#39. Send Him Back
The afternoon sunlight stretched long across the palace corridor. In the stifling silence that blanketed the space, three people stood: Greta, who had taken the lead as their guide; Olivia, following a few steps behind; and Cryer, walking in sync beside her.
The soft carpet beneath their feet muffled even the sound of their breaths, adding to the oppressive stillness. Olivia felt like she could suffocate from it—but what was harder to endure was the overwhelming urge to grab Greta’s hair as she walked ahead. She longed to seize those scarlet locks and shake her until every secret spilled from her head. But she gritted her teeth and held herself back with every ounce of strength.
The woman was a mage. A mage. A mage. A mage! Olivia repeated it like a mantra. Maybe that helped, because she refrained from yanking Greta’s head back until the woman finally came to a stop.
“This is the place.”
Greta halted in front of a large, ornate door—twice the size and grandeur of the others—and pulled the handle.
Click.
Whether it was her frayed nerves or the tension in the air, even the sound of the door unlocking felt like thunder in Olivia’s ears. Her shoulders flinched. Instinctively, she reached out toward Cryer and brushed against one of his large, calloused fingers. She almost clutched it reflexively—until Greta’s voice cut in, looking directly at her.
“Your Highness, may I take my leave?”
Olivia’s expression cracked slightly beneath her mask of indifference. Such blatant insolence. If Greta were just a common attendant, she would be expected to explain every corner of the room and ensure Olivia’s comfort before she was dismissed. But of course, the woman in front of her was anything but ordinary.
She was a mage. Still, that was a secret only Olivia and Cryer knew. There was no reason to let her rudeness slide.
“Do you not know the duties of a guide?”
Though Olivia’s words were pointed, Greta responded with a radiant smile.
“My duties were only to guide you here. The rest will be handled by them.”
No sooner had she spoken than several silent attendants appeared inside the room and bowed deeply. Olivia opened her mouth again—but was interrupted.
“And the knight will need to come with me.”
Greta stepped past Olivia and addressed Cryer.
“His Highness, the Crown Prince, has summoned you.”
The words No, he’s not going anywhere rose to Olivia’s tongue, but she bit them back. Even as a princess of the Empire, she couldn’t just deny the Crown Prince of Norden if he summoned one of his own knights.
She glanced at Cryer, then straightened her posture, adopting the solemn dignity of a true imperial princess.
“Guide.”
Before Greta could turn back to her, Olivia continued.
“Send him back.”
Her voice was cold enough to chill the bones. Greta finally turned around, no longer smiling.
“Send him back? What do you mean…?”
Olivia raised a hand to silence her and gave her a withering once-over. She looked down on the taller woman as if to say, How dare you question me?
“He is a knight of Norden, yes, but he is also my guest. Until I say otherwise, he remains my guest.”
Until I release him, he goes nowhere.
Who else could speak so arrogantly and unreasonably to a foreign knight? Only Olivia—princess of the continent’s only empire, Bolsheik—could.
And because she said it, Cryer would return. To her.
“You may leave now. I’d like to rest. Everyone out.”
She stepped inside the room but paused just before entering fully. Then, with only a graceful turn of her head, she commanded Cryer,
“Don’t forget where you belong.”
As the door closed behind her, Olivia slumped against it and sank to the floor. With her face buried in her hands, she silently cursed and then sighed.
“It’s… over.”
The confrontation that had made her heart race had ended so quickly, so anticlimactically. Was this how it was supposed to go? She shook her head.
If anything had happened during that encounter, it would’ve meant the mages had caught on to her plans. That would’ve been far worse.
“This is the right outcome. This silence… is a good sign.”
Looking down at her trembling fingertips, she clenched them into fists.
“If you want to catch a tiger, you have to enter its den. Even if you get bitten, as long as you stay conscious, you can survive.”
Repeating the old proverb, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she rose, walked to the bed, and collapsed onto it.
After living and dying four times, she had learned one thing: rest when you can.
Meanwhile, as Olivia lay face-down on the bed like a lifeless corpse, Cryer and Greta were making their way deeper into the palace. They soon arrived at a dimly lit room where no one else could be sensed.
Clack.
The door closed, and Cryer immediately asked:
“The Crown Prince?”
“Who knows. He’s probably… somewhere.”
As expected, a lie. So the Crown Prince hadn’t summoned him at all. Not that it mattered—he was likely just a puppet of the mages anyway. Still, Cryer sensed no trace of that mage nearby.
“Cryer.”
His name slithered into the air, wrapping around him like a thick fog.
“Cryer, Cryer, CryerCryerCryerCryerCryer.”
Greta called his name with a madness in her voice, extending a hand toward him. Her warm fingers brushed his cheek.
“I finally… finally reached you.”
Cryer didn’t swat her hand away, nor did he lean into it. He simply looked down at her, emotionless.
Greta gazed at him with a wistful, longing look, then slowly withdrew her hand. The warmth left behind quickly faded, yet her eyes welled with emotion.
“I’m finally with you again.”
With a voice trembling in joy and a face radiant with bliss, anyone witnessing the scene might have thought them lovers reunited after a long, forced separation. And Greta truly believed that.
“It was too long… being apart from you was unbearable.”
Her voice trembled, but none of it reached Cryer. To him, her words were meaningless noise. The only time he had really heard her voice was the night she branded him on his collarbone.
He knew what she thought of him. How could he not? One black night, she had stood before him—despairing and sleepless, trapped in the chains of slavery—and said:
“Only you, the first true servant of the god, will remain beside me in the purified world.”
Whether it was love, obsession, or something more revolting, he didn’t care. He hadn’t cared then. He didn’t care now. He never would.
Without giving her so much as a glance, he asked:
“Where’s the mage?”
His voice was dry and devoid of feeling. Greta’s lips twisted strangely for a brief moment—but then she smiled again and shook her head.
“He’s not here.”
“Not here?”
He had already suspected as much when the Crown Prince didn’t appear. But for the mage to leave the palace? He thought they’d never abandon the ancient god’s altar here.
Cryer turned his gaze toward the modest altar in the corner. So this was it? The so-called divine altar that bled the continent and burned humanity to purify the world?
No one would believe it if he told them.
“Didn’t they say they’d never leave the altar?”
“They did.”
Greta nodded, then added quietly:
“Not until the perfect altar is completed.”
Cryer’s brows twitched. A perfect altar? And then they leave? So they were building a new one somewhere else?
No—if the mage wasn’t here, then it must already be complete.
“Then the mage is at the new altar. Tell me whe—”
“No.”
Greta shook her head before he could finish. Cryer shut his mouth, lips drawn into a thin line. Her answer and the mage’s disappearance didn’t align.
Watching him in silence, Greta finally spoke again.
“That princess.”
Her red lips whispered—not about the mage, but Olivia.
She slithered around Cryer’s arm like a snake, her eyes drifting toward the room where Olivia stayed.
“Doesn’t she bother you?”
The voice of that woman from the past—calling Cryer’s name. And today…
“Until I say otherwise, he remains my guest.”
Greta’s lips twisted unnaturally.
“She bothers me.”
Very much. What stirred inside Greta was more than simple murderous intent—it was something far more vile. And it was aimed squarely at Olivia.
“Shouldn’t we get rid of what bothers us?”
The moment he realized the meaning behind her silky whisper, a violent storm of rage swept across Cryer’s crimson desert heart—strong enough to consume everything.
