason with the Emperor, Trienne murmured the activation phrase under his breath. His robe, designed for silent spellcasting, concealed his scheme perfectly.
Invisible threads of darkness began weaving between him and Ysaris—until—
Crunch.
“What?!”
A low-heeled shoe crushed the threads, scattering the dark mist into nothing. Trienne’s eyes widened at the impossible interference—just as an eerie force flooded the room.
[“Halt.”]
“…!”
In an instant, everyone froze mid-motion—except Temisian, who managed to resist and immediately drew his sword toward the intruder.
“Who are you?!”
“Hm.”
Instead of answering, the woman—shrouded in a black robe like the dark mage, her hem soaked in blood—scanned the chaotic room.
An ally of the dark mage?
Temisian’s grip tightened on his blade. Anyone who could evade his senses was a threat.
But then—a voice, utterly unbothered, cut through the tension.
“Rude, aren’t you? I did just help you.”
“…Help us?”
‘With what?’
The woman waved a hand dismissively, as if explaining to a swordsman wasn’t worth the effort.
“Never mind. No point wasting words on a brute.”
The Emperor’s group stared in disbelief. No one dared speak to the Sword Master, Duke Blake, like that.
Unless they didn’t know who he was…
“Wait—weren’t this generation’s Duke Blake a weirdo who got along with mages or something?”
“Just who the hell are you?”
Temisian demanded, more baffled than offended.
The answer was anything but ordinary. The woman tilted her head, then pointed straight at Ysaris.
“Her landlord.”
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